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The Cooker

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Currently Netflix is playing the foodie film, ” Julie and Julia” about a food blogger who emulated Julia Child, the famous American French chef who changed American cooking and made history.  I dedicate this post to foodies and bloggers everywhere who are driven by curiosity and creativity.

When I moved into my old house, I was fortunate enough that it came with an antique stove. A 1950’s Maytag Dutch Oven model.  It was quite a sight and definitely not in perfect condition, but it worked. The edges were gently worn, but repaired with Porcelain Fix. The light over the stovetop was supposed to come on with a chain pull, but the original bulb(which was still there) had burnt out after 60 years.   There was a deep pot for stewing integrated into the surface, in the left rear position.

 

The stove was white and had an oven with a separate broiler beneath it. Sandwiching the main oven, were two large warmers. There were four burners on the top of the stove. One burner was situated deep within and below the above mentioned cast aluminum pot that was engraved around the edge with the words- REMOVE BEFORE COOKING. There was a timer that didn’t work. My friends and family were skeptical, but I fell in love at first sight.

Quickly,  before I move on, let me explain what is a Dutch Oven?  According to Wikipedia ” A Dutch oven is a thick-walled cooking pot with a tight-fitting lid. Dutch ovens are usually made of seasoned cast iron; however, some Dutch ovens are instead made of cast aluminium, or are ceramic. Some metal varieties are enameled rather than being seasoned.” Wikipedia

I knew that I could make it work and looked forward to creating great meals with it. The first thing I learned about this old stove was that when you heated it up, it got really hot and kept getting hot. The regulator was not functioning and I wasn’t sure until about ten years later where to find a repairman that specialized in antique ovens. There were so many projects with the old house that this was far down the list.

What was right? The flames on the top burners were strong  and the broiler was industrial grade and meant for serious grilling.  The broiler would brown and extract exquisite flavors fast.  So, I set about cooking with the stove and it was a project, but the food always came out fantastic and delish according to my guests. It was also a great heater in the winter. The heat from the stove would toast not only food, but humans too, making the house cozy and welcoming during cool So Cal winters.

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Antique stoves are beautiful in appearance.  The designs speak of an era that has passed. There are round edges, beautiful lettering explaining simple features and sometimes whimsical small coves strategically placed for reheating and storing.  O’Keefe and Merritt, the royalty of cookers, was famous for those miniature alcoves of heat and created designs that brought forth images of English cottages, baking and creating homemade breads, puddings and pastries.  These tiny spaces were meant not only for embellishment,  but creating complex dishes that required multiple compartments for warming and various functions.

Old stoves are quirky, they appear charming and in my opinion are fun to use.   This Thanksgiving I made a sinfully delicious and decadent  hot chocolate pudding cake.   The cake came out beautifully-hot, sweet and unbelievably satisfying. So here’s to old stoves and second chances.

 

Photo by Taylor Kiser on Unsplashh 

So for those of you who are reading this and are now thinking of hot, sweet,  melted chocolate embedded in cake that melts in your mouth, I invite you to try the recipe. For your pleasure, I’ve posted the link below for easy access:

https://www.hersheys.com/kitchens/en_us/recipes/hot-fudge-pudding-cake.html

Bon Appetit!

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Quiet Winter

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I travelled to the Northeast several winter’s ago to share joy with a friend who’s sister was having a baby shower. It was in January the dead of winter and the Northeastern hamlets were covered with blankets of snow. Beautiful pristine crystallized vistas met my gaze as we drove into her village. The air was crisp, refrigerated, but pure. The icy air cooled my airways and my lungs gratefully indulged in the clean cold air. As we walked to the front of our cottage where we were staying,  the snow crunched under our feet. Otherwise, there was silence. People were tucked away in their homes, working on keeping warm and cheerful. The promise of a new life  hovered above us.

The community was old and people didn’t usually move away. My friend and I were well into our fifties and she heralded me with stories as far back as baby music school that she and her friend that had attended. Her friend still lived in the village. Their parents were still there too. She had stories that filled the trip with history of her friends and their families. Who they were and how they came to live in the village.

