Posts Tagged ‘ Sweden ’

The Jewelry District

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.

Estate Sale

 

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.

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