Posts Tagged ‘ Friends ’
Hearst Castle architect and engineer Julia Morgan was the only woman to graduate from UC Berkeley civil engineering in 1894, and the first woman awarded a certificate in architecture from Ecole des Beaux-Arts in 1902. She designed the Berkeley City Club and led its construction in 1929. Tonight, we dined at the Club’s restaurant, which is named after her. Both are local gems.
On Thursday, our Canadian friends Alison and Jeremy drove from Yosemite to San Francisco for dinner with us at the Ferry Building’s MarketBar. They are repatriating to Canada after living in Santiago, Chile for seven years. To ease the transition, they are currently taking a 12 week road trip through the Americas with their sons William (almost 11), Jackson (newly nine), and Lucas (four).
Dinner was messy and fun. We bonded over our respective experiences as ex-pats and squeezed nine years of stories into the time it took to share cocktails, oysters, pizza, and Pork Pork Pork. During the meal, Jackson drew the animal kingdom on a dry-erase board and the paper tablecloth. I really liked his dry-erase doodle of a blue dinosaur. The boys made countless trips to the washroom. They had appointed me to be their pee buddy, so I raced with them to and from the toilets. The boys were full of energy and seemed eager to test the plumbing and hand dryers. As they had started their day at a campsite, their fascination with creature comforts was understandable.
After dinner, we decided to go outside for the golden hour. As we left our table, I reminded Scott to pick up his bag, which he did. Once outside, we walked toward the water. I set up my tripod and we posed for this group shot in front of the Bay Bridge. Robertson Davies wrote that “a portrait is among other things, a statement of opinion by the artist, as well as a likeness”. I love how this photo captures essential qualities I see in William, Jackson, and Lucas. William is good-natured and has Alison’s confidence. Jackson has Jeremy’s calm and happy-go-lucky spirit. Lucas is a lover and a fighter in a charming pint-sized package. As we took the photo, several people milled about nearby – including a shabby-looking man on a bicycle. Scott, an avid cyclist, noticed that the man’s black Surly bicycle had a “Read a Fucking Book” sticker on it. Rather than linger among shady characters, we wandered across the pavement to the Ferry Building in search of ice cream. Along the way, Scott and the boys climbed all over Mohandas K. Gandhi, the statue of Mahatma Gandhi that greets people as they walk from the pier to the Ferry Building.
As we entered the Ferry Building, Scott realized that he no longer had his bag with him. He ran back to the pier and returned empty handed. Fortunately, Scott had his personal phone in his pocket. He used the “Find My iPhone” app to track the location of his work phone, which had been inside his bag. His work phone was already half a mile away. The thief was likely the man on the bicycle! Scott was afraid that the thief would soon disable location tracking on his work phone. He decided to run after the thief. Jeremy, who runs marathons for fun, was up for the chase. They sprinted away before Alison or I could reason with them. William wondered if Scott would get in trouble for losing his work phone. Alison assured him that Scott would likely be given another work phone without too much fuss. William asked me if I thought the thief would hand over the bag to Scott. I told him I didn’t know. As Scott and Jeremy unleashed their inner vigilantes, Alison and I took the boys to Humphry Slocombe for ice cream. To the boys’ delight, we had candid discussions about the effects of lactose intolerance and food poisoning. As I ate my flower power sorbet, I had visions of Scott and Jeremy getting shanked in the Tenderloin. I hoped our evening would end without a trip to the ER. I kept my morbid thoughts to myself. To her credit, Alison did not betray any anxiety until we finished our desserts – when I couldn’t reach Scott on his personal phone. I quickly dialed his missing work phone. Alison and I were both amazed and relieved when Scott answered right away.
Scott and Jeremy had caught up to the thief at an intersection. Scott recognized the bike and noticed his bag sitting on the bike’s handlebars, so he asked the thief for his bag. Jeremy wedged his foot behind the bike’s rear tire to prevent the thief from escaping as Scott reclaimed his bag. It was empty. Scott then asked the thief for each item that was in the bag before it was stolen: work phone; wallet; $100 cash; credit cards; government lab ID; earbuds; phone charger; FedEx receipt; gum… For each item, the thief rummaged through his pockets anew. Scott asked the thief repeatedly why he had stolen the bag. The thief denied stealing the bag. He claimed that he had found the bag with its contents strewn about a curb, and that he was planning on putting the bag in a mailbox. Scott considered calling the police and decided against it. He thanked the thief (!) and then walked away with Jeremy.
When Scott and Jeremy returned to the Ferry Building, they were all smiles and fist bumps. To catch the thief, they had sprinted 10 city blocks – stopping only to call the police (who claimed they couldn’t help without a suspect to identify) and to summon (then cancel) an Uber. To their dismay, the missing phone’s location disappeared and then reappeared on the app map as they ran. I asked Jeremy if he felt “young and alive” after the chase. He grinned, likened the caper to a sightseeing tour, and proposed that he and Scott run a marathon together. William exclaimed that he knew the man on the bicycle was trouble – he had noticed him while we were taking our group shot. I laughed when Alison voluntold Jeremy to pick up Lucas from the floor since Jeremy was feeling so young and alive; Lucas was having a meltdown between Alison’s ankles. Jeremy called an Uber. Within minutes, it was time for everyone to hug good-bye. Scott and I took BART home. I washed Scott’s bag in hot soapy water. He resolved to stop carrying a bag.
On Saturday afternoon, Scott and I wandered into 140 Maiden Lane – Frank Lloyd Wright‘s sole contribution to San Francisco architecture. We were unaware of the building’s cultural significance when we entered it. We were merely curious if the building’s interior matched its plain yet elegant exterior. We were surprised to find an architectural marvel inside.