After a quick dinner, we settled into a room on the top floor of the cottage. The cottage was made of beautiful wood from local Ash and Fir trees. All around the cottage was forest. A forest that would not give up and continued to thicken and thrive no matter what. To live in this forest required constant cutting back to maintain your small space amongst the giants. Outside our multi-paned window, lay an evening winter wonderland scene. The snow sparkled as rays of moonlight hit it’s surface. Giant trees cast shadows across the cottage and the landscape.

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I quickly dressed for bed in warm pajamas and climbed under a huge old comforter covered with a hand stitched quilt. I sunk my head into a soft pillow filled with down. The next thing I knew, light streamed in from the small window and was hitting my eyelids, it was morning. A gentle morning ray that cut across the gray winter sky and provided just enough illumination to establish it was daytime.

 

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There were no sounds. Just quiet, stillness, my breathing. A sense of peace. It had snowed again during the night.  Fresh diamonds of ice glittered brightly across the landscape, bringing the promise of fresh water in the coming spring and new life.  I felt strangely at home. We bowed down to the cold; to it’s majesty and magic.

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Frida’s Mexican Cuisine & Cafe

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First time at Frida’s Mexican Cuisine & Cafe, the former iconic Cupid’s of Corona located at the corner of Grand and Sixth Street next to the historic raceway in the historic core of Corona. The restaurant is pristine and the food delicious. This is the real deal. Authentic Mexican recipes come to life. It’s fresh and there is a wide choice of dishes to choose from. To top it off, they have an expresso machine and a drive thru for commuters who want their lattes. Customer service is very good. The counter help is friendly and extremely helpful. There are lots of clean, comfy booths too, with a good view of a busy intersection. Great for people watching. The only thing I would change is to make room for a small stage and have poetry readings and art in the evenings. This is Frida’s after all, one of the treasures of the art world, who lived and breathed her art. “Feet, what do I need you for when I have wings to fly?” – Frida Kahlo

 

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All You Ever Wanted To Know About Bungalows Part V

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In this episode of my ongoing series, All You Ever Wanted To Know About Bungalows, I thought it was time to take a look at bungalow landscaping. Just like any yard, it can be anything you want it to be. I love preservation and so nothing makes me happier than to see a yard that stays true to the period of the house and supports the authenticity of the project at hand. So what does that mean in bungalow terms? Well, to answer that question, I had to go back in time and review what people did with their yards one hundred and fifty years ago when the craftsman architecture began to emerge. What were people doing with their yards back then and did many people even have them? The answer to the latter part of the question is a resounding yes. Your garden was important during this era. This was a time when there was no accessible technology. Only scientists were accessing that world and preparing it for commercialization. Owning, designing and presenting your garden were entertainment.

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As the Craftsman movement emerged in California, adherence to the core concepts espoused by it’s English founders John Ruskin, William Morris and Augustis Pugin created a very different style of living from the accepted mores of the time. The style represented an economic and social reform that was anti-industrial. Thus, you had homes that emphasized natural materials and a layout that promoted the health of it’s inhabitants. Artistic influence was key. Acknowledging the natural creativity of the human being and utilizing this to construct the home. Beauty with intelligence was the key concept of the Craftsman architecture. Utility and reliable construction were more important than ornamentation, because what came naturally was considered ornamentation in itself.

A traditional Craftsman landscape would include a lawn in the front and ended there.  Traditionally, lawnm did not surround the home. The majority of bungalows were small and would have a smaller lawn. Trees were important and the Roosevelt Pine with it’s drooping limbs and fan like foliage added grace and a touch of wilderness to the scene. Magnolia trees were also great for shade and beauty. There would most likely be roses in a welcoming position near the pathway to the front door or at the front porch itself. Other popular plantings were wildflowers and native plants. Lilac was a favorite tree. Cactus and bougainvillea were utilized as well. The spiritual myrtle was well loved and creeping fig too.

The backyard was more rustic and usually there was a vegetable garden filled with tomatoes, cucumbers, potatoes, beans, spinach, chard and kale. Benches and birdbaths were popular. Paths lined with large natural stones were also part of the more rustic landscaping. It was all about incorporating nature and maintaining a earthy and inviting setting.

