Garden Glass

Garden Glass

10-23-17

Digging in the garden the other day, I came across a broken champagne glass hiding a couple of inches beneath a stepping stone.  There is not much to it – just its base and the stub of a stem.  It still has a pinkish hue.  I recognize it, as there used to be a set.  There is still one in the cupboard.

How it came to be here, however, I don’t recall.

Was it knocked from the balcony ledge by a tipsy, clumsy guest during some forgotten party?  Or for that matter, was the tipsy, clumsy guest the host?

Or, maybe we’d decided to bring in a new decade by tossing glasses against the fence at the stroke of midnight.  Naw, we always threw them into the fireplace.

Then again, I remember a New Year’s Eve party hosted by my daughter, while I was conveniently out of the country a number of years back; I still have household objects stained with remnants of spilled champagne.

Not knowing how the glass ended up in the garden is really all right by me, as small mysteries such as this inevitably lead to fine memories of good times past.

But as I just checked the cupboard once more, I now notice that all the former sets of champagne glasses are down to just one soldier each.

 

Consequently, from here on out, guests and hosts alike are relegated to Dixie cups.

Lost Secret

Lost Secret

Noel Laflin

10-19-17

We came upon the huge nest in early February.  It was a lone hawk flying into a tall, well hidden sycamore that told us we had potentially stumbled on to something special.

And special it was.  Over the next four months my friend Jay and I made numerous treks across Irvine Park’s Santiago Creek – sometimes flowing with water as La Nina blessed us with downpours – but often times dry as a bone; we entered the thick grove of sycamores, oaks, poison oak, and clinging fox tails, wound our way down an overlooked, narrow trail, and grew quiet as we neared our viewing spot.

Initially easy to locate, as there were few leaves in winter, the nest became more difficult to spot over time once new growth began to fill the woods – especially large green sycamore leaves.

We must have circled the tree a dozen times trying to find a vantage point by which to aim our cameras and spy up and into the leafy avian world above.  As it turned out, there was really only one place to shoot.  It was probably half the length of a football field away, and several stories up. But that is where we stood, aimed, and hoped for the best, week after week.

We kept the exact location of the nest very secret.  In fact, it was so well camouflaged that by the first day of spring we frequently lost sight of the secret altogether, even when standing directly beneath it.

By early May, we were rewarded with the sighting of a downy head popping up through the dense leaves in the dark mass, very well hidden, swaying in the breeze way above.  Jay had determined early on, with the numerous sightings of the parents, that this was a red-shouldered hawk family.  By mid month we had further determined that it was a family of five altogether – proud parents and their offspring.

The three youngsters all fledged and flew the nest by early June. We documented their individual flights of freedom for weeks.  We last saw one being fed in the center of the park, marveling at its rapid growth and curious nature.  As Jay noted, “It was amazing to watch nature and the interaction of the hawks.  It was especially amazing to watch the chicks grow, test their wings and finally fledge.”

The massive Canyon Two fire destroyed our secret location in October of 2017, along with much of the entire grove of lush oaks and sycamores that stretches along the creek bed.  Getting as close as the massive cordoned-off area allowed, we peered through our camera lenses, looking for anything familiar. We eventually saw the remains of a sycamore tree that was once difficult to find.  There was a dark charred spot, way up that tree, right about where a well-camouflaged nest once lay.

Housewarming

Housewarming

Noel Laflin

10-15-17

Thirty-four years ago today, on a warm October Sunday morning, I spied a billboard just outside of Mimi’s Café.  It said, ‘New Condos’ - with an arrow pointing east.

Curiosity got the better of me as I followed signs that led to a new development just at the base of Panorama Hill, way out in East Orange.  It was so far out of town that roosters could be heard crowing throughout the old El Modena neighborhood.

Unshaven, dressed in a ratty t-shirt, shorts, and flip flops, I toured the models and discovered a unit that I might just be able to afford.

Within two hours I was writing a hot check; all the while explaining to the banking rep that this retainer would be good by Wednesday.  He just smiled and said to postdate it.

By Tuesday, I had begged, borrowed and cajoled my way to come up with the down payment, and then persuaded my boss to write a preposterous letter saying that I would be due a bonus at the end of the year.  The bank said I needed said bonus to swing the deal. The boss agreed to write the letter, on the condition that he be invited to the housewarming.  He also reminded me that there really was no bonus coming my way at the end of the year.

 

Escrow closed in twenty-six days and I suddenly found myself with both a new home, and a thirty-year mortgage.

This was a fine starter home, I reassured myself; I might actually stay here for the next three-to-five years.

Although that turned out not to be the case, as I extended my stay, the boss did come to the housewarming.

 

And as promised, there was no bonus – other than the crowing of roosters.