Visiting 140 Maiden Lane was a serendipitous detour. I had been leading the way to Britex, my favourite fabric store, when beautiful voices beckoned. We walked along Grant Avenue and turned left onto Maiden Lane, where a tenor and a soprano were performing for passersby. They stood in the middle of the street. As they sang, their operatic voices reverberated off the surrounding buildings. We listened to several arias, and then Scott tipped the buskers as we walked past them towards Britex’s back door. A century ago, if voices beckoned visitors onto Maiden Lane (which used to be called Morton Street), the voices likely would have belonged to prostitutes, and the visitors likely would have been johns. The 1906 earthquake destroyed the Morton Street red-light district. But I digress.
Across the street from Britex, a large “goop MRKT” banner fluttered in the wind above 140 Maiden Lane. “goop MRKT” is a pop-up curation of Gwyneth Paltrow‘s lifestyle brand. Scott told me that he had noticed 140 Maiden Lane before but it had always been closed or vacant. The building’s tall exterior wall of tan brick is relieved by a metal gate hung below a brick arch.
As the gate was open, we walked through the arch into a lovely atrium merchandised with tasteful art, books, and clothing. The space itself seemed to be the main attraction for many of the visitors I observed. A large white circular ramp spirals up from the atrium to a mezzanine like a giant nautilus shell. A drop ceiling features 120 white acrylic domes which conceal the building’s pitched glass roof. A hanging planter floats over the atrium like a verdant flying saucer. A small plaque near the door reads “This structure [is] designated by the American Institute of Architects as one of 17 American buildings designed by Frank Lloyd Wright to be retained as an example of his architectural contribution to American Culture – 1960.” Scott and I peeked behind wooden doors to find hidden offices and a decommissioned dumbwaiter. We opened drawers full of fancy soaps for sale. Eventually, we left and went to Britex.
The next day, I returned to 140 Maiden Lane with a prospective client. We had hit it off while exploring the newly-renovated San Francisco Museum of Modern Art so I was happy to share this discovery with him. He seemed taken with the black walnut built-in furniture and fixtures, so we sat in silent appreciation of our surroundings. Before we left, I asked a clerk to tell us about the building’s history. She told us that gift shop owner V.C. Morris commissioned Frank Lloyd Wright to renovate 140 Maiden Lane in the late 1940’s, and that the circular ramp in the atrium served as a physical proof of concept for the architect’s interior design of the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum in New York. She advised us that “goop MRKT” is open at 140 Maiden Lane only until May 22, so there are a few days left to enjoy the space before it closes.
At the Los Angeles County Arboretum and Botanic Garden this afternoon, my Canadian friend Lynne gave me a heads up. There was a large peacock perched in a pink trumpet tree directly above us!
Last Saturday, we drove with Scott’s Indian colleague Aditya and his wife Kamakshi from Berkeley to Bolinas for lunch at Coast Café and a hike along part of the Point Reyes National Seashore. We had plans to hike between the Palomarin Trailhead and Bass Lake. But first, we took a quick detour down to the beach. I’m glad we did; I found this lovely dragonfly sitting on the rocks. He and his stained glass wings were ready for their close-up, and I was happy to oblige!
Yesterday, Scott and I spent the day at Griffith Park with my German colleague Wilfried and his Costa Rican wife Ana. This is the amazing sunset we saw as we stood on the observation deck of the Griffith Observatory.
I think that Mother Nature put on a spectacular show to impress Wilfried and Ana, who are new to Los Angeles. Herzlich willkommen, Freunde!
“Corridor Pin, Blue” is an enormous sculpture of a safety pin by Claes Oldenburg and Coosje van Bruggen. There are several of these sculptures on display in America: one is in New Orleans; the artists’ proof is in Dallas; and the one I saw stands in the Barbro Osher Sculpture Garden at the de Young Museum in San Francisco‘s Golden Gate Park. The sculpture is 21 feet (6.4 meters) tall and it is made of stainless steel and painted aluminum. The pointy end of the pin looks sharp enough to poke out a dinosaur’s eye. Good thing there are no dinosaurs roaming around Golden Gate Park. Or are there? The Tyrannosaurus rex skeleton on display at the California Academy of Sciences next door wasn’t always a skeleton. Perhaps T-Rex had impaled himself on a safety pin sculpture and that’s why his skeleton is now on permanent display!
Claes Oldenburg and Coosje van Bruggen were not only artistic collaborators but also husband and wife. They must have had so much fun deciding together what to make: “Let’s make a huge clothespin!”…”No, let’s make a big shuttlecock!”…”Why don’t we make a giant trowel today?”…”I feel the urge to make a flashlight for King Kong.”…”You know what the world needs? A massive pair of binoculars!” Their “Binoculars” sculpture anchors the Chiat/Day Building in Los Angeles designed by Canadian architect Frank Gehry. Coosje van Bruggen met Frank Gehry when they both served as adjudicators at Documenta, a contemporary art show in Kassel, Germany. Arne, my first friend in L.A., is from Kassel. In May, Arne gave me and Scott a grand tour of Kassel after we rendezvoused in Helsa. Yes, I share my name with a suburb of Kassel!
I took this photo of “Corridor Pin, Blue” last Sunday, just after a kind stranger had taken a group shot of me, Scott, Mama Chow, my Uncle Jeff, and my Auntie Lynne. We were in S.F. for a short but sweet family reunion: Jeff and Lynne live in Australia; Mama Chow lives in Canada; Scott now lives near Berkeley; and I live in L.A. Earlier that day, I had run 10 miles along the trails of Golden Gate Park while my family had wandered through the park’s Japanese Tea Garden and Conservatory of Flowers. It was a perfect day, really.
Yesterday, I had lunch with two German colleagues and the conversation shifted to the topic of fungus as Christopher described his brother’s research to me and Eva. At one point, Christopher couldn’t find the word he wanted to say in English, so Eva prompted him in German and he responded in kind. All I heard was “German German German FUNGUS German German”. This happens to me quite often, and not only at work. Earlier this week, I accepted an invitation to Skype with my German friends Julia and Eberhard tomorrow morning. They seem to forget sometimes that I’m not German as I had to run part of their email through Google Translate to understand it.
