When The Lord Responds

O God, thou art my God; earnestly will I seek thee: My soul thirsteth for thee, my flesh longeth for thee, In a dry and weary land, where no water is.
So have I looked upon thee in the sanctuary, To see thy power and thy glory.
Because thy lovingkindness is better than life, My lips shall praise thee.
So will I bless thee while I live: I will lift up my hands in thy name.
My soul shall be satisfied as with marrow and fatness; And my mouth shall praise thee with joyful lips;
When I remember thee upon my bed, And meditate on thee in the night-watches.
For thou hast been my help, And in the shadow of thy wings will I rejoice.
My soul followeth hard after thee: Thy right hand upholdeth me. Psalm 63:1-8

Shaking Things Up (literally)

I had *almost* come to a place where the thought didn't even effect me in any way. You know, the thought of an earthquake, out here in sunny California.

Upon setting foot here, you may recall, it was one of my primary concerns. Over the last ninety days, however, my concern relaxed into a much more educated stance. After all, I had visited the USGS Earthquake Center online several times, and discovered that many mini quakes had occurred, some just below or even in our immediate vicinity. And I hadn't even felt 'em.

Oh.

I get it. Yeah, yeah, yeah . . . I know that the earth is technically 'always' moving . . .but, with images of newscasts covering the Northridge quake many years ago, well, one just doesn't let down their guard easily.

That is how I ended up being so . . .well . . .calm yesterday, when my son (my daughter clalims it was her voice I heard . . .l'il family dispute, there) yelled out "EARTHQUAKE!"

At his comment, I turned my head to look at the source of the noise I had just heard - that of venetian blind slats clanking together.

Hm. Unusual. Venetian blind slats don't clink on their own.

As I did so, I also noticed that the roaring sound of an engine of a big truck did not actually have a truck as it's source. And, for that matter ~ WHY ARE MY WALLS FLEXING AND MOVING LIKE THAT?!?!?

Egads. Times 20.

In a state of disbelief, and with the sound of my children now clamouring over the din, I backed out of the kitchen into the open living area with the intention of taking everyone outside. Calmly.

But that's when it hit me: My baby was sleeping . . .way in the back of the apartment . . .the OPPOSITE direction of the DOOR.

The adreneline rush that had already begun in me now took on a superhuman edge as I quickly traversed the hallway to get him. A hundred thoughts were rushing through my being. "Perhaps he's safer there, and I should leave him. Maybe I should stay in the room with him. What about Aubrey and Israel, though? No, we're better off outside . . ." Swooping him up on that last thought, I turned to dash to the door.

Only to discover it was over.

The longest thirty seconds I've experienced in some time.

I wasn't convinced we were in the clear, though. "Come on, kids." I declared. "Outside!"

They protested, but not in concern . . .rather, they were high-fiving each other and shouting with squeals of glee: "OUR VERY FIRST EARTHQUAKE!"

I couldn't comprehend their joy.

Exiting the front porch, the DellDog made a mad dash out the gate - leashless. He made a beeline for the neighbors, who were now gathering outside, curious as to the state-of-affairs-apartment-complex-wide.

Great. I've just experienced a major life event, and my dog is loose. Against the rules. I simply couldn't believe it.

Fortunately for me, Dell cooperated nicely. The native Californians spoke amongst themselves as though this were an everyday occurrance ~ the potential to be shaken to smithereens.

I still couldn't comprehend.

I added my two cents, but returned to the apartment, where an aftershock made itself known in a loud clapping noise, setting off the fire alarms.

Egads.

Please pass me a lemonade. Stirred. Not shaken. Thankyewverymuch!

Escape From The Cement Jungle (sorta.)

I had discovered it about a month ago, while we were out on one of our appointed jaunts. The name drew me in, and I simply had to do a drive by. The Johnny Carson Park proved to be a beautiful respite from the oppression of the city, even though NBC studios and more encased the greenery with a skyscraper fenceline and a freeway thoroughfare.

Had I not had the visual, I would have never ventured there on my own on class night. But I had, and so, Nuvi in hand, on a whim, I checked the distance to and from.