Fast forward the present. Here we are in 2018, weather patterns are changing and changing the life cycle of plants. Climate change has been recognized by brilliant scientists across the globe. The topic is controversial; it’s causes and how the human race will move into the future and live in harmony with the changes occurring. Current recommendations in Southern California are to go with drought resistant plants. These also make a welcoming and gorgeous landscape. These were already used in the past to a lesser degree, but now we are encouraged to let our lawns go to save precious water.  Utilize plants that are hardy and need small amounts of watering. Several homes in my historic neighborhood have embraced this movement and their yards look amazing. This gardening concept is slowly taking hold, but has a significant presence.

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The last addition to be made to a Craftsman garden is rustic lawn furniture.  Furniture made of tree canes blends well into the naturescape.  A bird fountain to attract feathered friends.  In the larger, grander properties, Koi ponds were popular.

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Craftsman culture encompasses the love of the outdoor space and it’s importance cannot be diminished. Whether it be carefully designed and executed; or left to nature, the Craftsman architecture inspires a creative and beautiful outdoor space.  Head out soon to any historic district in Southern California, especially the Inland Empire and you will find no end to the beautiful examples of classic Craftsman landscaping.

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Meaningful Green:

Magnolia trees (Magnoliaceae): Symbol of feminine strength, faith, beauty, gentleness, purity and nobility.

Myrtle (Mertus) Symbol of beauty, love, paradise, sweetness, justice, divine generosity, peace, and recovery.

Cactus (Cactaceae): warmth, protection, endurance and maternal love.

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Old Genova

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It’s finally October in Southern California. This is always the first day of the holidays for me. It starts with Halloween, then Thanksgiving, Christmas and the grand finale New Years. I went out to do shopping and I was struck how bright and hot the sun was. Halloween was coming with it’s impending delights, short days and long, cold, starlit nights. Halloween was usually the first day of really cold weather. Along with holiday, came the cold, folklore and horror stories of Halloween. The holiday took the stage for a yearly celebration filled with madness and fun. All things of the night were about to arise and the first celebration of the fall to begin. This time of year brought back memories of journeys long ago. Memories of an ancient Italian city by the sea, mysterious and beautiful, where mariners had set off for voyages into the unknown. Where mysteries and the dark secrets of more than one thousand years lay in wait in the dark crevices of ancient stone and alley ways.

When I was young I was sent to work in Genova, the home of Christopher Columbus, who had discovered the Americas. I was sent there to dance with my troupe in a small nightclub overlooking the Mediterranean. When we weren’t working, we took advantage of the free time to discover and explore the old city and it’s mysteries.

Genova is an ancient city in a region that has been populated since a thousand years before the birth of Christ. It’s located on the Western seaboard of Italy and just South of the French Riviera. It’s magnificent and very, very old. The city is imbued with a heavy ambience and it’s multitude of passages are very dark. As night falls, the mists of the ancient Mediterranean sea creep over the stony beaches, up ancient stone sea walls and onto the cobblestones of the streets of Genova. The mist twists it’s way among the city passages and thickens as the midnight hour approaches. The moisture carries the aromas of sea life and jurassic flavors that thicken the misty soup with the daily remnants that local fisherman have left behind. It drenches the city, coating the walls, window ledges, rusted iron balconies and creeps into every architectural crevice. The streets of old Genova twist and intersect comprising a maze of history and life histories that have passed centuries before our time. The buildings are huge antiquities mostly filled with apartments. Apartments the size of small palaces. Small balconies are suspended from exterior patios, decorated with plants, laundry and other evidence of human life. During the day, along streets made of aged and black cobblestones, men gather and smoke or share an espresso.

Our apartment was located just a block from the beach, close to the port. When we walked downward toward the sea we eventually reached a man made stone parapice that overlooked the huge ships that were docked in the port. The port where Christopher Colombus had set sail and made modern history. I learned early on that the multitude of neighborhood bars served thick rich syrupy espresso with melted sugar blended into the richness. If there was milk, it came from a box that expired after one year.

