Friday, April 18, 2014


I was off today. Good Friday.  It started with a hike up Runyon Canyon in the gray morning. I was at a loss for what to do most of the day. I took a voice lesson, and remembered how vulnerable it is to sing.

I slipped in my shower, making the mistake of getting out while the water was running to get a new bar of soap. I banged up my shin, and got a rush of adrenaline enough to give me a headache.

An art show at the Brewery of the Stations of the Cross. The artist, from his explanation, is very Christian. Large photos that had been manipulated in different ways, with layers of paint and laquer. There was a woman playing Jewish liturgical music on an old piano. She had a beautiful alto voice that quieted the room.  A man petted an Italian Greyhound, which immediately made the surroundings look like the subject of a painting. I thought about the stories we tell ourselves, and the ramifications they have.

At Sunset and Cesar Chavez a little dog ran away from its owners. The cars were stopped for the road being blocked by a traffic officer, and in the midst of trying to turn all stopped for a tiny gray dog running into headlights.  Its owner tried to make himself large, or head off the animal, by putting his arms out to his side and charging. The dog was scared further.  Finally, he was scooped up. The couple laughed and picked up their other dog.  Having to circle around the block, I saw them at the next corner waiting for light while a man played the saxophone.

On main street a woman held a baby on a balcony while a man smoked. The door to their small apartment was open, the lights on and a curtain blew in the breeze. It looked like a room in a motel.

A round woman in a little black dress laughed and flirted with a man outside a club.

Outside the Tacozone truck, a man screamed at all the passersby that something was going to happen to them.  A boy walked up to the truck with his mother. She asked him if wanted a quesedilla of queso or pollo, and he said pollo. She had surprise in her voice, but not on her face.

I thought again about my ex-boyfriend - how when I taught him to dance he was grinning so hard it made my heart burst. I wished I could make him smile like that always. Sometimes you can't keep it inside.


Elizabeth said...

These are intense and beautiful observations. I saw it all, even your heart.

Criticlasm said...

Thank you so much - I really appreciate your reading and commenting.