Bingo!

Destination Johnny was underway!

I'm so grateful for the jogging stroller Gil provided for us when we arrived. It is perfect for all kinds of terrain, and I've used it repeatedly in very strange circumstances.

This particular evening, it delivered a baby, a dog, books and a blanket to a scenic little cove just above the stream, dotted with rocks and outcroppings. The grass was incredibly green, the birds singing, an ever-so-slight breeze was blowing, and the powerlines zinged and zanged up above. Add a distant sound of traffic, and I was in a virtual haven from all things citi-fied. I think.

At least it came close. :)

For more than an hour we reclined, fully enjoying the out of doors for all it was worth. Take a moment with me, and relax.

Well, as you can see, the DellDog had a tough time relaxing. The next scent always seemed to elude him behind yet another blade of grass. And, since he was on virtual tie-down and unable to run free, his nose would have to do his walking for him.

Shifting between sniffing and playing guard dog was a good diversion for him, I'd say. Everybody needs a little variety now and then.

Especially when one contends on a daily basis with the Cement Jungle.

Scenes From Saturday In The Park . . .

. . .but not the forth of July!

Saturday in the park held a memory for me. About 15, almost sixteen years ago, my late husband picked me and my bulging eight-month pregnant belly from work, tossed me in the car with a full bladder, and proceeded to drive the four hours one way to Foxboro Stadium to hear one of his fave bands in concert. U2.

Please note I said his fave. Me? Not so much.

Yet here I was, being subjected . . .my yet unborn babe being subjected . . .to the loud, ear piercing sound of electric guitars screeching and squealing louder than loud. To top it off, our seats were in the upper platform of outdoor seating, so I had to maintain my balance going up and down the stairs to find our seats. Have I mentioned my full bladder?

Yup. I maintained all my female dignity through the four hour drive, the realization that the port-o-pottie lines were WAY too long to endure, a four hour concert, and, on the back end of said such concert, the enduring of the port-o-pottie line anyway.

Sheesh! and Egads!

While I survived the camel-like endurance of bladder discomfort that night, something else occurred.

A strange event that still captivates me as I consider it.

I fell in love with U2.

Well, ok. Perhaps "love" is too strong of a word. But I certainly became a fan of the manner in which they put life to a lyric; garner a sound with chord progression; and otherwise entertain a crowd of frenzied groupies dying to catch a glimpse of Bono. Not to mention catch his signature sunglasses as they are tossed over the screaming crowd to some enamored girl-forever-to-be-honored below.

That's how we ended up at the park on Saturday night. I found out U2 was playing. For free.

Gotta get there.

My two teens weren't as enthusiastic as I.

One was down right onery about the whole ordeal. I held sway over her, though. My charming ways and parental firmness put an end to all the sour faces.

In the end, the concert was not as appealing as I would have liked it to be. It stands to reason, however. Who can hold a candle to U2? No, not even the cover band, Hollywood U2 can do it.

At least they had fun trying.

Us? We enjoyed a Saturday in the park.

A Look Behind The Scenes . . .

Each audition opportunity we've encountered has been as unique and diverse as the sands on the seashore. There is a basic rythym intact: the call, the arrival, the sign-in, the momentary wait, the actual audition, the "Peace-Out" proclaimed from my son's lips, the departure, and, again, the wait.

What is different each time is the location, the casting crew, the group of potential candidates, the mood of the rooom, the seating arrangements . . .

The whole process, accomplished in a direct act of granting privacy - to one another, to the agencies, the casting crew, and so on moves forward like a well-oiled machine. One can imagine, then, the startling difference this one particular day held.

The audition was to be held out of doors. Why? One might ask? What was the reason, the purpose, the task? Let me give you a visual*, by way of explanation:

Yup. Them boyz would be skatin'. Ollies and Short Boys and Half Pipes and Grinds.