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After we finished our work at two in the morning, we usually weren’t sleepy. We were on an adrenaline high of performing for almost four hours straight, with just small breaks in between. There wasn’t much to do in the sleepy port, so we would walk. We walked and we discovered the people of the night and the places that were alive through the hours of darkness. One of the nicest surprises were the bakeries. While the Genovese slept, the bakers and pastries chefs of the city worked through the night creating delicious breads and treats. We were a crowd of five young women, five foot nine and taller and slim. A baker’s helper all in white and a smile of icy white teeth, called out to us. “Eh Gazelle!” We stopped. He led us in to a large sparkling kitchen filled with clouds of the aroma of warm, fresh baked bread. There were trays of delicate pastries infused with custard, coated with chocolate toppings and small garnishments of mint leaves, fruit or candies in all colors of the rainbow. The head chef was pulling a huge tray of focaccia from the oven to be delivered to the local bars to accompany the morning coffee. He began to shove bread at us and filled white bags full of the treats. “Manga! Manga!” and then he pushed us into the street again and called out “adomani!” And we did come back the next morning and the next. The bakers became our friends and one of the girls even began dating one.

If we walked away from the old city away from the port and up towards the hills of northern Italy, the streets eventually widened and let in light. The stone became lighter, soft yellow and white. During daylight hours, glimmering and irridescent shop windows displayed the latest italian fashions in bold colors. Neon blinked on and off advertising fun shopping and cafes with gelato. If you changed your direction and headed east you ended up in the hills. The hills glowed and were dotted with olive trees and cypress. If you looked to the west the ocean glimmered in the sun and became sparkling and iridescent as the sun played upon the aqua waves. The city was magic and beautiful. A city by the sea filled with mystery and possibilities.

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Ancient Summer

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I live in a house that’s over a hundred years old. To someone from the East Coast or Europe, it’s not really such a big deal or ancient. But in California it qualifies as old. Our oldest building in California is the Mission San Juan Capistrano, which is 236 years old, but there are not many like her. Over the years, people have asked me, what is it like to live in a old house?

Currently, it’s summer, so most of my perspective is coming from that place. Basically, it’s hot. We are into September, which is still kind of summer in the Inland Empire and it was 100 yesterday. It was 117 last month and was up to 106 three days in a row during one week. Yes, I have central air conditioning. And I have a friend that put down new base boards for me, so that forced cold air now stays in the house. When I first moved into the house, there were cracks and gaps everywhere and light actually shown through. Did this disturb me? No. I liked the fact that fresh air was constantly being exchanged and I could see sunlight peeking through near the floor. I even got up at a Board of Realtors meeting in Corona and expoused on the benefits of air exchange in old bungalows, so that gives you a big clue where I’m coming from when discussing restoration and preserving the originalty of antique structures. It’s that type of perspective that you find from people who live in old houses. It’s a love for imperfection caused by years of wear and tear. A love of fine craftsmanship from a day gone by that is hard to find in new construction these days. If you want it, you have to pay a dear price, whereas at the turn of the century most men had to know how to work with their hands and took immense pride in what they created.

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So this house is made of redwood and it gets hot. I asked my son why the electric company sent us a notice informing us that I used too much electricity-more electricity than 100 of my neighbors within a mile radius. He matter of factly told me; you live in an old house. A lot of the comparable were with neighbors from up the street. They have new modern systems that don’t use as much energy to cool their homes. You know the houses are air tight and stuccoed as well and help to stabilize the temperature.

I appreciate the benefits of stucco, but redwood is so beautiful and strong that it’s hard for me to see past that. The older the wood is, the more value it holds. Old wood is sturdy and tough and great for building. It comes from trees that lived long lives before they were cut down. It can be as hard as cement.The wood holds a spirit and character that lends a certain ambience when you build a home out of it.

Oh I know, you are probably thinking that trees and wood don’t have personality or life. My beliefs are different. Trees keep us alive and without trees, human life would not exist. Trees, especially ancient trees have lived through climate change, wars, pollution and natural disasters. They absorb the stuff of life and it’s held within their roots, trunk and foliage. When a tree is harvested for building, along with it’s wood comes all of the energy and nutrients it absorbed over it’s lifespan. The wood holds all of that and it holds it for a long time. The oldest wooden house in the world is over 700 years old. The house is in Switzerland and the local belief is that as long as someone lives in the house and lives a good life, it will remain strong and provide a safe and comfortable shelter.

