Since I'm on vacation still, my days consists of walking to Peet's for morning americanos, working on the house, art projects with the girls, walking the Sisters Pug until they achive a perfect blissful state. This is not good for me, this schedule. It is dangerous because I don't want to go back. My heart aches at the thought of Monday.
Yesterday the girls and I traveled to the Farmers Market; they scootered and I biked the 20 blocks. Going there, as we traveled west on Washington, the ocean's clevage peaked out between the streets. She blew in our faces. At the open-air market, we checked out every single booth, sampled anything offered. We bought avocados and long-stemmed strawberries, a bunch of sunflowers and Japanese spinach. Later in the afternoon, we went to Olvera Street, which is considered a Mexican marketplace, but historically it is the foundation of Los Angeles. It's the first street created by the founders of L.A. The girls and I ate chips & guacamole and pepitas brittle and we wandered the cobblestone street vowing to start a skeleton folk art collection.
Today we went to the Salvation Army to look for patio furniture (nada) and later we made the most bad-ass mosaic planter out of most of my tea set collection. I kept my favorite pieces, but the rest we smashed to bits and used for our project. Can't wait to post a picture.
A few days before that, we went to the local college pool for Free Swim and nearly burnt our retinas off with the clorine levels. And then we went to the neighborhood Co-Op and became members. I have nearly met every produce guy in Santa Monica. Maya has befriended nearly every cashier. She'll say, "Do you know a lot of people that come into the market?" And they'll say, "Yeah." And Maya will say, "Well, you need to put me on your list." It cracks me up everytime. Then Mina pops up and says, "And I'm Mina!"
Every morning, I walk by this Frank Gehry house, which is one of his earlier works. In junior high, I used to walk by it on my way to school. Once when I was a kid, I looked in the front window and nearly fell of the planter because, at the time, there was a mannequin near the front door that I was thought was real. As an adult, I have a greater appreciation for the house. It's gorgeous live, like a structure was placed over an old craftsman.
Anyway, my point is . . .this hasn't been good because it's all been too good. I don't want to go back. I don't want to leave the bubble I've created for myself in the last 2 weeks. I want mull around and crank up this creative gush that's dying to erupt outta me. I feel it coming. I do.