Of course, with a host of 11 - 17 year old boys dominating the scene, a casting director, his crew, and a camera[wo]man with a mega cam, I was held at bay with my [relatively] miniscule piece of photographical equipment. This meant that if I were to be capturing any Israeli rad skateboard stunts, they'd have to be snapped after the whole process was said and done.

Therefore, here he is, post-presentation(s) and skateboard skill(s) revealed.

(Remember, Choosers: You saw it here first on ChoiceCentral. Your place to get all the latest and greatest Hollywood action.)

Even if that 'Hollywood action' happens to be a boy, an adventure, and a MEGA-halfpipe. :)

"Til tomorrow . . .

______________________

*Photograph courtesy of http://socalskate.blogspot.com/

Good Things In Life . . .

. . .need no formal explanation!

The Waiting Game

Pour me another cup of coffee.

Let the meditation of my heart and the words of my mouth be pleasing unto the Lord.


Let me be mindful that a man can receive nothing, except it be given him from heaven. [John 3:27]

It is the Lord that turns the kings heart as the watercourses, turning it where He wills it to go. [Proverbs 21:1]

May I be mindful, and acknowledge that everything that God puts in our hand belongs to Him and is to serve Him. We are here to serve Him.

May we do it well, as vessels of honor in His hand, unto His Kingdom purpose and plan, fufilling all the counsel of His will.

{sipping coffee, listening to the ticking of the clock . . .}

to be continued.

It's Here! Finally!

Just sayin'. :)

Beauty Defined

Someone pinch me.

My eyes behold a beauty that takes my breath away:

Can it really be? My daughter has been dna-wired with a love for horses, just like her Mom? How has this fact escaped my knowledge? How did I miss it?

She's harnessed it, just the same.

My heart soars as I see the grace and beauty, the form with which she rides. I see me in her.

I"m living vicariously through these photos, Choosers.

Longing for the moment when I'll meet that handsome steed nose to nose, and share grooming tools with my daughter side by side.

If Only . . .

I wish I had time this morning/today to tell you about this:



and this:





Alas. Today, I ask you to employ your imagination. Feel free to add your own story line in the comment section! :)

Diplomacy Employed

Ravenous wolves, hungry for the first signs of weakness; then, the first inklings of a fall, circle their prey. Teeth bared and snarling emitting vicious accusations without substance send signal to their companions who have not yet given chase.

They gather strength by gathering numbers, adding to the crescendo - circling, circling . . .laying in wait for blood.

For the second time, I have witnessed the power and effect of peer pressure upon teens in this particular culture we are currently ensconced in. For the second time, the prey has been a member of my family. First, my son, in a previous incident; last night, my daughter.

The children had a much-anticipated evening out. It was a simple routine that we employed: drop-off, pick-up.

This time, however, picking up proved eventful. As my vehicle entered the lot, a bevy of teens encircled and then closed in on the car, as my children tumbled in. Then, the rapping on the window; the demand that I release my child. For what cause?

Their gleeful entrapment by the police.

Wha??

Casting an acknowledging nod to the teen-aged vixen of a messenger, I deftly pressed on through the crowd, wheeled into a parking space, and parked. Turning to the back seat, a grilling of the transpired events of the eve.

Further puzzlement became my understanding, as the horde, now surrounding the stationery vehicle demanded their prey. From my daughter's view, and with witness of her brother, they had become victims in a game of "Bully Invents A Problem."

Aubrey had wisely engaged the employees of the establishment as protective shields, and wisely utilized 'retreat and ignore' tactics that seemed to have served her well thus far.

The rapping at my window intensified.

Israel's story line, while engaging different components of the "situation" delivered the truth of the matter: someone was looking for trouble - and they were willing to stir it up, if need be.

As my frustration mounted with the insistent rap, rap, rap! at my left ear, I turned in quick motion, to find my self face to face with a set of parents.

A set of parents???

Yes. It was true. The wolf-pack had broken ranks, and now, the remaining voice of accustion came from parents who were employing what I veiwed to be continued teen-aged behaviour, instead of tact and diplomacy.

I could see it was up to me to difuse this whole debacle.

