Los Angeles makes me

Today, mom and I took advantage of the sunshine and drove up to Los Angeles. i forgot how pretty the drive up was, with the wide ocean on one side, and rolling green mountains on the other. the rain has stuck close to San Diego recently, so the place is much greener than it has been in years. its almost overwhelming.

so, we drove into downtown LA, to the fabric district, our favorite place. mom had a special mission to buy how ever many yards of this one type of fabric for work, so we parked the car and started walking down the crowded streets.

there is a specific place that mom and i shop at in downtown LA, called "The Alley", a literal alley way that was converted into a series of stalls, run by mexican immigrants. the clothes are interesting, cheap, and its always an adventure. usually, we are the token white people shopping there, so we get a lot of attention and calls from the vendors. other than us, the entire place is a little tiajuana. everything is in spanish.

now, downtown LA streets are very interesting. i dont think there are any others in the world like them. its this massive web of thin crowded alleys, lined with thousands of immigrants, selling clothes, fabrics, freshly sliced fruit, sausages and onions, hot burritos, fantas, and goodness knows what else. the flow of people is like a strong, crowded tide, with everyone moving in a million directions. and everyone and their mother has a baby, so you have to watch out for strollers running over your feet, or little toddlers squealing in your ear.

as we walked down the alley, inquring about prices of shoes or dresses, i couldnt help but take in the specific moments. i noticed there was this old mexican man pushing a cart, selling ice cream. the cart had bells on the handle that rang when he pushed it, and they sounded in an old-century colonial way. the music of the bells permeated the air, and echoed through the streets. i really like those bells.

in the crowd of people, there are the mexican girls, mostly all dressed in the same kind of clothes-what we call "chola", a street tough style consisting of solid colored shirts, tighter jeans, addidas or pumas, gelled hair, thickly penciled eyebrows, shiny lipgloss, dark eyeliner, and lips penciled just on the edges. anybody from southern california knows what i mean. there are also cholOS, the guy version. they were baggy solid colored shirts, baggy jeans, addidas or pumas, have usually shaved or short hair, and look pretty tough too. you know a cholo when you see one.

so, we walked with the cholos, and the cholas, and the babies, and the older women shopping for their children, and the ice cream man, and we shopped, got made fun of by people who thought we couldnt understand spanish, making our way in the hot sun all over "the alley" and the fabric district.

its always interesting, a delight to the senses, and a little like a dangerous mission to go there. i felt on guard, needing to look street wise so i wouldnt get blown over by the people around me. but these are the places i grew up in so i dont mind.

its the little things throughout the day that i realized brought the most love about home back to me. like the humility in the eyes of the man selling the ice cream, or the tough cholos standing on the streets (i dont know why i missed them, but this is the only place you can find people like that, and i cherish them. yeah, its weird). i missed the way the sun fades on the ocean, making everything sparkle and shine right before it dips below the horizon. or the view of Big Bear mountain, covered in snow. or the names of the exits along the freeway that i recognize. i know where they lead.

so, so far, my time at home has been busy and beautiful. like a breath of fresh air, i drink it in and relish every moment. i love being with my family, my friends, my cat (though i still havent given the thing a name), my places. i can see that no matter where i go, this will forever be where my heart is.