|This is my tiny yard.|
|Found these chairs on the side of Sunset Blvd last year at a gas station for $50.|
When I got home, I immediately set up my two beds. One with the mints and the catnip. One with just seeds of thyme, lemon balm, lavender, and green onions. I planted my kumquat tree. And my jalapeño plant, which already has two tiny, beautiful green peppers on it. I also rescued the succulents I'd abandoned when I left LA for the summer in June. Some of them were beyond saving, having sat in the California sun without water or attention for almost two months. But they're strong little guys and I spread the remaining ones out over several planters so they can have a chance to grow roots before I transplant them to make tiny succulent gardens.
The man at the nursery even made me a hose. I couldn't afford $70 for a real one, so he took some tubing and made me a custom one that is just the right length for my little yard, and for only $6. He felt bad about my stolen bike, which came up in a conversation about the general vibe, safety, and mood of our neighborhood.
Most of the people I met in bike shops today were really helpful. They gave me tips for finding my bike and tips for future security. They offered to keep my info and call me if someone tries to sell Banch to them. I love going to specialty stores all in one neighborhood, because everyone in each place is passionate about the same thing, and it feels like a community. Today I got to see the gardening community and the cycling community in my neighborhood. And my anger toward this place immediately vanished. Because so many people in this city are just doing what they know how to do to survive. I mean, maybe not all parts of the city, but at least in my part of the city where the community is real. Last night, I was so frustrated with and infuriated by a place that I've given so much of my time and energy to as a neighbor and community member and volunteer. But I won't let one desperate person ruin my sense of home that I felt from the second I moved here. Because then that person gets more than just my bike. And they probably only wanted my bike in the first place. You can't sell disappointment, after all.
After wolfing down a salad, I drove [grumpily because I'd planned on biking] up to Griffith Park to see The National play at the Greek Theater. At first I thought, ok, they're good live, but not mind blowing. But then they kept doing things. Weird things with the horn section. Or Matt Berninger would scream a particular lyric in a way that changed it drastically. At one point during the encore, he came out INTO the audience. Twice. Walked all the way through section A. So many times on stage, he sang to individual people in the front. Held hands with them as he walked from stage left to stage right. Nothing better than a musician who gives a fuck about his fans. Or is at least able to act like he does.
All the very best of us/string ourselves up for love.