There and Back

Marta Cormier with granddaughters Sophia (c)
and Bea at Betty's Take out in Berkeley

It's been a month since the last post. I didn't blog because I wasn't traveling. On this last trip however, I realized that I am now living in a very distinctive place that deserves to be written about. First, a few words about this last trip.

The day before my birthday I drove to the east bay area of San Francisco on a partially planned road trip. I lived in the Walnut Creek - Lafayette area for a total of 13 years. It's familiar turf, but as with everything else these days, unexpected things happened when I went back to visit. A serendipitous invitation from a dear friend in Tarzana added an additional two-day stopover on may way back to Palm Springs at a paradisiacal oasis in the Dantean inferno of Los Angeles. But I am getting ahead of myself.

At the Temescal Street Festival

After a scenic drive through the high desert, I hit Interstate 5 at Gorman near the peak of the grapevine. From there it was a straight, not very visual, shot to the Tracy exit where I took 580 and then 680 to Walnut Creek.

I spent my 67th birthday eve and day wallowing in blissful companionship with long-time friends. I'd say old friends, but I don't think any of us know what to do with the word "old," much less the age demographic. We ate good, delicious food (a lot healthier than the sybaritic feasts of our younger days), drank vintage wine (a lot less than the sybaritic feasts of our younger days), and engaged in the kind of conversation you have with people you've shared peak experiences with. Past memories mingle with current events and conjectures about the future. Even though our paths have diverged in the woods of life somewhat, we share a spiritual grounding and genuine heart connection.

Escott Jones, cabinet maker, designer,
egg carver, renaissance man.

The actual birth anniversary day was a moveable feast  of friends and food culminating in fireworks in honor of the country with which I share the tradition.

The week past with people and things left for next time, always a good sign. I enjoyed some quality city time, and discovered  a new (to me) restaurant in Rockridge, Sommerset's. Two serendipitous events were an unexpected bonus.  I had dinner with a young woman I've know since she was twelve who is now a successful rep for a distinguished furniture line with a showroom in the SF Design Center. She was a fountain of constructive feedback and ideas about the viability of the idea. And she is as lively and engaging as he was at twelve, only more so.

Outside these gardens are the seven circles
of hell, but inside it's Il Paradiso

I also met a true bohemian craftsman-artist-radio engineer who restores carousels and carves eggs among many other fascinating activities. He too was helpful about the business idea when we weren't sidetracked by shared recollections of our salad days.

My drive to Tarzana was smooth, punctuated by my nearly traditional lunch at Harris Ranch. I spent four days in the home of a dear firend who has created a paradisiacal oasis in the Los Angelian dystopia. Imagine a Souzhou garden designed by Frida Kahlo and you might have some idea what a special place this is. We ventured out for a few meals and to catch Moonrise Kingdom (highly recommended), but mostly we luxuriated in the garden, in the pool, or on the verands playing Scrabble.

Imagine a Chinese garden designed by Frida Kahlo

After ten days out, I was actually starting to miss Palm Springs, even with the triple digit temperature. The longer I am here in the desert cities, the more I realize what a fascinating and diverse place it is. I'll write more about that in future posts, but now I have to get back to slogging through creating a business plan. There are more pictures from my trip on my Facebook page if you are interested.

Settling in – 2

Spoiler alert: no photos.

Spoiler alert: introspection and rambling.

I was going to title this post "Coping," but I reconsidered. Although coping appears to be the human condition at the moment. Many people around me are dealing with loss – terrible, painful issues concerning health, finances, loved ones, all of the above, some of the above. Others are dealing with the problems of excess: the Palm Desert house still isn't finished. The remodel is over budget. The Mercedes is on back order (there is a lot of money in he Coachella Valley). The kind of problems we all say we wish we had.

I would be a hopeless kvetch to describe my current situation as coping. A more apt description – and more challenging for me personally – is "being patient."

At the invitation of dear friends I drove to Los Angeles on Thursday to house sit their lovely mansionette in Chatsworth, a suburb of Los Angeles in the San Fernando Valley. It was a perfect opportunity for me to do some research on my business idea. As an added bonus, I was going to reward myself with a visit to the Getty Museum for yet more stunning blog photos. (I have low expectations for the art in the museum. It is the Getty, after all, but the building and grounds are reputed to be muy photo worthy.)