Yet, I couldn't do it alone. Summoning the Most High in a group prayer was my only recourse. Should these parents continue to use immature means of communication, there was no telling what might occur.

I stepped out of the car.

The next fifteen minutes seemed like an eternity that passed in the blink of any eye. My request had been that the Lord grant me the words to speak in that hour, as the job of the Spirit is identified in Scripture. To my pleasant expectation, He did just that. The accusations were proven to be false. I continued in conflict resolution skills, first between the teens, and then between the adults, anxious that the offspring they had care of be justified.

Crisis averted, accusations unfounded.

Thank you Lord.

We drove home in verbal wonderment, intrigued and appalled at the methodology of the flesh we had once again encountered, grateful for the hand of the Lord to deliver once again. The whole scene reminded me of the woman brought to Jesus by the angry mob, seeking to trap her:

And they which heard it, being convicted by their own conscience, went out one by one, beginning at the eldest, even unto the last: and Jesus was left alone, and the woman standing in the midst. When Jesus had lifted up
himself, and saw none but the woman, he said unto her, Woman, where are those thine accusers? hath no man condemned thee? She said, No man, Lord. And Jesus said unto her, Neither do I condemn thee: go, and sin no more. John 8: 9-11

What is it about this culture, that creates the peer mindset of capture and devour? I've not seen it elsewhere. Have you? Please share your experiennce(s).

National (Television) News

The word is in.

Israel has been sighted on national television, lending his handsome good looks to the retail giant Wal-Mart, in a back to school campaign!

So far, he has been spotted on the Nickelodeon channel and CBS, who have sported the 'laptop' commercial that he is featured in.

As for us? We've yet to see it, since we do not own a television. :P

Have you seen him yet? Huh? Huh?? :)

Wild.

~ and that's all I've got to say about that.

Laugh In

Go ahead.

Laugh.

I did.

In utter self-abasement.

Upon arriving at a scheduled audition yesterday afternoon, and deftly accomplishing a parallel park, I turned off the ignition simultaneous with the horrific revelation:

I had forgotten ALL of the boy's required paperwork: headshot, resume, barcode.

I had nada.

Not one thing with me.

While I gasped loudly, Israel was a quick thinker. "Mom, they probably have a computer. We can print out my barcode."

I agreed wholeheartedly, but as a security feature, I put in a phone call to the manager.

Look for the computer it was.

By this time, my adrenaline was coursing double time through my body.

In all this time, I had NEVER forgotten a doc . . .not been prepared.

Traipsing up the stairs, we entered the office to sign in.

No computer.

Egads.

Well, I determined, he's going in anyway.

Leaving the boy to read over the script, I headed downstairs to make a second phone call to the manager, Keller on my hip. Finishing that in record time, I made my hasty ascent to return to Israel's side.

As I did so, a father/son duo passed by, heading down the staircase to exit the building. I made eye contact as I continued to climb upward, and gave greetings.

Another step, and another individual coming down the staircase at me. I once again lifted my eyes in greeting.

This time, however, my step faltered, and immediately I was a tangled mess of flailing body parts as I very ungracefully fell UP the stairs ~ doing my level best to keep the baby in one piece, stationed on my hip.

Keller hung on for dear life like a champ.

The man made an exclamation of his own, as he watched with terrified expression, the goosey action that compromised my saving grace. The staircase handle finally found it's way into my hand, and I steadied myself.

Then, the rush of blood and even more adrenaline as I realized just. how. silly. I. had. looked!

There was no time to think about any of it though . . .Israel needed instruction from me!

**********
The audition was in progress when I happened to look down at my key chain.

There, dangling like a diamond from the steel circle, hung my flash drive.

The flash drive contained ALL of the necessary documents, and could have been taken right around the corner and printed off in a hurry.

::groan::

Oh well. Lasting impressions are hard to make.

I doubt that this one is forgettable.

:)

The DellDog Does NoHo: Part 4 -or- The Homing Device

The night had been full of excitement.

As the imagery of moments continued to dazzle and amaze our being, we knew that the final curtain was yet to be drawn.