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When I was in the market for a house, I fell in love with my old house at first sight. There was an inexplicable ambience when I walked through the front door that was hard to describe. It was pleasant and gentle, almost a loving feeling that permeated the warm and musty interior. Later, I found out that the house had been lived in by many good people. A farmer, a Navy officer, teachers, an attorney and many more. A passionate teen romance had played itself out on the second story of the house. In the attic were old love letters stashed away and favorite toys. The couple had cast their initials with a heart in cement next to the vintage light post outside.

Certain days during the summer, I’ll go up to the second story where it’s almost impossible to cool down the rooms and sit in the heat and soak in the hot air, the agedness of the house. The smell of the redwood and old plaster is released into the atmosphere. Memories of my own life, raising my children in the house, restoration projects and community meetings move about the room and come to life. It’s deeply satisfying and spiritual; an affirmation that the circle of life is there and goes on beautifully with love and care.

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My Girl’s Boy

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I was really tired, bone tired. I was in the maternity ward waiting room at a world famous hospital far from home in the middle of the night at 2 am. I was trying to rest and laid across several seats, using my purse as a hard, but sufficient pillow. Across the room sat my in-laws. They were trying to make pleasant conversation, but I was reaching the bottom of my energy barrel and had to make a move or fall into an uncomfortable sleep across the hard chairs. My first grandchild was on the way and I wanted to be there for the great event, but it looked like I wasn’t going to make it. Work, commuting and other life stuff had used up most of my energy reserves for the week already and I was running mostly on sheer will and the desire to see the birth of my grandchild.

I hiked over one last time to my daughter’s room. Her labor was slow and precarious. This was the third day and we were all worried. I felt that she was in good hands with a medical team that was well known all over the world for delivering babies safely.

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She was still awake and had not had a good sleep for the past 72 hours. Her husband, part man-part angel, was by her side. He only left to use the bathroom or other necessary human tidying up. Otherwise he didn’t leave her side once. He held her, massaged her, dressed her, bathed her and took her phone calls. He talked to her and kept the ambiance positive with unwavering faith that she and the baby would make it safely and they would have the family they had always dreamed of. I felt like crying everytime I saw them. I was helpless to make a significant human difference in the situation, the only thing I could do was pray and have faith that it would turn out ok.

They told me it was ok to go home. The plan was that I would stay with them for a week after, to help them adjust and help with caring for their new son. So, I went home and then the call came about four hours later that he was here and she was fine. My new grandson was healthy, with high Apgars and my daughter was relieved and new mom euphoric. She was now a mom. I wish I could have witnessed it, but thoughts of going to meet him and see him took over. I was excited to head back over to the hospital.

Returning to the hospital I was caught up in introspection. A birth is an everyday miracle. It happens four times every second. Few take it for granted. It’s the most beautiful thing that can happen to a human being or to be witnessed. To see new life emerge. Brought about by a spark of divine energy. Life is everything. Basically, it’s all we’ve actually got. Without life, nothing else could exist and things would have no meaning. We humans seem to need things. Sometimes lots of things, to make us appreciate ourselves and our time here on Earth. Many people of the world live in poverty and they don’t have things. They live without the material stuff and still manage to love life, their family and make everyday count. Faced with starvation and exposure to the elements on a daily basis, they reach deep within for strength and meaning. This is the deep human instinct to live.

I saw a great show on television, that showed cultures from around the glove. One family literally had no home. Just some wood posts and fabric. But they experienced joy everyday as evidenced by their smiles that lit up when a family member was there or approached. I thought that this was the gift that we received everyday that was priceless and better than anything else. Life and love.

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I arrived at the hospital and there was my daughter, son-in-law and my new grandson settled in nicely to post delivery mode. My daughter looked exhausted but elated and was skin to skin with her son. My son-in-law was full of joy and stood by protecting his brood. It was a gorgeous sight. I felt myself getting weepy again and then the tears just came anyway, even though I struggled hard and painfully to keep my emotions in check. They wrapped the baby carefully and placed him in my arms. He smelled fresh and of life springing from something primordially. He was calm and perfect to me.

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A new generation was here to carry on and bring goodness to the world.

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Melanzana and Bubbly Flower

Spring was upon us in So Cal, June gloom had come in May and was rapidly dissolving now that we were in the early days of June. The last week of May hearalded a full moon that lasted a full four nights and cast is luminescence and magic over the world. Those who were smart enough to tap into it’s vibration, were supposed to be rewarded by excelling in all of their endeavors. Love and abundance was showered upon them from Luna, our faithful moon.