Friday morning, after seeing off my hosts who were driving to Santa Cruz to see their son graduate magna cum laude and cum laude – in a double major, no less – I took off in my car. My plan was to check out shops in Santa Monica and go the Getty.

It was 9:30 in the morning. Even with Friday rush hour, I gave myself until 2:30 PM to get to The Getty to wait out rush hour. Life was an adventure. I was revisiting old territory with a new perspective. I lived here for six years from 1988 to 1994. Banished was my conviction that LA is all seven circles of Dante's Inferno.

For about 15 minutes, I was able to maintain that illusion. And then I hit traffic. And stayed in traffic. Clogged traffic. On the freeway. On side streets. Everywhere. By the time I had finished in Santa Monica it was already 2:30 and I had done about an hour of shopping against 4 hours of sitting in traffic. It turned out I couldn't get to the Getty because both the main off ramp and the detour they directed me to were blocked. I made the twenty minute drive back to where I was staying in a little over an hour, stopped by Trader Joe's for dinner fixings, and retreated back to the pool and garden of the mansionette. Vowing not to venture over the hill again.

Saturday, I luxuriated in the lushness of the garden, went to a movie ("Rock of Ages" a guilty pleasure) and came back for more garden luxuriating. I got a text from a guy I had been communicating with and we agreed to meet for lunch the next day. My hosts got back that evening. We had a newsy visit before they hauled their tired bodies off to bed.

Sunday was the money shot. My hosts and I had a scrumptious and insanely healthy breakfast, I did a load of laundry (I am in-suite laundry deprived in Palm Springs), then took off to meet my potential new  acquaintance. We had lunch at Rive Gauche Cafe on Ventura Blvd (highly recommended) and talked. Turns out he worked for many years as a furniture salesman in Los Angeles. He was a font of useful information, and a nice guy as well. After lunch we sought out an Asian import store further down the boulevard where my hosts had purchased a buddha for their garden. The owner is a Thai-Chinese man from Korat, Thailand. He imports the southeast Asian equivalent of cottage furniture. Rustic, even whimsical statues, chests and tables that work very well as accent pieces in mega-mansion decor. Between him and my new acquaintance,  I got some valuable feedback about my idea.

I drove back to Palm Springs today and will continue doing research here. Clearly this business, if it is to be, is not going to spring full blown, Athena-like, from my head. It's going to take patience, persistence, and diligence (not my strongest suits).

Interestingly, my brief visit to LA (which is still all seven circles of hell, by the way) raised a few ghosts that will probably never be completely exorcised. They are less troubling now, but their spirits still cast a shroud over the city for me. I know I'll be going back, and it's fine for a visit, but I wouldn't want to live there.

Palm Springs Aerial Tram Ride and Hike to Round Valley

A Swiss-built rotating tramcar gives up to 80 people a 360° view as they ride up the mountain.

From Wikipedia's entry on The Palm Springs Aerial Tramway:

 The twelve-and-a-half minute ride begins at the Valley Station at 2,643 ft (806 m) and passes up North America's sheerest mountain face through five life zones on its way to the Mountain Station at 8,516 ft (2,596 m) above mean sea level. Travelers start in the Sonoran Desert and arrive at an alpine forest.

View from the trail head

Actually, by the time you get to the tram parking lot you've already climbed 2,643ft from the valley floor. From the top station, it's another 1,500 ft and a six-mile hike to the top of Mt. San Jacinto which is at just over 10,000 ft. The temperature in Palm Spring was 89° at 7:30 am – heading toward the very high 90s. At the top of the tramway, the temperature was 65.° All of this within an hour, if your timing is good, from where I'm living.

Rock formations near the base station

If you end the journey at the mountain station, is enough drama for most people. The ride up in itself begs the use of spectacular and breath taking. There are panoramic views of the Coachella Valley and the desert cities from the deck of the top station. A short, but aerobic, and very vertical half mile walk out the back sets you in the middle of a tribe of rock formations jutting out of the bedrock like the emerging life forms they are.