I took this photo of fungus growing along the Santa Ynez Canyon Trail in Topanga State Park a week before last Christmas. My Canadian friend Lisa inspired the shot as she had once told me that she wanted to capture a wild mushroom’s point of view in a photo. To me, this juicy cluster of Armillaria solidipes resembles a Smurf village, or Schlumpfdorf as my German friends would say!
In bookstores, I pick up books at random and flip them open to see what phrases move me. A copy of Damn Good Advice (For People with Talent!): How To Unleash Your Creative Potential by George Lois recently caught my eye. Lois bills himself as “America’s Master Communicator”. I was curious yet skeptical. However, he had me at bon mot 113. “Extoll your Mentors.” This post is dedicated to three of my mentors: Bob Lank, Sandy Thornton-Trump, and Ron Vermette.
In the past four months, I have: quit a job; traveled with Scott to Italy, Germany, and France; renewed many friendships; visited Mama Chow in Canada; started a new job; and helped Scott move to Berkeley, where he will be working for the coming year. A major catalyst for this frenetic cycle of good fortune is my mentor, Bob Lank. When I lacked the confidence to leave my job for the unknown, Bob advised me to take a leap of faith. He declared, “Helsa, this year is going to be about betting on yourself.” I heeded his counsel and traveled to Venice, where Scott was attending a conference; I took this photo of the Basilica Cattedrale Patriarcale di San Marco as Scott and I walked to Harry’s Bar for dinner one evening. Bob was assigned to be my mentor during my second year of business school. Over the years, Bob has coached me through several professional and personal transitions. He has become my confidante and my friend. He and his wife were guests at our Chinese wedding banquet; Scott and I have been guests at their Sunday dinners. Now that we live 2,200 miles (3,500 km) apart, it’s difficult for us to meet for dinner but Bob always has a few words of wisdom for me each time I contemplate a job offer or move to a new city.
Sandy Thornton-Trump was a Professor of Mechanical Engineering at my alma mater. I don’t remember how we met. I do remember the hours we spent talking in his office as I transcribed his lectures on Automotive Design, typed his correspondence, and tidied his desk. He was visually impaired, so he needed an extra set of eyes to stay organized at work. Even though he was blind, he could see that I felt a bit lost at the time. He was generous with his sympathy. Before and after I graduated from engineering school, we would meet for lunch at the Faculty Club to gossip and puzzle over the small intrigues of our lives. We shared sorrow and joy: he and his wife helped me to cope with my father’s death; I had the pleasure of meeting their little grandson; they vetted and approved of Scott. The final time I saw Sandy was soon after my honeymoon. Scott’s parents had hosted a reception on their farm to celebrate our marriage but Sandy and his wife had declined to attend. I paid Sandy a visit and sadly found him in ill-health. He passed away three months after our visit.
Ron Vermette was my teacher in Grade 3. Mr. V made learning fun for me. More importantly, he proved that it’s possible to do great work and remain true to oneself: his long hair, Chuck Taylors, Winnipeg Jets jersey, convertible, and proficiency at air guitar were incidental to his talent for opening minds to new ideas. He shook up my eight-year-old reverence for orthodoxy and for that I remain grateful. He taught me how to tie-dye fabric, tool copper, and mold plaster of Paris. I still enjoy getting my hands dirty to learn something new. He used to print math exercises on top of cartoon characters, so that his students could colour in the cartoons as they learned to add and subtract. I still have a collection of booklets that I wrote and illustrated in his class – he had taught me how to sew the pages together. A couple of years ago, I wrote Mr. V and asked him if he had continued to play floor hockey, build reading caves, and make art with his students. He responded to my note and I was happy to learn that after 33 years of teaching, he was still having fun. He still plays floor hockey once a week and he still has a reading cave in his classroom. He still has long hair but has “traded in the hot car for a Jeep“. Mr. V plans to retire next year. Before he retires, I will send him another note.
This week, we enjoyed a brief visit from my Australian friend Penny and her younger brother Ian. Ian had backpacked his way around the world for several months before he visited Penny and her “registered partner NOT husband” Chris in the Bay Area. Los Angeles was Ian’s final pit stop before he flew back to Australia on Wednesday night.
Penny had chauffeured Ian from the Bay Area to Las Vegas for two days of gambling before they arrived on our doorstep Tuesday evening, bearing gifts of 99 Ranch Chinese roast duck, Sun Tropics mango passionfruit juice, and a Cuisinart immersion blender! Penny and I used to shop at the 99 Ranch in Mountain View on Thursdays after volunteering with Habitat for Humanity Silicon Valley. Chinese roast duck was and remains a treat, but cartons of Sun Tropics juice were staples in our fridge back then! We inherited the blender from our German friends Julia and Eberhard, who are moving from Menlo Park to Hamburg next month. To repay Julia and Eberhard’s kindness, I sent Penny home with a small framed print of Death Valley Desert Gold for them, as they had visited Death Valley over Christmas. To repay Penny’s kindness, we enjoyed comfort food together at the Nickel Diner in downtown L.A. and Tender Greens in Santa Monica.
Penny’s kindness manifests itself in countless ways. She pours love into the meals she cooks for her friends and family. She makes my long commute bearable by Skyping with me once a week as I inch along the freeway. And despite her occasional tantrums when I’ve taken “too many” photos during a hike or party, she encourages my photography. She arranged for Ellen and Mike, the proprietors of Mike’s Cafes, to display my work at their Palo Alto restaurant for three months this past summer. This is a photo of my prints on display at the restaurant. Scott hung the frames; he did an excellent job. If you scan the mirrored wall closely, you will see the reflection of Penny chatting with Mike.
