Bonnie Hawthorne Photography

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

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.

The storm that all the news channels have been breathlessly predicting arrived last night. I had an appointment on the other side of the county 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 (BTW, 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

Today’s one of those days when the dumbest little thing makes me happy. I spent longer than I’d like to say staring at my new shower curtain, which I hung on the clothesline to air out. Being made of PEVA, it doesn’t smell as bad as the usual vinyl shower curtains, but I hung it out out of habit. And I’m happy I did.

I can’t wait to see it at sunset.

So the new used mountain bike is fantastic (thanks Freddie!). Took my first real dirt ride in years today. The sky was blue, the ground was dry, the cows were friendly. I took this photo of my rad pedal gash with my phone at the end. No idea why it distorted this way, but it’s true that my legs did feel a little noodley.

This is the end point of my favorite walk. I’d walk it every day if I could, but it’s kind of a long drive to get there.

Here’s what it looked like in the spring and here’s what it looks like in the fall.

Decided to buy a used bike to replace the one that got stolen. Gonna get one of Zion Cycles 2009 rentals.

Have to go pick it up.

Bummer… huh.

I got a package from Rachel right around my birthday last year. In it was a pair of fingerless gloves with alien appliques sewn on. I love fingerless gloves because I often work in freezing edit bays and my hands get cold. These were particularly glorious because they were soft, stretchy fleece. So comfy!

When I opened the package, the gloves seemed familiar, but I couldn’t remember where we’d seen them together. She and Ben had been out of the country and then and had been in Austin for a year, so we hadn’t spent much time together. Turns out she’d peeked at what I had favorited on etsy.com and had ordered them! Very sneaky!

I loved those gloves so much. I wore them all last winter, indoors and out. This summer they became my favorite bike gloves—which is why they were in my handlebar bag when my bike was stolen last month. I was very sad to lose my bike, but ESPECIALLY sad to lose those gloves.

La Verne called this weekend to get my mailing address. She said she had found something really “special” for me. My immediate reaction was Uh Oh. She’s famous for giving “special” gifts. She’s had a gift exchange with one friend that’s gone on for probably two decades. They give the same horrible tchotchke back and forth until one of them finds something even worse to give. For years it was a hideous Ronald McDonald coin bank. They’d find a way to sneak it into the other person’s house or car, sometimes not to be discovered for weeks. One day you look up at your bookshelf and realize that Ronald McDonald is there. They don’t even live in the same town, which means they sometimes deviously employ the aid of strangers who happen to be going that way.

So yes, I was happy (and relieved) to find that she’d gotten me another pair of fingerless alien gloves! I had assumed they were gone for good because the girl’s etsy site said sold out. But you just can’t stop my sneaky thoughtful friends!

www.babypop.com

I once worked at a job where I was the only girl in a really obnoxious Boy’s Club. These guys were all dicks, starting with the boss. And as sometimes happens in the workplace,  the boys bonded through their asshole behavior and were promoted by the asshole boss for it.

Some of it was funny sometimes. Like the perfect pile of fake shit on my chair when I came back from the bathroom. Or swapping out the food in my lunch bag in the fridge with junk food from the vending machine.  But sometimes it wasn’t funny. Sometimes it made me mad. And like many females, when I’m really REALLY mad…  I cry. Which is the worst thing you can do with a bunch of guys like that. Talk about fanning the flames, hoo wee.

So I created a Superhero Alter Ego. Her superpower? Her tears, of course.  This comic, drawn by the amazing artist Kelly Campbell, tells the story of how she came to be.

I bring this up because this was one of my favorite Halloween costumes ever. Luckily, Spinstera hasn’t been called into action lately. But evil doers (and Boy’s Clubs) beware!

Found this under my car seat today. It was given to me by a sweet old lady volunteer at The Borax Visitor’s Center, a place Scott and I stopped on our recent whirlwind tour of California. Those chunks are samples of what comes out of the world’s largest borax mine, shrink wrapped onto an unmailable postcard.

If you ever find yourself on the western edge of the Mojave desert and have some time to kill, I highly recommend stopping in Boron. Those of you who’ve lived in New York City (or other roach infested places) will be familiar with boric acid, the white powder that lines most tenement apartment kitchens. If you’re old enough to remember when Ronald Reagan was a TV pitchman, then you’re familiar with 20 Mule Team Borax and the show created to feature it called “Death Valley Days.” Yup, this is where all of that comes from.

I didn’t take any photos inside the fancy and seemingly well-funded visitor’s center. But here’s an outside display of a giant tire from one of these giant Tonka trucks.

They are slow moving and carry a payload of up to 260 tons. 260 tons! According to a guy we talked to who used to work there, the trucks are well air conditioned and have good stereo systems. The drivers make about $29 an hour.

These days, as I try to figure out what to do with myself,  I am fascinated with what other people do for a living. Oddly, driving a big Star Wars truck full of rock sort of appeals to me.

But if it means living in Boron, yeah, no thanks. According to Wikipedia: “Boron is populated primarily by descendants of Oklahomans who came to California during the Great Depression. Despite its location only hours from Los Angeles, many people in Boron speak with an Oklahoman drawl.”

They left one dust bowl for another. Huh.