Rush hour on the trail

But I didn't stop there.

My companion was a local man I met who enjoys hiking. Since I'd never managed to do it on previous visits, I wanted to be able to say I've taken the tram at least once. I would never have done the hike without company, and Jose was a perfect guide. I'm not used to level 3 hikes at 8,500 ft so we agreed to do the hike to Round Valley campsite – a 4.5 mile round trip. Joining us were at least a hundred other hikers in groups ranging from two to twenty we passed along the trail coming and going. ALmost everyone we passed said hello. I think the lack of oxygen makes people friendlier. Ages ranged from pre-teens to old farts like myself. Jose and I made the trek out in about an hour and a half, our pace slowed somewhat by my picture taking. Jose was very patient. I know I slowed him down, but by a half-mile into the hike I knew I was going to get my exercise for the day and made the wise decision to pace myself.

Why is this man smiling?

Up and back, we were on the trail almost three hours. It was visual overload. The air was intoxicatingly clean (and thin). I was pleased I didn't have a heart attack or just give out and need to be helicoptered out. The last half mile up that nearly vertical concrete path back to the station was the unkindest cut. By the end, my feet were providing an object lesson in not wearing old hiking shoes for the first time in 5 years on your first alpine hike is three years (My last mountain hike was more of a hill climb through the jungle. My (hyperbole warning) near death experience on that jaunt is recounted in an earlier blog that will disappear at the end of this month as part of the transformation of mac.com to iCloud.

Round Valley campsite.
No vacancy for the weekend

This hike was a walk in the park compared to that one. But jeezus, I was tired, and my feet ached, and the next day my legs felt like concrete, and my knees kept screaming at me, "you are not a young man any more."

I did it, and I'm glad. There are more photos on my Facebook page if you are curious.

Last night, as part of my recovery, I went to see "Snow White and the Huntsman." It is rich visually. The performances are energetic. The story a mythic melding of the brothers Grimm and Jean d'Arc. Another in a compelling string of female heroines. But why do our myths still offer up resolution as redemption through violence? I know it's viscerally exciting, but is it really an evolutionary step forward to portray women behaving like men? Is our new mythic hero Victor Victoria on steroids and in need of anger management counseling? I wonder.

Memorial Day Week

The light during the eclipse was an eerie
mashup of twilight and high noon.

It's been a quiet week in Lake Wobegon; and for me, it's been an eventful two weeks in Palm Springs. For starters there was the annular eclipse, an event we shared with a goodly portion of Asia and the Western US. I watched it from Bob and Doug's back yard. I didn't see the ring of fire but the effect on the land below was note worthy. The quality and angle of light was eerily beautiful – a mashup of high noon and twilight.

I have become very aware of light here. Light and heat are the dominant sensations in these parts. During the day, the intensity of both nearly obliterate the other senses. The beauty of the land, and there is a tremendous amount of beauty here, is best appreciated in the early morning or late in the day when both the light and heat are tempered enough to allow for color, scent, and sound to hold their own. At night, floodlit, the sky a jeweler's drape, the architecture of the city emerges like a still glamorous lady of a certain age who understands the importance of good lighting. So much of the architecture here looks best in soft light.

Archetypal mid-century courtyard apartment complex in the
Warm Springs neighborhood

I have begun to meet people. From the small sample, I am encouraged that the diversity I have been missing is abundant here. I have met two neighbors, which given the summer occupancy of this complex is probably about 40%, is not bad. My neighbor on the left is a retired school teacher. She smokes on her back balcony on late afternoons when the sun has dipped to the other side of the building (morning smokes are on the front balcony. Often I sit out at that time to enjoy the afternoon light. Sometimes we chat. The neighbor across the way is another retiree from Los Angeles. Don't know much about him yet.

Lobby area at The Parker

I met a man, retired AT&T employee, who is half Navajo, half Cherakowa Apache. He has greatly aided a reexamination of many of my cultural assumptions. He is not Indian or Native American as in Amerigo Vespucci. He is half Navajo, half Cherakowa Apache. He is a dessert person. He has spent the bulk of his years in New Mexico, Nevada, and Southern California. He lived on the East Coast for several years and hated it. He was unfamiliar with the land and uncomfortable with the people. When Tony talks about people he is talking about the original inhabitants of the land. His discomfort was with the energies of the native peoples of the Southeast US.