Today, I decided to treat myself to a new book from Bookmarc. Bookmarc is the Marc Jacobs brand extension / bookstore on Melrose Place in West Hollywood. I bought On Paris, a selection of articles written by Ernest Hemingway between 1920 and 1924 for The Toronto Star. I had no idea that Ernest Hemingway was once a foreign correspondent for The Toronto Star! This is the magic of Bookmarc: it’s small and well-curated. Usually, I enjoy the serendipity and thrift of discovering old favourites and new treasures among stacks of haphazardly catalogued used books at Know Knew Books in Palo Alto, Bart’s Books in Ojai, or The Last Bookstore in DTLA. However, I also enjoy the luxury of being the first person to thumb through the heavy pages of an art book or the deckle-edge pages of a novel.
I took this photo of Bookmarc in March 2011, when it was warm and sunny outside. That day, I bought The Dud Avocado by Elaine Dundy. Books I own tend to languish on the shelf for months until I’m ready to read them. I finished reading The Dud Avocado recently. Similar to On Paris, The Dud Avocado offers an American perspective about living in post-war Paris. Different from On Paris (which is non-fiction and written after the First World War), The Dud Avocado is juicy, thinly-veiled fiction set after the Second World War – I highly recommend it for the title alone!
On a whim, I bought presents for Scott and my Canadian friend Dave. (Dave, thank you for asking me about my birthday when we spoke on the phone today. I’m sorry I forgot to ask you about yours; please enjoy the book I’m sending to you, Debbie, and Mika in Toronto!) Mark, the clerk, offered to check the storage area for pristine copies of the books I chose and then wrapped them so beautifully I was afraid to leave the store with them as it was raining outside. While I waited for the rain to stop, I flipped through a copy of Ron Galella: Exclusive Diary. Ron Galella takes old-school paparazzi photographs of glamorous people. Many of the photos in the book were taken in Hollywood, just a couple miles east of Bookmarc.
Last night, we watched the moonrise over Los Angeles from Mount Wilson with our friends Orison and Maria. During the day, we had toured the Mount Wilson Observatory and hiked part of the Rim Trail together. It had been a clear day, so we could see the ocean from our perch 5,700 ft (1,737 m) above sea level. Acclimating to high altitudes is good practice for Orison and Maria, as they are getting married in Lima (elevation: 5,079 ft = 1,548 m) over the new year – congratulations and best wishes!
Steve Jobs died today. Many people will remember Steve Jobs for how he revolutionized the way we create, convey, and consume cultural content. As much as I admire his professional accomplishments, I will remember him most for his front yard: I took this snapshot of poppies growing in his front yard when I walked past his house for the first time in June 2009 with my German friend Manuela. At the time, we didn’t know that the property belonged to him and his family. All I knew for certain was that a subversive with excellent taste lived there – someone who dared to forgo a manicured lawn in favour of a wildly whimsical field of poppies. Someone who dared to stay hungry and stay foolish.
Last week, I had commented on Facebook that I’ve lost all perspective since moving to downtown L.A. My Thursday night commute was rainy, so I was worried about driving 40 miles along a wet and slippery 101. Once I exited the freeway, I dreaded the nightly obstacle course of hipsters and homeless who jay-walk across the street that leads to our loft. But the street was empty – in place of pedestrians, I found police barricades blocking access to our street. I detoured around several one-way streets before pulling into our parking lot. Too tired after a long day to muster up any concern or curiosity, all I felt was mild annoyance when Lino, our parking attendant, grimly informed me that a manhunt was underway after a robbery, stabbing, and shooting down the block in the Jewelry District. Lino chided me for living in such a dangerous neighbourhood (he lives in Burbank) as he gallantly escorted me into my building.
On Saturday afternoon, I shopped in the Jewelry District with Maria, my Swedish friend who lives in Pasadena. She and her Peruvian fiancé Orison are traveling to Sweden in a couple of weeks to visit her family so she wanted to buy some presents for her mother. In St. Vincent’s Jewelry Center, I introduced Maria to the proprietors of Easigo Gem and Jewelry Exporters; they sell $5 strands of gemstone beads which are fun to string into necklaces. Maria bought herself a lovely string of garnets.
Last May, I took this photo of Easigo’s counter piled high with necklaces-to-be as my Austrian friends Eleonore and Monika weighed down their purses with bags of the colourful stones. That day, I bought myself some garnets. They’re red and juicy-looking, like the pomergranate seeds which garnish the hummus and tabbouleh served in cafés outside St. Vincent’s Jewelry Center.
A couple of weeks ago, Scott met my flight at LAX after I flew “home” from Canada. “Home” has become an abstraction for us and many of our friends. “Home” is not necessarily a house, it’s not where we keep our stuff, and it’s somewhat exclusive of where we pay tax. In the kitchen of our loft in downtown L.A., I’ve hung two photos of the little house we own in Canada. When we first moved to America, I worried about our tenants painting our old bedroom pink. Now, I’m satisfied when our tenants send us a cheque each month. My Canadian brothers-in-law are saints: their basement in Toronto is filled with our belongings. Back in the day, American colonists cried, “No taxation without representation!” to express their resentment over being taxed by the British parliament. We happen to pay tax both in Canada and in America. Although it’s frustrating to pay tax to the Canada Revenue Agency, at least we can vote in Canadian elections. We pay state and federal tax in the U.S., but we don’t have a say in how this money is spent as we aren’t able to vote in American elections. But I digress…
We go “home” to visit family and old friends in the country that issues our passports. And then we go “home” to our spouses or partners in the country where we work and live. If we’re lucky, our spouse will meet our flight and, broken elevator be damned, carry our heavy suitcase up six flights of stairs to the car. I set up my tripod and camera on the roof of the LAX parkade to take this photo of the Theme Building.
The flying saucer-shaped Theme Building at LAX was designed by architects James Langenheim of Pereira & Luckman, Paul R. Williams, Welton Becket, and Robert Herrick Carter. Construction of this mid-century design icon in 1961 cost $2.2 million. The spidery legs of the 135 ft (41 m) high parabolic arches are made out of steel-reinforced concrete, and the crossed arches are a hollow stucco-covered steel truss. The building is now home to the Encounter Restaurant and its observation deck now offers free admission to the public on weekends.