No evening in North Hollywood would be complete without The Pick-Up. And, since this was Dell's first experience with The Pick-Up, it was only logical that the event be captured on film.

The love affair between boy and dog is ageless; the intense joy that the DellDog derives from seeing his playmate is discovered in the hindquarters of a stocky Schnauzer frame. First standing at attention, keen on the understanding that we've returned to the place wherein the Boy had exited the vehicle:

Then, followed by sharp yips of excitement, as his canine frame folds into full body shudders of uncontained euphoria ~ "THERE HE IS!! THERE HE IS!!"

Israel, equally delighted to see his companion, added to the commotion by including his own signature vocal response. "Dell Dog, how's my little London boy?"

Finally! All greetings complete, the thrill of adventure gives way to sweet dreams.

The presence of Israel a virtual homing device of safety and security and 'Home James."

The DellDog Does NoHo: Part 3 -or- Who Is Really Important, Anyway?

But many that are first shall be last; and the last shall be first.
Matthew 19:30

The fullness of the realization that I would make a lousy paparazzo came at the end of the evening adventures. The inkling that I would make a lousy paparazzo came at the beginning of the evening adventures.

After dropping Israel off at class, the DellDog, Keller and I wheeled down the road apace to my favorite Chinese . . .um, diner? The hole-in-the-wall with outside seating is cleverly disguised as a no-go when choosing edible fare. Yet, the place is absolutely FANTASTIC, and I'm oh-so-glad that Gil found it, some months ago!

That night, I parked about three blocks away, to give Dell a good leg stretch. I approached the diner from the alley. An unusual move, which gave me a different vantage point in terms of view.

Beside the large dumpster located at the side of the building, a homeless man had taken up residence. Splayed out under the baking sun, his sleeping frame gave me pause to consider my surroundings. Sure enough, it was as if a colony of homeless people had suddenly traversed the LA city streets until they came to this corner. My corner, once viewed as safe, and pleasant, even if lackluster in ambiance.

A loudmouthed underling negotiated cigarettes with a passerby. Up ahead, seated at the outdoor tables, two women sat, each at at their own.

The one woman seemed quite agressive. Her self-chatter was rough, and she would intermittently take a drag off of a cigarette, and toss a glass case in the air, only to have it slam down on the table. Her dress was coarse, and I determined I'd have to sit elsewhere.

The second lady was also lost in her own world. She did not appear aggressive, as I veiwed her from behind. Rather, she seemed quite proper, and had the large shopping cart, weighed heavy with trash-to-treasure type belongings not been nearby, I *almost* would have missed that she was homeless.

That was, of course, until I took better note of her clothing. If you can imagine Carol Burnette's floppy hat as she played the cleaning lady, and imagine that hat done in a pink, white and red print, you will have imagined this lady's hat.

Following your eye downward from the hat, one would see long rhinestone earrings, pleasantly positioned in her earlobes: the first clue that something was not quite right. Out of place is an understatement until coupled with the long, elbow-length red satin gloves and matching red satin purse sitting nearby. The woman's dress was peasant-like, but a complementary color to the reds that adorned her body.

The vendor's three year old daughter had taken a liking to Dell, and, since I was a familiar face, she came out to sit with me in the sun as I ate my delicious Chicken and Bell Peppers. Chatting away, the little girl seemed oblivious to the two tresspassers seated nearby.

Aggressive finally stood up and angrily moved her personhood elsewhere, muttering under her breath some obscenity only known to her. The little girls' parents removed their daughter to allow me to eat in privacy, which left the Beauty Queen and I alone on the porch.

I continued watching Beauty Queen as she dug through her purse repeatedly, talking to herself in nonsense chatter; removing various articles, then replacing them, only to pull out another treasure. My eye caught sight of the honey bear bottle no longer filled with honey, but a red liquid, which I guessed to be koolaid. I desparately wanted to take a photograph, but I restrained myself, out of respect for this woman's destitute lifestyle.

I began to wonder about her. How did she get in this condition? What family members wondered where she was, how she is doing, or did they care at all? Who might be looking for her, from the land of health?

