Bonnie Hawthorne

I’ve been spending a lot of time looking at, talking to and in general being in love with the Camellia tree right outside my front door. Oh, and of course taking pictures of it.

This was during the full moon the other night. It was about a 30 second exposure. Long enough for a helicopter to do a U-turn over Montrose (that’s the circle in the sky.)

We had yet another big rain . Yeah, I know. This is a very traditional shot. But pretty, nonetheless.

My friend Mark said he likes the way Camellias drop whole flowers. I agree. Makes for a treacherous sidewalk, though.

Admittedly, this is probably funniest to the parties involved, i.e. Plant Whisperer Rebecca Pontius and me, but if you’re susceptible to contagious laughter (as I am, obviously) then enjoy!

UPDATE: Because several people have asked, yes, that is me laughing and doing the terrible camerawork and keeping poor Rebecca from delivering a better performance. And no, this is not what I would consider to be an example of my “professional” editing work. And yes, that guy was a stranger who happened by on his bike and couldn’t resist making a flower talk. Who could?

Technically, it’s not Spring until late March, but California is always a step ahead, right? Why, at this rate, we may be the first state to declare bankruptcy! But let’s not dwell on such troubles when there are pretty things blooming outside. The trees are still dormant, but this is the greenest pre-spring I’ve seen in a long time. ¡Viva El Niño!

Last Valentine’s day, a heartbroken friend and I ended up in a dive bar in the valley. We tried to make the evening festive by putting umbrellas in our drinks—even though he was drinking Bushmills and I red wine. The bartender had also made an attempt by decorating the place, coming in early to hang the hearts and streamers. The result was sad, like an old man in lipstick and eye shadow.

Anyway, this sign, on the men’s room door, goes out to all my fellow single friends on this most made up of holidays. May you be immune to all the Kay’s Jewelers and Hallmark ads on TV, may you not be surrounded by overly gushy couples—and by all means buy yourself a box of chocolates from See’s Candies.

XXOO

What. It’s an empty field.

Exactly!

This is the field I like to go to for outdoor exercise. Usually there are dads with buckets of balls pitching to boys who haven’t learned how to hit straight, ergo lots of foul balls endangering anyone on the track. I love to see the father/son batting practice (even more so the rare father/daughter action) but it’s nice, once a year, to have the place alllllll to myself.

They’ve installed bike racks in place of the old mailbox at the library. Hey, fine with me!

The “Four Storms of the Apocalypse” have cleared, leaving memories of unusual weather (a tornado in Ventura??? NINE INCHES of rain in my neighborhood???) some dramatic driving moments (hydroplaning! wheeeee!) and a dusting of snow on the burned mountains—which, for the most part, managed to stay put. Suddenly, the hills are green, the sky is blue and life is good. It’ll be spring any minute now.

P.S. that ‘think blue” is a sign on the hill near Dodger Stadium, not a subliminal message.

Update Feb. 07, 2010

OK maybe “so it ends” was overly optimistic. Storm #5 kicked ass.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6EcBxYLxymw&feature=player_embedded

The storm that all the news channels have been breathlessly predicting arrived last night. I had an appointment with my amazing dentist, Dr. Mark Jamison, this morning in Beverly Hills, so I had to venture out in it. All morning, I’d heard sirens from every direction so was ready for the worst on the freeways. Luckily because it’s Martin Luther King Day (I hate “MLK”—he wasn’t a fast food franchise) traffic was not bad. I hydroplaned a little on the 2, but the time I got to the 10, I barely needed my wipers.

Coming back up the hill was another story.

Let’s just say that on days like this, I’m glad I have all-wheel drive. There’s an inch of streaming water running down all of the roads, with deep puddles in the intersections. And because of last summer’s Station fire, there’s an awful lot of mud.

People in my area now know that these white barricades are called “K-rails.”

The smell of ashy mud is pretty overwhelming. Much like a doused campfire x1000

Hard to tell from this photo, but this is mostly mud. This was taken on the site dedicated to the people who died in the 1934 New Year’s Day flood, which followed the November 1933 Pickens fire. That flood and mud flow was the reason they put in these dandy washes and a bunch of catch basins that look like big sink drains. Fingers crossed that the catch basins don’t clog and that at least some of this storm heads down the hill.

Here’s a super cool photo after the 1934 disaster:

http://www.latimes.com/news/local/la-me-then25-2009jan25-pg,0,827747.photogallery

and a lil history

http://articles.latimes.com/2009/jan/25/local/me-then25

Last night, after a day in front of the computer, I decided to take a walk to buy some milk and mail a letter. It seemed like a pleasant thing to do on a Wednesday night. The air was brisk, the sky was clear, the stars were bright. Apart from a devastating earthquake in Haiti and the continuing Leno vs. O’Brien saga, all was right with the world.

I first walked to my neighborhood 7-11. I’d vaguely remembered a mailbox being there, but couldn’t find one. Oh well.

After that, I headed to a busy corner where I am sure I have mailed letters. I remembered the familiar big blue box as being on the NE corner, a few feet down from the bus stop. The streetlights aren’t great, so it wasn’t until after I crossed the intersection that I found there was no mailbox there. Odd. Not on the other corner either. Weird.

A quick scan of the street view images in my brain resulted in two more boxes nearby: one outside the medical building across from the bike shop and a drive-up one in front of the library. This extra few blocks had me cutting it close for the 9:00 show I wanted to watch, but I figured I could still make it.

Got to the medical building. No mailbox. Nothing on the whole block. Weird!

That left the one at the library. I was SURE of that one because just last week I had watched a woman use it in the most awkward way possible. She had parked in front of it, but rather than leaning over the passenger seat to toss the letter in the slot, she got out of her car and walked around to the passenger side. Because she had parked so close, she had to squeeze to get the letter into the narrow slot, which she was too chubby to do. Finally, she came up onto the sidewalk and used the pedestrian side, the little door slamming after her.

I think you already know where this is going. Yes, the library mailbox was gone as well. Gone!

This has bugged me all day. I called the post office (no answer at my local branch). I looked online but found nothing. Could it really be that mailboxes are going the way of dial phones and typewriters and slide projectors and 45s? Oh yeah, and phone booths? I didn’t have a chance to check today, but I’m hoping that tomorrow I’ll go back to the library—in daylight—and the old blue box will still be there and chubby ladies will still be wrestling with it and life will go on as before.

Now former mailbox as seen on Google maps. RIP blue box buddies.

I always think of December 21st—the Winter Solstice—as the shortest day of the year. My friend Kyp, who is more of a glass-half-full kind of guy, sees it as the longest night. Since his flight back to New York was canceled due to weather, we headed out to Joshua Tree to enjoy that long night.

Kyp decided to sleep out under the stars, which seemed like a good idea until the snow flurries started the next morning. But it sure was a beautiful way to welcome winter.