Earlier this summer, we trolled the Venice Beach Boardwalk looking for a famous busker named Harry Perry as our Canadian musician friends Jason and Kelly were keen to meet him. Harry Perry’s electric guitar, in-line skates, and Sikh turban make him pretty easy to spot in a crowd. He was performing near the north end of Ocean Front Walk when we found him. We listened to Harry sing several trippy songs about science fiction and Jason, who’s a jazz guitarist, admired Harry’s chops.
Last month, Scott and I re-traced our steps along the boardwalk with my cheeky Australian aunt and uncle. They were hunting for tacky souvenirs so we wandered through head shops and T-shirt stalls searching for counter-culture artifacts that would scandalize their children. Halfway up the promenade, we ran into Harry Perry. He was in the middle of a song, so I took a photo of him as I waited for a chance to talk with him. Once he finished his song, he posed for a couple of photos with his fans, sold some T-shirts and CDs, and offered positive affirmations to passersby.
We made eye contact so I asked him how his running was going; I had read that he runs 20 miles each day. He told me that he had completed a marathon recently and is planning to do a couple more races this year. He’s 59-years-old and he’s in incredible shape!
The Hollywood Forever Cemetery is a unique setting to watch a film on a Saturday night. Cinespia is in its tenth season of transforming this famous cemetery into a moonlit cinema. Last weekend, we watched “The Sting” (1973) with 3,000 other movie lovers and the spirits of screen legends interred nearby.
In the daytime, the cemetery is popular with tourists who want to commune with dead celebs such as Looney Tunes voice actor Mel Blanc; producer Cecil B. DeMille; actor Douglas Fairbanks Sr.; “Golden Girl” Estelle Getty; philanthropist Griffith J. Griffith; guitarist Johnny Ramone; gangster Bugsy Siegel; and actress Fay Wray. Hollywood Forever is bordered by strip malls and car repair garages so its glamour is a bit frayed at the edges.
As the sun set, we enjoyed a picnic with our Canadian friends Ethan and Zarene on the grass beside the mausoleum which holds Rudolph Valentino’s tomb. The lawn was cool and damp so we sat on an unzipped sleeping bag as we dug into stromboli, salad, corn on the cob, and cake. The group next to us huddled around a tablecloth covered in tea lights, so we were in fine company dining al fresco. DJs Hair and Carlos Niño spun Bob Dylan and Portishead to keep the crowd feeling groovy. Most smokers were kind enough to congregate near the porta-potties next to a field of parked cars. Scott was smart to pack our camping headlamps so that we could find our way in the dark.
Just after sunset, “The Sting” was projected onto the side of Valentino’s mausoleum. “The Sting” stars Robert Redford and the late Paul Newman as Depression-era grifters who con a mob boss out of half a million dollars. The film won seven Academy Awards including Best Picture and Best Director in 1974. It’s fun and exciting to watch – such a crowd-pleaser!
Last week, “Mad Men” was filming an episode a couple blocks from our loft in downtown L.A. As I waited to meet Jon Hamm (who plays Don Draper on the series), I took this photo of his co-star Jared Harris (who plays Lane Pryce, Don Draper’s former British overlord / new business partner). The crew member I was speaking with as I snapped this shot was surprised that the British actor has fans in America.
One of my favourite retail haunts in L.A. is Amoeba Music. Amoeba Music is the world’s largest independent record store: new and used vinyl, CDs, DVDs, posters, T-shirts… it’s all there. Our French friends Aude and Adrien brought us to the Haight-Ashbury store in San Francisco last summer and when we moved to L.A. last fall, I was eager to explore the Hollywood store on Sunset Blvd. The original store is still open on Telegraph St. in Berkeley.
Recently, I bought a used DVD of “The Rachel Papers” (1989) at Amoeba Music. I was excited to find it as I had seen the film once on late-night TV in the early 1990s. I had liked the film enough to read the novel, which is by Martin Amis. Scott watched the film with me and we’re sorry to report it hasn’t aged well despite its interesting cast: Ione Skye, Jonathan Pryce, James Spader, and you guessed it, Jared Harris. Although Jared Harris once lamented on NPR that being a chameleon-like actor is “good for the craft; crap for the career” and that “in this country, a good actor is confused with a famous actor”, we recognized him right away and are happy that he’s still a good actor and now a famous one, too.
“I found my love in Avalon beside the bay / I left my love in Avalon and sailed away…” Unlike Nat King Cole, I lost my love near Avalon this past weekend.
On Sunday, I took a wrong turn near the end of our hike on Catalina Island. That morning, we had taken a bus from Avalon up to the Airport in the Sky which is located 1,602 ft (488 m) above sea level. After a delicious picnic with our French friends Aude and Adrien, we hiked five miles before hopping on a bus headed towards Avalon. Along the way, we saw several bison. Bison aren’t endemic to the area: fourteen bison were brought to Catalina in 1924 during the filming of Zane Grey’s “The Vanishing American” (1925). After shooting wrapped, the bison were set free to roam and propagate on the island. Before the Catalina Island Conservancy thinned the herd to its current count of 150 to 200 animals, there were as many as 600 big brown beasts dotting the island’s grassy hills.
Two miles from Avalon, we got off the bus so that we could walk under the eucalyptus trees which line Stagecoach Road. We were on the outskirts of town when I lagged behind (again) to take photos. Scott, Aude and Adrien kept walking as they assumed that I would eventually catch up with them. This had been our routine all afternoon. Unfortunately, I assumed that Scott had taken a staircase carved into the hill between two houses, which was a more adventurous path than sticking to the main road. After I descended the staircase and walked for a bit, I realized that my party was nowhere in sight. By then, I couldn’t find the staircase again, so the best thing I could do was walk through Avalon back to our campsite at Hermit Gulch. Fortunately, Scott and our friends returned to our campsite as well once they realized I had taken a wrong turn and wandered away. I’m sorry my stupidity caused them to worry and I’m happy we weren’t apart for long. We cleaned up and went for a satisfying dinner at The Lobster Trap in Avalon: the cioppino is excellent.