That's when my delicious meal began to turn dull in my eyes. Each continued bite became more laborious, as I considered Beauty Queen's diet in her current state.

The crisp red, green, and yellow peppers danced happily before my eyes, beckoning me to have them thrill my tastebuds . . .but they no longer held appeal. I quickly closed the styrofoam box, and wiped off my fork.

Taking a deep breath and standing, I made a wide half-arch berth so that I approached Beauty from the front, so as not to startle her. She was oblivious to my presence, as her nonsense chatter continued.

"Lady!" I used a strong voice to capture her attention.

"Yes?" she said, now peering up at me from under the brim of her floppy red hat, her earrings glistening anew in the evening sun.

Startled at the brightness I saw in those eyes, I almost wondered if I had made a mistake. Surely someone with this much life and vitality in their eyes couldn't possibly be in the condition she was in! Her dress once again gave her away, as I continued.

"Have you eaten today?"

"Yes!" she said, smiling, as her African American descent came into clear focus before me.

"Oh good!" I said, somewhat bewildered. "I have half of a meal, untouched, in pristine condition here in this box. I want to give it to you, if you would like to eat it."

"Allright." she said simply, going back to her imaginary task of rummaging through her belongings deep in the jowls of the red satin purse.

I placed the tray next to her and turned away.

Walking to the corner, I turned to see if she were eating.

She was not.

I began to second guess myself. Perhaps I had completely misunderstood the entire scene. Why, oh why hadn't I photographed her, or thought to ask if I could photograph her?? What if it was all a ruse, and . . .

My brain whirred at an alarming rate as I loaded the dog and the stroller and the baby back into the car. Because of where I had parked, I had to manuever the corner where the diner sat.

As I did so, my heart leaped.

The little black woman with gleaming eyes, red floppy had, rhinestone earrings and red satin gloves sat eating with a sense of sophistication, as though she owned the joint.

Perhaps she does.

At that moment, I knew I had done the right thing, in every aspect. The meal, the restraint of photography, the regarding of a human life.

A Beauty Queen in God's eyes ate well that night. How glad I was for it.

For ye have the poor with you always, and whensoever ye will ye may do them good . . . Mark 14:7

This Just In

Inadvertently, I ended up on a magazine website late yesterday afternoon. As I scrolled the photo gallery, my mouth gaped open when I arrived at this particular photogrpah.

This is the woman who was getting on (and off!) the bus. The very one who was demanding the paparrazzial attention.

Just to be sure, I followed the note to a google search. Sure enough. My hunch was correct ~ and I found a TON of other paparazzi pics to further validate my find, per the visiual locale markers present.

Egads!

Who knew?

:)

The DellDog Does NoHo Part 2 -or- Why I'd Never Succeed As A Paparazzo

As it was, I'd been watching the camera crew for weeks now. Pulling into my favorite waiting spot about a month ago, I was a bit suprised to find several semis, a catering truck, lots of lighting equipment, and a host of filmmaker roadies milling about a nearby building. All the filming appeared to be happening inside the building, a stone's throw away from me.

Part of me felt like an intruder, and I gave pause to consider parking elsewhere; however, knowing I had taken up temporary residence in a public area, and the overriding sense of 'I was here first' kicked in. Not to mention my overall sense of safety of the immediate area. So, I stayed, and for many weeks, we co-habitated the curbside beautifully.

Tonight when we'd wheeled up, I took note that things seemed different. Equipment had moved. There was a bus I'd never seen before, parked just a pace away. There were a ton of people, more than usual, milling about . . .my spidey senses told me something was up.

I determined to pay it no mind, when we exited the vehicle and began our walk. Even though several of the camera crew greeted the baby and I, and even gave an acknowledging nod to Dell as he trotted beside us, we didn't seem to be in the way. Besides, I was headed one street over, so, what was the harm in passing through?

In retrospect, I'm SO GLAD I parked on that side of the street this time! As I stated previously, upon our return, we discovered a new intesity of activity going on. As for the crowds that existed, they had multiplied. And the bus? It now had a driver.

