Here's my last hello-goodbye to LA. The move transpired on Monday and the boxes in the garage are slowly getting unpacked. O, for the day when everything would fit into a Volkswagon.
The snap above is from the days when home used to be an apartment near Venice Beach. It's just sunrise and the crowds have not yet descended. That's my shadow at the bottom (in sweats, not a tent). Behind me are the last yards of Washington Boulevard before it arrives at Venice Pier. In the far distance are the Santa Monica Mountains rising above Malibu. At the far right is the life guard station, where we went to vote on election days.
The pier itself I'll miss. A fishing pier rather than an amusement pier, it was for walkers and fishermen and their families all day and into the night. The sighing of the surf and the ocean breeze were a constant solace, and you could lean on the railing watching surfers, who were a never-ending lesson in patience. Venice was not a great surfing beach, but they'd be out there tirelessly waiting, waiting for The Wave, living in hope, undiscouraged. The blissful, unhurried masters of doing nothing.
Photo-finish Friday is the bright idea of Leah Utas over at The Goat's Lunch Pail.