Ironically, I was in a similar situation two years ago when I hiked the Manly to Spit Bridge Scenic Walkway near Sydney, Australia with Mama Chow. During that hike, I was the one who had walked ahead on the trail and she was the one who had lagged behind to take photos. Neither of us realized that there was a fork in the trail (it wasn’t on the map). We took different paths and because hers turned out to be a shortcut, she ended up a mile ahead of me: hikers I met on the trail told me that they had seen a small Asian woman with a big hat and that I needed to run if I was to catch up to her! We were very relieved to find each other. We finished the hike, took a taxi back to Sydney, and celebrated our final night in Australia by going out for sushi.
The Bronson Caves in Griffith Park are best known as the Bat Cave where Batman and Robin parked the Batmobile in the 1960s when they weren’t busy saving the day in Gotham City. The Caves were once part of a quarry which produced crushed rock used to pave streets in nearby Hollywood a century ago. If you drive north on N. Bronson Avenue into Griffith Park, the road will lead you to a parking lot near the Caves. If you drive south on N. Bronson Avenue to Melrose Avenue, it will lead you to the Bronson Gate of Paramount Pictures. In 1954, an actor named Charles Buchinsky took his stage name from this Gate. You might know and love him as “classic tough guy” Charles Bronson, star of “The Magnificent Seven” (1960), “The Great Escape” (1963), and “The Dirty Dozen” (1967).
Last weekend, we explored the Bronson Caves with our Austrian friends Eleonore and Florian. We found ourselves in the middle of an indie Sci-Fi Fantasy film set. Cars parked on the dirt road leading up to the Caves displayed dashboard permits with the word “Hirokin” on them, so watch out for “Hirokin“: it’s coming soon to a theatre near you. We walked into a cave and found a giant plaster obelisk, fake boulders, and a member of the crew moving lights and cables around in the dark. Beyond this cave, there was a tent village. Actors dressed in linen tunics walked past a green screen to buy lunch at a snack truck parked in a makeshift lot. On Mt. Lee a mile (1.6 km) away, the Hollywood Sign shone like a beacon over the set, a silent reminder to those toiling in the heat of what dreams may come: fame, fortune, a percentage of the box-office…
Last night, we celebrated America’s 234th birthday by watching the Independence Day fireworks over the Rose Bowl from Ethan and Zarene’s roof in Pasadena. Our Canadian friends had made us an excellent dinner: homemade chicken burgers dressed with the tastiest guacamole I’ve had in a long time, and seafood pasta salad. Dessert (brownies, strawberries, and champagne mangoes) was just minutes away when I took this photo. Most of my photos were blurry, but the last one I took turned out really nicely.
Today, Canada celebrates its 143rd birthday. Tonight, we will offer a toast to our homeland with Eleonore and Florian, friends from Austria via Stanford!
Last year, we spent U.S. Thanksgiving weekend in Joshua Tree National Park with our German friends Manu, Micha, and Arne. Mindful of the holiday’s significance, we were grateful for our brief time together as Manu and Micha had driven six hours from Stanford to visit us in L.A. and Arne would be returning to Germany before Christmas.
Micha drove us to his favourite spot in Joshua Tree to watch sunsets. We like to tease Micha about his greatest love: sunsets, National Parks, or Manu? (Micha knows the correct answer: Manu!) After he parked the car, we followed him through the White Tank Campground to his “secret” lookout among the boulders.
As I trudged up a hill, I heard people call my name. I looked up and saw Cristina, Christian, Julia, and Eberhard. More Germans from Stanford! Mutual friends had told them that we would be in the Park, but we had no idea of their travel plans. It was a lovely coincidence that we could enjoy the sunset together.
The sun seemed to sense it was a special occasion. It set the sky on fire before extinguishing below the horizon.
On Sunday, we went hiking in the hills above Los Angeles with our Swedish friends Anna, Mikael, and Saga. We wandered into this private residence after we saw an “Estate Sale” sign leaning against a chair on the driveway. The house looked forlorn and the garden was unkempt in contrast to its manicured neighbours. The door was open so we walked inside. We stepped into a large drawing room replete with wood-beamed ceilings, elaborate tilework, a mezzanine and a huge stone fireplace. Where the pale blue plaster had fallen off the walls, we could see dark wood laths.
We were admiring the home’s Spanish Colonial Revival architecture when we were greeted by an old man. He explained that his mother had passed away recently and that he was selling her things to finance some much-needed home repairs. His family had built the home in the 1920s and had lived in it since then so it is filled with over 80 years of happy memories. When the man told us he lived in a suite of rooms upstairs, I was embarrassed that I had taken pictures of his home without asking his permission. I realized he didn’t mind when he winked at me as he welcomed us to take a closer look. We thanked the man for opening his home to us and continued on our hike.
I took this picture of a snail nestled inside a rose at the Bowers Museum in Santa Ana on Mother’s Day. Ethan, Zarene, and I had just spent the afternoon at the Museum’s “Secrets of the Silk Road” exhibit, where Caucasian mummies which had been buried in the Tarin Basin of western China for the past 3,800 years were on display. One of the mummies we saw is valued for her great beauty. Archaeologists have crowned her “The Beauty of Xiaohe“.
When I was a little kid, my dad gave me a large hardcover edition of Hans Christian Andersen’s Fairy Tales. In “The Snail and The Rosebush“, a snail and rose challenge each other about their respective roles in the universe. The snail fancies himself a philosopher: he criticizes the rose for coasting through life on her looks without contemplation. The rose claims that her beauty is a gift she did not ask for; her beauty gives pleasure to those around her and that in turn gives her life meaning. The rose then suggests to the snail that his mind is a greater gift than her beauty and asks how he will share his gift. The snail expresses his contempt for the world and retreats to his shell, presumably to think deep thoughts. Eventually, both the snail and the rose die and are replaced with other snails and roses. The story ends with the question, “Shall we read this story all over again? It will never be different.” Indeed. I wonder if “The Beauty of Xiaohe” was revered for her mind or her beauty when she was alive?