People were shouting directives at one another. Security men were closing off the area. The boom camera . . .

The boom camera???

Yes, the boom camera was now levitating over the street, and the cameraman was seated nicely, ready and waiting for the 'Action" to commence!

What seemed most intriguing to me, however, was a small group of people, huddled together, wriggling and writhing with a sense of anticipation greater than anyone else on set. It took me almost no time at all to identify these folk: they were the paparazzi.

It was the first time I actually wondered about the film. The presence of the paparazzi told me that someone, at least somewhat famous was interred, hidden behind the walls of the nearby structure.

For the briefest of moments, I felt a flutter of excitement myself . . .*I* could get some photos, too! Quickly snapping the one above, I thought: "Wow! I'll bet the paparazzi aren't used to having their picture taken!" and began to pan the greater area, looking for my next shot.

That's when it happened. The bus, previously stationary on the corner, now roared to life! I heard a cacophany of voices, all prepping the area for action! I froze, suddenly feeling very small and out of place, and, once again, an intruder.

As for the gaggle of paparazzi? They continued to lunge forward, as crewmen held them at bay. Soon, though, large security people began herding the photo-hungry group back . . .

back . . .

back . . .

and back even further, until . . .

GULP!!

My little car was surrounded!

Now, my constitution was weak with absolute embarrassment at my little [but mighty] Canon PowerShot S2 IS held gingerly in my hands, inside my vehicle, waiting for a shot of my very own. Compared to their monster lenses, mine was a wuss. A wave of fight or flight washed over me. I wanted to get outta dodge quick!

But wait! These guys didn't seem to mind the absolute frenzy over capturing that perfect shot uninvited!

That's when I did it. I lifted up my lens, and, standing on the knowledge that I had a mission to document the DellDog in NoHo, I quickly snapped a shot through the nose-smeared glass the Dell had decorated.

Egads.

As quickly as I took it, I sequestered my camera under my seat. Reminding myself to breathe . . .breathe . . .breathe . . .

Just *what* was I afraid of, anyway? Nobody, and I mean nobody took any notoice of me. The only place where I would get yelled at would be if I were to traverse in front of the action. (Which, by now, had begun, as a tall blonde stepped out of the building, and loaded onto the bus at the faux bus stop they had created . . .)

"CUT!"

Someone yelled, and the bus began to back up, to return to it's previous position. The throng of paparazzi buzzed, and a new member was added to their army. This unabashed photographer was even brazen enough to wheel in front of my car, thus parking in the RED ZONE and successfully blocked me in, at my spot on the curb.

I looked at the clock: 7:29. Israel's class would soon be dismissing, and I found myself trapped. Trapped like a rat.

I didn't want to go, after all, I had only taken TWO pictures - of . . .of . . .no one in particular - and yet I couldn't wait to get out of there all at the same time.

Watching normal traffic flow through the street as they reset for another take, I determined I'd be nice, and carefully backed up in my paralell parking spot, preparing to make a u-turn . . .and then, a bee-line outta there!

::sigh::

I've discovered something new about myself.

No matter how much I love taking pictures, I have an innate sense of respect for those situations or people who might not wish to be photographed.

Or, am I crazy, and need a crash course on how to be aggressive when faced with the opportunity extraordinaire??

I'll let you decide, Choosers. Rail me, nail me, chide me, confide in me . . .it's ok. I can take it. I blew it and I know it.

to be continued . . .

The DellDog Does NoHo

So much happened last night that I truly had a hard time deciding where to start, in my relaying of all the adventure that occurred! The result of my delimna works in your favor, in that I am making an announcement - up front! - beforehand! - in advance! - that today's blogpost begins a series. A three part series at that . . .maybe four part, depending on how verbose I feel as I relay the vast amount of experiential detail that would be necessary to give you, my readers, the sense that you. were. there.!! After much deliberation, I thought to start at the reason why I found myself in the middle of so much hubbub.

It was Dell.

