Tuesday, July 26, 2011

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

Ann O., for a wonderful window of time, was my ULI boss, always my mentor, and quickly my friend. Our stay in Ann and Bill’s Chevy Chase home was part of the last, happily magical normal month with Bing as we finished sailing the Chesapeake and moved through Washington, D.C. on to Williamsburg. We have shared many exhilarating, as well as tough, times together over a number of years.

So having her in town on business tonight and over to dinner with Sandra K. reminded all three of us of “the good ole times” together. My garden was in a “sweet spot” with heritage “Black Krim,” “Better Boy,” and yellow pear tomatoes, cucumbers, bell peppers, Anaheim chilies, and red onions becoming gazpacho. Our beverage was a cucumber, mint, and basil soda, and we had to have zucchini bread.

The evening went by far too quickly.

Sunday, July 17, 2011

Sunday, July 17, 2011

In a tone tinged with horror and awe, Akemi exclaimed, “Mom, you have ringlets!” Wet out of the pool in east-coast humidity, my hair was doing its chemo thing. If she had not seen it for herself, I don’t think Akemi would have believed the extent to which my Japanese stick-straight hair has become curly.

All of my life, hair dryers and curling irons have been implements to create the illusion of bend and lift. Moisture always has made my hair go straight and flat, not frizzy. I have heard about how after chemo, hair that was previously straight could grow in curly, and vice versa, and have watched this happen to a number of friends. Since I haven’t lost my hair, I didn’t think this would happen to me, but strangely enough, it has.

Right away after starting chemo almost a year ago, my hair became very brittle and dry. Since it wasn’t falling out, I wasn’t about to complain, and I got lots of advice on how to deal with that. But this curly business really has got me both baffled and fascinated. As each day wears on, I watch my hair start to twist out of its bob with a mind of its own.

Treatments are scheduled through next January, so I still have a ways to go. Will my hair get curlier? Will it go back to being stick-straight once the lingering effects of the chemo dissipate? These are questions that not even my hairdresser knows for sure. (You must be of a certain age to get this punch line.)

Saturday, July 16, 2011

Saturday, July 16, 2011

You’ve probably heard that this weekend is supposed to be “Carmageddon” in Los Angeles, the traffic apocalypse of biblical proportions. From last night until early Monday morning, CalTrans has shut down ten miles of the always-busy 405 freeway connecting West Los Angeles to the San Fernando Valley to make road improvements.

The Westside might as well be a foreign country to us San Gabriel Valley residents but the fear has been that the traffic spill-over will create gridlock throughout the rest of the Southland. Just to avoid the possibility, my Pasadena friends and neighbors I’ve talked with are staying put – no one is going anywhere.

My prediction has been that Carmageddon will be a big bust. I, after all, have lived to tell tales of the traffic resulting from the 1984 Los Angeles Olympics. As in, there was none. Because workplaces staggered hours and otherwise did their civic parts to reduce car trips during peak commuting times, There. Was. No. Traffic. From my Paul, Hastings downtown high-rise office, I looked down at the ghost town FKA the 110 freeway.

No matter. After several weeks of in-and-out traveling, I planned on sticking close to home this weekend anyway. My vegetables were ready to pick and I came home from the Chicago trip more tired than I initially realized. I’ll wait to see Harry Potter 7.2 and have a couple of good books to finish to last out the rest of this Carmageddon weekend.

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

“Make no little plans.” Daniel Burnham may not actually have said these words, but for those of us who look to him for his architectural and urban planning legacy, we like to think he did.

I was pleased that my board meeting in Chicago was held in the Hotel Burnham, an adaptive reuse of the historic Reliance office building designed and constructed by Burnham in 1895 and considered the precedent for the modern skyscraper with its steel and glass design. As a bonus, my early-morning walks and after-dinner strolls were through Millenium Park, just one block away. Because our board worked diligently and collegially, we concluded our agenda ahead of schedule on Sunday, so five of us out-of-towners raced to the riverfront to catch the Chicago Architecture Foundation River Cruise before heading to the airport.

Despite the intense heat and humidity, I really enjoyed this boat tour, narrated by a volunteer architect. You might remember this boat from the 1997 Julia Roberts chick-flick “My Best Friend’s Wedding.” Julia zooms around Chi-town, trying to sabotage the pending wedding of her pal, Dermot Mulroney. The “big scene” of the two of them alone together for the last time takes place on this cruise as they pass under the bridges. I didn’t care much for the film’s premise, but that scene made a celebrity of this tour boat. Fortunately, the architecture and story of the city are greater than movie trivia.

Before the meeting, I drove south to Nauvoo and Carthage, important in my church’s history, and then north to Iowa City, where I caught up with a good friend now with the University of Iowa. The rolling hills are green with corn now in July, but I heard a lot about the bitter winters.

When this meeting got scheduled last fall while I was in the toughest patch of chemo, I figured if I were able to make the trip, I should make a go of it in adding on as much as I could while in the Chicago area. I made no little plans, and am so glad I did.

Monday, July 4, 2011

Monday, July 4, 2011

Nearly forty years ago when timeshares were a fairly new concept, my parents bought one-week’s worth at a place across from Heisler Park steps away from the beach in Laguna. For almost every single one of those forty years, our family has booked our week side-by-side with the Muronaka-Oi family and usually the week of the Fourth of July.

During the week, my parents’ friends met them for my mother’s alfresco cooking or to try out the various restaurants which have come and gone in Laguna and nearby Newport Beach. On the weekends, my brothers and I, along with lots of friends, converged with various Muronakas for beach activities in our practically-private North Laguna cove and endless “Marco Polo” in the pool. Even though we knew we would stuff ourselves come dinnertime, we always stopped for 4 p.m. popcorn at the clubhouse and often justified an ice cream cone run to Chantilly’s or Häagen Dazs. My dad barbequed vast quantities of teriyaki chicken and spareribs, my mother produced countless rolls of sushi, and Evelyn made her signature Hawaiian cabbage salad and macaroni salad. Somehow corn, homemade tsukemono, and watermelon made it on to the small table. Dessert was a cake for the late June-early July birthdays.

Other traditions evolved: walking through the shops on PCH, Dad’s cocktail hour gin-and-tonics, breakfasts at The Cottage, the complex shuffle of cars to save parking spaces. Our friends gave way to spouses, and then grandbabies became children for everyone to watch in the pool and Jacuzzi.

This Fourth of July, the only grandchildren around were the younger set, those in high school or nearly so. My mom and Evelyn need to take it easy now; the birthday dinner was great but it was out at Splashes, not BBQ and sushi. Even Fong’s Imports was closed for the holiday. Some things change, inevitably so, but gathering in Laguna remains an important part of each summer.