Urban Pioneers

Sunday morning in Los Angeles, rain drizzling for the first time in what seems to be forever.  It took quite an effort to pull myself out of my Ambien-induced fog and when I crossed that chasm, an awareness of a headache crept in to take its place.

Leia was already awake and in the kitchen cutting an apple for her breakfast.  I’m not so motivated to eat first thing upon awakening.  “Breaking my fast” was never a concept I bought into, which is interesting coming from a guy who could happily put away almost a pound of pasta at any given sitting.  Any sitting except breakfast, that is.

This whole loft dwelling thing is new to both of us and we’re getting used to living downtown in our own way.  The ten minute walk to my office has made me the envy of my co-workers and has given me back two hours every day.  For Leia, she now has to share laundry facilities with all the other tenants and as an only child, she doesn’t share very well.

I laid in bed for a moment listening to a car alarm from somewhere below us repeating its frantic warning, then suggested we open up the window and take in the rain-washed smell of the city air.  The sights and sounds of L.A. are beyond charming, but it’s all strange and different.  Leia has called this stage in our lives “our return to dorm living,” a characterization most accurate on the weekends as the cacophony of drunken laughter and moving furniture passes easily through thin, plaster walls.  Even then, I am charmed.

The smell of fresh morning air is both inspiring and surprising, as L.A. is not known for its clean air.  However, after one of those rare overnight rainfalls, all of one’s senses are put on alert.  Mountains that had been virtually invisible for months suddenly consume the landscape in bold colors of icy blue and white.  The sound of rain pelting the streets and cars driving through virgin puddles competes with the noise of jets flying overhead.

Leia looked out the window and noted a large crowd of people were collecting in the park kitty-corner to our building.  With almost with new eyes, I note the brown and red clock tower that stands at the entrance to the park and then beyond there a sea of white-shirted early risers.  The vague sound of salsa music emanates from their midst and then without warning, a series of announcements blares over the public address system.  I conclude that this collection of humanity were participants in an early morning race and from the looks of it, the turn-out would not disappoint the City Fathers.

The sky looked lighter in the west, a foreshadowing of clearer weather coming soon.  In the buildings below our ninth floor, the hazy sunshine reflects in the large puddles that collected there.  These small pools have become very popular with the local avian population who spend most of their year visiting the same old ponds every time they need a good cleaning.  Bird baths arise easily in this city after a rain.

I’m enjoying the music playing in the park mixed with the sounds of the fire trucks that apparently joined the festivities, if only in support of the runners.  It’s clear this city is undergoing a renaissance, somewhat tentative, yet appealing in its potential.  We’re part of a big experiment, it seems … can Los Angeles duplicate the success of other large cities and attract urban pioneers with freshly minted lofts in what were abandoned buildings a year ago?  For me, our temporary stay here is the perfect coda to my California experiment.  In a year’s time, who knows where we’ll be?

The last strains of the National Anthem echo through the alleys between our studio and the park, followed by the rallying cries of today’s runners.  After a count-off, an air horn blares and the racers erupt with a scream.  The day is perfect for running, the rain having given way to bright sunshine, yet leaving the air fresh and cool.  I should be down there. 

MCC- Winter, 2004