I had not found a window of time to give him a good leg-stretching for several days. As I gathered up my sons to head to North Hollywood, a flash of brilliant idea crept up in the periphery of my mind: take Dell with.

Grabbing the leash, I didn't even need to call his name, as he was already in the garage, loading himself into the back seat with the boys, ready to go, tail wagging like nobody's business.

We dropped off Israel, and had an experience right off the bat. But, I'm not quite ready to tell you about that one. What I do want you to know first thing is that the DellDog has officially traversed the city streets of the Arts District of LA. Here is proof positive, on one of the busy intersections:

Please note that I purposely, and with great photographical craft included the fire hydrant for ambiance. Quite apprapo, don't you think?? :)

Note also, how content Keller is to take in the sights of the city scape, and how intense Dell is, at the new sights and sounds. He really didn't know how to act when a jogger would go by. Was it lunch? Do I need to go get 'im for ya, Ma? WhaddooIdo? WhaddooIdo?

I managed to keep him at a level-headed state of being, as we continued our little walk.

That's when I realized that it was finally happening:

For two solid months, the advertisements shouted at passers-by. Performers graced the building constantly, in preparation for the big day, but by and large, the traffic patterns were just that: rehearsals, rehearsals, rehearsals.

Tonight, tho! Tonight was Day 2 of the Big Production, and a host of geriatric folk were now pedestrian fare to one destination: The Debbie Reynolds show. Dell wanted to investigate further.

We even got laughed at by a gang of punk kids, who mistakenly thought we were in attendance. Pfff! Whaddatheyknow? Right Dell? Like a dog would be going to see Debbie Reynolds perform. Ha!

We ignored the jousting words, and continued down the walkway. This photo below is testimonial proof that one never knows what they will find, nor see in NoHo:

A copper bike? Oh yes. Copper, polished and burnished to a bright sheen, complete with pewter helmet-like edging, and suede fringies on the seat back, saddle style. Egads. In honor of this once in a lifetime visual, this photo is dedicated to Mom and Rog. :)

Several crazies, a couple of frightened pedestrians (like the DellDog is anything to be afraid of . . .pfff!), a tree trunk or two later, and soon, we were back at the car, ready to pick up Israel from class.

Of course, that was until we found ourselves surrounded . . .



to be continued . . .

Taste Test

So, a cyber-friend turned in-real-life friend passed me a bag of chips one day at lunch several weeks ago. I almost turned them down for two reasons:

1. I generally don't care for kettle-style chips (too hard on my teeth! too crunchy!) and
2. I generally don't go for 'out-there' flavored chips.

Yet, for some inexplicable reason, I reached in, and pulled out a handful of golden brown chips, and began munching on the Hawaiian brand Sweet Maui Onion snack.



My mouth exploded with one of the *most* delicious treats I've experienced in some time, as far as potatoe chips go! I literally had to emply self-control so as to not empty the bag, right then and there! I took mental note of what I was eating, and determined that I would find these tasty morsels on my next trip to the grocery store.

Well, as for the best laid plans of mice and men, I could not, for the life of me, find these morsels! AAAaaaaggghhhh! Store after store I ventured . . .until the delightful day I discovered them on a shelf, just waiting for me to purchase them! I introduced them to Gil, who agreed with me ~ they are FANTASTIC!

Clearing out a bag in a half hour or so was a simple task between the two of us.

Then, the unthinkable happened! I could not for the life of me remember where I had gotten them.

Egads.

So, the other day, whilst doing a grocery shop, I found these:




Now, I am almost a brand specific gal when it comes to potatoe chips . . .and my brand of choice is Lays 9 times out of 10. So, when I saw them, I felt quite confident that they would be equal in stature to the Hawaiian brand.


Humph!


Boy was I wrong! While the kettle crispness was not as intense, thus good for my teeth, the flavor was lacking. Close, but no cigar.


I felt disappointed.


Then, I felt appalled.


I might be addicted.


Oh no.


{Dialing the Hawaiian company}


"Hello? Is this the home of THE Sweet Maui Onion Kettle Chips?"