Tom, who owns The Barn Woodshop in Menlo Park, noticed me lurking in the bushes with my camera during my first visit to the Allied Arts Guild in March 2009. He invited me to look around the Barn once I was finished shooting flowers in the garden.
The Barn is 125 years old, and has housed a Woodshop for the past 81 years. In the Barn, Tom gave me a pin to mark my hometown on a world map he uses to track visitors. Tom traveled around the world before returning to his family’s business of building and restoring heirloom-quality furniture. He likes not knowing who will come through the door of his Woodshop each day. Once, he repaired some furniture for Shirley Temple; she still lives nearby in Woodside. These days, Tom works on a steady stream of commissions from Stanford faculty and Silicon Valley honchos who trust him to restore their treasures with sensitivity and integrity. When I told Tom about my hobby of re-finishing discarded tables and chairs, he offered to teach me how to cane chairs. I didn’t accept his offer right away, even though Scott encouraged me to give it a try. Now I’m really glad I did as Tom taught me how to weave cane and replace torn sheet cane. These skills may come in handy the next time I find a broken chair on the sidewalk! Before we moved to L.A. last fall, Tom fixed a pair of rosewood chairs that I had inherited from my grandfather. Now, I visit Tom every time I’m in town.
Last weekend, we visited friends in Palo Alto, Menlo Park, and San Francisco. At the Guild, I renewed my contract with the Artisan Shop to consign prints of my photos and accepted Tom’s offer of display space for my photos in the Barn’s new showroom.
Allied Arts Guild is an artists guild in Menlo Park where Ansel Adams once maintained a studio. Prints of my photos are sold at the Guild in the Artisan Shop and The Barn Woodshop. Since 1929, the Guild has provided an inspiring environment for working artists, beautiful gardens and shops for visitors, and support for critically-ill children at Stanford’s Lucile Packard Children’s Hospital.
When I first moved to the Bay Area, I booked a string of “blind dates” with people who had graduated from the same schools I did in Canada. I met Grace, a fellow alumna of the Rotman School of Management at the University of Toronto, over coffee in March 2009. We had such a nice time that we arranged to meet again at one of her favourite haunts: Allied Arts Guild. We had lunch at the Guild and stayed all afternoon to smell the roses.
In January 2010, I decided to start selling prints of my photos. Although we live along Gallery Row in L.A., I considered the Guild a better place to try my luck. I called the Artisan Shop and introduced myself to the manager to see if she would help me make good on my new years resolution. We arranged to meet the following weekend. She looked over my work with her assistant and chose several framed prints to display in the Shop. I sold my first print that week: a picture of the Berkeley Campanile which I had taken after meeting another Rotman alumna over lunch at UC Berkeley. In March, our friends Maricki and Castaña visited us in L.A.; I enlisted their help to deliver more of my prints to the Shop. Now, I deliver prints to the Guild whenever I’m in town.
A couple of weeks ago, I was having lunch with my mom on the Tsawwassen – Swartz Bay ferry when we sailed past these clouds. I stopped eating and ran onto the deck with my camera. In L.A., the sun melts clouds away so I was very happy to see these “ice cream castles in the air / And feather canyons everywhere”. Joni Mitchell, I could drink a case of you!
We were on our way to visit old friends in Victoria, former Winnipeggers who now live on the Island. I was excited to see Terry and Bob, who were newlyweds when they first moved into the house across the street from my childhood home in Waverley Heights. My parents would occasionally send me across the street to visit Terry and Bob, who knew how to entertain me: the crawl space in their basement was filled with toys and books so that young visitors always felt welcome. As I enjoyed doing menial tasks, they would give me piles of receipts to sort before tax season. I amused their accountant by drawing cars on the envelope which held their car expenses. Each Christmas, we would dip cherries, nuts, and caramel in melted chocolate before placing them on cookie sheets to harden outside on the snow-covered deck in their backyard. Terry and Bob liked having a kid around enough to have Spencer, who is now fourteen. He is such a nice kid. Terry likes to tell the story of why she calls Spencer “the kid”: my dad used to refer to me as “the kid” whenever they talked, so once Spencer came along it seemed natural for her to call him “the kid” too.
I had renewed my friendship with Terry and Bob when I was first engaged to be married, but my mom had not seen them since my dad passed away ten years ago. Being kindred spirits, we picked up where we had left off and reminisced about my dad’s endearing eccentricities. He used to scour garage sales for tools he already owned so that he could lend tools to neighbours without worrying about them ever being returned. For fun, he cut a sunroof into a car once. He and Bob would disappear into our basement and listen to Mahler or Bruckner symphonies with the volume cranked so high that heavy furniture on the main floor would shake. My dad was an audiophile who built his own speakers: we owned the first CD player on our block in the mid 1980’s. It was a Philips.
Terry had given me and Scott “The Artist’s Way” and “The Joy of Cooking” as wedding presents. “The Artist’s Way” had influenced her career as an artist so I understood why she wanted me to have my own copy. Scott and I had assumed that she chose “The Joy of Cooking” as a handy reference guide for us newlyweds. It wasn’t until she showed me her hardcover edition of the cookbook in Victoria that I understood its significance: on the first page my dad had signed his name in Chinese and in English, and stamped his old address at St. John’s College. Terry had bought my parents’ copy of “The Joy of Cooking” at our garage sale years ago. As we sat in Terry’s kitchen, my mom confided that she had received the book as a wedding present, but had decided to sell it before we moved out of Waverley Heights when I was fourteen. Whenever we had guests for dinner, my dad would cook so my mom didn’t feel the need to hang onto the book. It looks well-used and I’m glad it has such a good home.
We had a lovely visit.
