Plans for the day…they were few in number and all to do with food. Steam one of the sweet tamales (mexican masa roll..suffed with various fillings..I enthuse about them often in my food blog…www.aveganobsession.blogspot.com), and devour; experiment making spicy kale crisps (delish..honestly) and try the new ‘no carb, vegan’ pasta hitting the headlines over here. Other than that I got down to the challenging task of wandering around aimlessly.
Sunday brings forth much fodder for people watching so I strolled down Hillhurst Ave, where the beautiful people lunch . When I’m in America, I really do not need much to entertain me. I am as happy as Buck (oops a typo to spare your blushes)just being here. Every pixellated view that squares up in front of me is absorbing..facinating. The houses, the smell of blackcurrant in the air along the river, despite there being not one blackcurrant bush around, American accents, fashion, gardens flush with succulents, aisles of different food packaging, music playing in cafes…all new to me. I am in love. Can you tell….?
Atwater village had a farmers market going on in the Wells Fargo bank car park. It was a gathering place for Moms, Pops and strollers. A little girl was catching the sun in a purple dress with a million, shivering sequined discs. At the traffic lights I remarked to her that she looked beautiful today. ‘Everyone should dress like this on a Sunday’, I said to her Dad (a deliciously handsome, Robert Redford in his younger days, look a like). ‘Why just leave it to Sunday?’, he countered back. Nice paradigm shift! I purchased some organic kale, still damp and muddy and took it home before setting out again. When the sun is shining and I am here…staying home is not an option. I want to squeeze every moment of bliss out of the day.
Atwater Village is nestled in between the bumpy hills of rifith Park and a long mountain range to the North, dipped today, in white. Between my Spanish casa and the mountains is a hillock with a lofty cream, Modernist church and a giant cross that lights the sky at night. I found myself wandering over their to investigate. Huge ornate gates held a large sign to welcome me to the Forest Lawn memorial. The top of the hill was further than I thought, it was getting late and my toes were turning purple but I was propelled on. A little church sat beside the museum, which had closed 3 minutes earlier, my camera swung from my wrist as I walked along the wall. I was gob smacked at what I read on the wall. The church was a replica and an homage to Rudyard Kipling’s place of worship Rottingdean, East Sussex…a spit away from where I live! I was charmed by this. If and Recessional…RK’s poems carved the stone walls. I burst forth my excitement uninvited to a heavyset guy with a camera swinging around his neck. I had to share the moment. I apologised for my eager rant. He politely replied that he had been, ‘a happy recipient’.
Despite my freezing toes I made my way happily down the path to the gates thinking what a peaceful place for the departed to rest and it would be challenge my previous choice to a position under an apple tree in an orchard in Sussex.
Just as I rounded the corner to my street I spotted two ment with the trunks of their cars agape. Their were exchanging carrier bags of what looked like large yellow balls. When I got closer I saw that the bags had GIANT lemons in them. I walked over, effusing surprise as I went, and (uninvited) plunged my hands into one of the guys bags. ‘Oh my God, are these lemons?’, he nodded (my Spanish being non existent we us gestures to converse). I laughed and went to move away and he pressed the lemon into my hand then stepped away. ‘Are you serious?’. He nodded and beamed at me again. I’ve yet to expose its flesh but it will enliven my morning beverage tomorrow.
To most, this may seem a day that would not be their choosing but to me….I am GRATEFUL for every magic second of it.