I keep pacing around. I find it difficult to sit down. I’ve been thinking about Los Angeles and the lost Palisades, its beautiful coastline now blackened timber sketches where buildings used to be. I am trying not to let it drive me to distraction but frankly it’s been hit and miss.
I have a vision I hold in my mind of myself riding an aquamarine beach cruiser along the beachfront at Will Rogers State Beach last March, stopping to visit with purple lupins and yellow sour grass. A smile on my face the entire ride.
Aquamarine is one of my favourite colours. That bike was waiting for me in my live/work space when I arrived at 18th Street Arts Center in Santa Monica, LA County. I took its colour as a good omen. A smile from the gods who continuously call me back to LA. (Maybe I lived there in a past life?)
Beaches are one of my all time happy places. I am from an island, after all.
Dan Kwong, a resident artist who has lived at 18th Street Arts Center for 30 years, posted this fire map showing 18th Street in relation to the fire on his intsagram. I took a screen capture.
I hiked in the Palisades and saw the wildflower superblooom. Other hikers stopped to chat and when they found I was not a local they told me how lucky I was to witness the super bloom, and they told me all about the flowers. I wore a large sun hat purchased at a local Sally Ann after sustaining a bad, blistering sunburn during further joyous biking along the Venice boardwalk and canals. (*See tangent below)
There’s a freedom I feel in LA that I only have in a few other places - Berlin comes to mind directly - it’s big and expansive. There is a singularity to it. When I am in LA, I feel at home with the legions of other oddballs and eccentrics that populate that place. It’s a city that’s called to dreamers for ages now. They showed up and stayed for the weather, among other things. Even the ones who failed to grasp the star they were reaching for.
I love Angelenos for their warmth, their diversity, their kindness to a stranger like me. I love them for their pride in their city. I love them for letting it all hang out. I love them for the Los Angeles Central Library and the myriad pleasure it brings.
I don’t even know how to drive. I exclusively use their public transit and it fuels my love to mingle with Angelenos in this way. I have had countless beautiful interactions with a cross section of locals who have been stunningly generous with me.
It breaks my heart to see you facing this destruction and loss.
LA, I could list the ways I love you for days.
Stay safe and strong.
FIRE RELIEF DONATIONS of supplies can be sent to Bike Oven, 3706 N Figueroa St, Los Angeles, CA 90065, United States
They are looking for:
feminine hygiene products
food
clothing
emergency supplies
cosmetics
pet supplies: leashes, food/water bowls, food, etc. There is currently a leash shortage in LA.
personal hygiene products (toothpaste/toothbrushes, etc.)
first aid supplies
blankets
UPDATE: Tom from 18th Street Arts Center sent me this google doc with lists of items needed and addresses where they can be dropped off or mailed.
He also sent along these google docs of Go Fund Mes assisting Displaced Black Families and this one for assisting local artists.
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*As an aside - years ago, 2014 I think, I got a bad sunburn on the single sunny day in San Francisco - I am not throwing shade, it’s just true - at Golden Gate Park, sitting in the sun, soaking up the rays and drinking delicious iced coffee with my youngest sister, Elizabeth. I looked like a boiled lobster later that afternoon, after we had flown down to LA and checked into our Inn on Venice Beach. We took a walk along the boardwalk immediately and a stranger scolded me for my sunburn. She looked me up and down - I am a pale, freckled, redhead - and bluntly exclaimed: You should know better than that!
It still makes me laugh when I think about it. I do know better, it’s true.
Another amazing and memorable interaction my sister and I had on that trip was on our way up to Dodger Stadium to see a ballgame. Elizabeth, an even paler redhead than me, was 20 years old and wearing short shorts, showing off her long, pale legs. A guy tried to sell us tickets on our way up the hill. We politely declined and after we passed him, he shouted out something that has become legend.
He said: Hey! Chicken legs! Get a tan baby! DAMN! YOU NEED A TAN!
I don’t think we reacted in the way he expected. We both simultaneously, immediately doubled over with laughter. We were so weak we fell to our knees and laughed long and hard. He just stood there shaking his head at us. It was pure gold.