I was waiting for my friend Kathryn to meet me in Yaletown for dinner at Provence during my first night in Vancouver when I took this photo of condo balconies as reflected in False Creek. The cloudy day was fading fast without a sunset to light up the early night. As The Weakerthans played in my head, I watched people kayaking through the creek, walking their dogs, and running along the water: “Between the sunset and certified darkness / Dusk comes on and I follow the exhaust from memory up to the end / The civil twilight.”
Last week, I looked up as I walked past the Million Dollar Theater at 307 S. Broadway in downtown L.A. Although I was rushing towards the Bradbury Building, where my Austrian friends Eleonore and Monika were waiting for me, I slowed down long enough to shoot the Theater’s 3rd St. facade. It is absolutely stunning.
In 1918, Sid Grauman built his first movie house, which became known as the Million Dollar Theater due to its lavish construction budget. A century ago, Broadway was the center of L.A.’s nightlife, before subsequent Grauman properties such as the landmark Chinese Theater shifted the city’s entertainment district north to Hollywood. The once-glamorous movie palaces that still stand along Broadway resemble a chorus line of showgirls past their prime, their expressions vacant yet expectant. Efforts to revive the district are ongoing, yet the local arbiters of nostalgic fauxhemia seem stuck in the 1980’s: acid-washed denim is ripe for a revival if window displays in neighbourhood vintage clothing shops are bellwethers of the fashion industry (and they are).
Once a year, the L.A. Conservancy hosts “Last Remaining Seats“, a classic film festival that draws audiences into these neglected cinemas. It is an opportunity for us to appreciate downtown L.A.’s historical significance and support the conservation of these architectural gems.
At brunch today with our friends Mariana and Michael, we traded stories about travel plans gone awry. Our tale of sleeping in a tiny rental car at Milan’s Malpensa airport on the final night of our honeymoon was totally eclipsed by their account of lurching through the Andes on an all-night bus ride prior to hiking Machu Picchu. All this reminiscing led me to look through our honeymoon photos tonight.
We had received our first digital camera as a wedding present from my mom, so it’s evident in the photos that I was learning how to use the Canon S2IS as we traveled through Italy. I hadn’t been bitten by the photography bug yet, so I didn’t take as many shots per day as I do now. Still, I did take some nice pictures such as this one of Vernazza in Cinque Terre.
On February 6, 2010, I took this photo of Union Station in downtown Los Angeles. My friend Dave and his wife Debbie were visiting from Canada so Scott led us on a walking tour of our neighbourhood. We waded through the crowds along Broadway towards the Grand Central Market for shrimp ceviche tostadas: the breakfast of champions. Sated, we carried on towards dim sum in Chinatown. Along the way, we decided to wander through the Walt Disney Concert Hall as its shiny titanium exterior drew us from a block away. The hall’s interior is warm and inviting and it’s a shame that LA Philharmonic tickets are so expensive. We’ve been spoiled by the Toronto Symphony’s tsoundcheck program, which enables young music lovers to attend concerts for as little as $12.
We decided to take the Metrolink from Chinatown to Union Station as the terminal is a beautiful historic landmark. There were several photo shoots underway inside the station: brides kissing grooms; models posing; and tourists admiring the architecture. I stood behind a velvet rope and shot this empty wing as it was being transformed into a ballroom. Debbie remembered seeing several bridal parties on campus last summer when she and Dave had visited us at Stanford. I wonder where our next home will be and look forward to Dave and Debbie visiting us there.
My German friend Arne convinced me to mount my camera to his tripod before I took this photo on my birthday in 2009. We decided to drive up the coast to watch the sunset in Malibu after an afternoon of ogling antiquities at the Getty Villa. Scott sat on a rock and ate crab cakes while Arne and I took pictures of the sun disappearing into the ocean. Once it was dark, we ran across the highway to Neptune’s Net for supper.
Neptune’s Net has great reviews for its fresh seafood. I was the only one who insisted on washing my hands before digging into my shrimp cocktail. The sign next to the portable hand washing station behind the restaurant stated that the wash water wasn’t potable, but I wasn’t too concerned: I wasn’t drinking the water, just cleaning my hands. I don’t know if it was the prawns or the hand washing, but I got food poisoning later on that night. Fortunately, it was after midnight and no longer my birthday, so it wasn’t like my birthday itself was spoiled.
Arne has since returned to Germany. When he left, he gave us a tray on which he had painted all the places we had visited together. I gave him a framed print of this photo to hang in his new apartment. I hope he and his girlfriend Bianka think of me and Scott when they look at the print.
I took this photo on May 4, 2009 during my friend Lisa’s visit to the Bay Area. We walked around the grounds of Stanford Medical Center, taking photos of the flower beds while our husbands went for a beer at CoHo Tresidder. We were amazed at how flowers in California are gargantuan compared to flowers back home in Canada. We were really happy to discover that even though we haven’t lived in the same city since 2003, we continue to cultivate similar interests independently.
I met Lisa while we were both training for our first half marathon. We’ve run seven races together. Through snow, rain, wind, and sun… earning our reward of chili fries, Korean BBQ, Indian butter chicken, or pancakes… lots of great talks over great meals. I miss her. It’s time to give her a call.
Hello, my name is Helsa and I’m learning how to build a blog. This site is a work in progress, like me. I know most people launch their blogs only after they’ve spent hours crafting personal mission statements, target audience profiles, writing entries, choosing themes, and fonts, etc. After all, blogs burnish one’s personal brand, n’est-ce pas?
Friends concerned about ROI are advising me to upload my photos pronto and sell prints online, so that I can retire on the proceeds of my snapshots by the end of the fiscal year. Well, I’m more into the journey than the destination. If you’re a kindred spirit, then I hope you’ll check in occasionally to remind yourself of what we both know is true: that the world’s a beautiful place full of interesting people, places, and things. In this corner of the web, you’ll find my photos of them.
HELSA CHOW: THE WORLD AS I SEE IT 