Tony's perspective on the world is as a Navajo/Apache through a libertarian filter.  He is not optimistic about the current state of civilization. He has many observations regarding how out of balance things have gotten. I don't share all his views but I do agree with his assessment of how interesting (as in old Chinese curse) the times are in which we live.

Lemonade garden with bocci court at The Parker

His has conviction that he is a member of a species of humanity on the verge of extinction. It has been predicted by his elders for generations. He is very fatalistic about it all. His plan is to escape to Portugal, where he owns a small apartment, as soon as he reaches retirement age. From his perspective, Portugal is a third world country and knows it. The US has become a third world country and is still oblivious to the fact. As I said, I am beginning to meet people.

My brother and sister-in-law were in town for nine days. They looked at a fair amount of real estate and we checked out several local eateries with mixed results. Lulu, Rick's: good. Wang's: awful.

As a tour guide I blew it, though. Today, thanks to a friend who also moved here from Sarasota, I was introduced to one of the many hidden treasures of Palm Springs.

The Parker Hotel and Resort was once Gene Autry’s Melody Ranch estate. It was, for a time, the Merv Griffin Resort, then the Givenchy Hotel and Spa—and now, it’s part of Parker-Merridien Hotels and known as simply The Parker. The public areas have been restored to their multi-decade splendor. There is a mix of 50s, 60s, and 70s decor including Mr. Parkers a restaurant that looks like it awaiting the momentary arrival of the Rat Pack,

Indoor and outdoor dining is open to the public

Just over the garden walls that ring the property is busy Palm Canyon Drive. Once inside the walls, you are in a secret pleasure garden with fountains, pools, and abundant greenery. It is a place of sybaritic retreat and indulgently clandestine trysts for the wealthy and famous. There are many such places in Palm Springs and I intend to check out as many as possible. If you want to see more photos of The Parker go the link above or check out my Facebook album.

I can see that there is more to this place than meets the eye, especially at mid-day. I look forward to discovering more hidden places for myself — and for the blog.

Settling In

Unconditional Surrender

So far, the move here has been pretty easy. Registering the car, reclaiming my California driver's license, changing addresses, were accomplished without any problems. The biggest adjustment to living here is adjusting to living here. 

Some days I feel like Palm Springs is the Bizarro World version of Sarasota – or vice versa. Sarasota is hot and humid. Palm Springs is hot and dry. Sarasota is on the water. Palm Springs sits on a huge aquifer but is surrounded by dessert and mountains. 

Marilyn Forever

Sarasota has the monumentally kitsch "Unconditional Surrender" by Johnson & Johnson heir Seward Johnson. Palm Springs has the monumentally kitsch "Forever Marilyn" by Johnson & Johnson heir Seward Johnson. Medical marijuana dispensaries in Palm Springs are as common as OxyContin peddlers (often referred to as doctors) are in Sarasota. 

Both cities have a sizable retirement community, but with a population of 55 percent LGBT, the 70 somethings at World Gym or Gold's here are a very different breed from the country club set in Sarasota. 

Welcome to The Hotel California

Palm Springs is a small city two hours from LA, San Diego, and Las Vegas. Within a short drive, you can be in the mountains, the high dessert, or the coast. In many ways it looks and feels like the resort town it was in the mid 60s. Many of the mid-century modern homes and hotels once frequented by Hollywood elite have been lavishly restored. The skyline is still low thanks to strict building codes.

I'm still building a pattern of life here. I suspect it will take some time. Now that I have taken care of the move logistics – except for changing my medical plan – I have to start working on what I'll do here. 

A five-minute walk from my place

One of the biggest problems for me in Sarasota was finding things of interest to do and like-minded people to do things with. It's already clear there is no shortage of like-minded people here, but the real work that lies ahead for me is to see if my idea for an import business is viable. I am encouraged that I have already made a few contacts for my information gathering and I hope to go to LA soon to check out the market there.

In the meantime, there is the area to explore. My brother and his wife are here this week which provides me a good excuse to check out some of the local sights.