So the days were getting longer and the heat was emerging steadily with each afternoon in these early days of the month. I called my niece, who was always up for an experience and fun and we decided to meet at Aruffo’s, a wonderful Italian restaurant in the Inland Empire. I love to take my family there, because it’s the best place to eat-ever. The cuisine is authentic Italian made from recipes direct from Italy and served in full courses. Imaginative cocktails, delicious wine, inventive and traditional appetizers, complex and artful full plates and then to bring down the curtain; desserts that were fresh and to die for with fresh coffee pressed at our table.

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I ordered Pasta Melanzana. Translated, this is Eggplant Parmesana. A delicious and decadent creamy dish with an eggplant base surrounded by fresh cooked spinach and a magical sauce that unlocks dreams of the Italian countryside and a life filled with joy and pleasure. The sauce is made with fresh butter, cream, spinach and parmesan cheese. To accompany the dish, I ordered a Bubbly Flower Martini, a cooling concoction of Prosecco and St. Germain Liqueur with a lemon twist. The Saint Germain Liqueur is made with Elderflower gathered in the French Alps and adds warm floral notes. The drink is a perfect summer refresher at the end of a hot day. It went great with the dish I ordered.

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It just happened that it was also night of the Claremont Blues & Brews Craft Beer Walk. Jazz and Blues bands took up strategic locations throughout the village and provided cool and spontaneous notes to accompany an evening of possibilities. People were cruising, enjoying the night and the vibe was magic.

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It was the perfect setting for catching up and reveling in the beauty of life. Afterward we strolled across the Claremont Colleges campus beneath towering sequoias and expansive lawns bordered with blooming rosebuds. Along each street were gorgeous old houses and school buildings where history had been made and the world changed with discoveries that had happened there.

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Pomona, Goddess of the IE

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As you travel from Los Angeles via the interstate 60 towards the Inland Empire, the first Inland Empire city you reach is Pomona. Pomona, named for the goddess of fruit and trees. A land that was once filled with vast ranchos, orchards, farms, wineries and dairies. In the center of this hub of agricultural activity the city was built. A functional and sturdy downtown that today is the location of Western University, a fairly new university devoted to the sciences. Pomona was also the birthplace of Pomona College which eventually transformed into the Claremont Colleges.

To travel to Pomona, is to travel to the farming past of Southern California. The city became famous due to it’s citrus heritage and the wealthiest man in Los Angeles county during the 1890’s; a Jewish rancher named Louis Phillips. Louis Phillips made his fortune in ranching that produced wool, honey and wheat. He was a leader and an accomplished businessman that devoted his life to developing the region and prosperity. His home was built in 1875 along the Butterfield Stage route and is still standing today. It became a Registered National Historic Place in 1974.

Louis Phillips’ time was an era when families went into town only when needed to conduct business, attend church or other important social functions. A typical day in Southern California was hot, quiet and purposeful. Seemingly slow, but most likely just as industrious. The old downtown at face value is functional; yet jewels of architecture are imbedded within it’s practical face. Driving through, it’s evident that several of the buildings are large-very large and there is parking. Vast empty lots of free parking. It’s a city with a spacious floor plan. Large buildings on wide streets that are straight and easy to navigate. A fairly small downtown that accommodates a swelling population during business hours. It’s a thrifting paradise teeming with funky antique stores, thrift stores, art galleries and a concert venue. There are several cool, fairly priced restaurants and cafes to provide a respite from the heat.

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And then there are the churches. The soul of Pomona is it’s churches, and there are over one hundred. The architecture of Pomona’s churches serves well as a guide to turn of the century, ecclesiastic architecture. The churches are old and varied and make for a fascinating afternoon of surveying religious architecture. Western University is also here. The university is fairly new and just a mere 40 years old, but quickly gaining prestige as many brilliant young minds gather here to become the best practitioners of the sciences. Osteopaths, optometrists, nurses and many other vocations.

It’s not only historic architecture that Pomona is know for, but also is home to Diamond Ranch High School designed by Thom Mayne, co-creator of the Southern California Institute of Architecture, or SCI-Arc. The school has been utilized in several television and films productions due it’s amazing and mind bending design. It’s worth the drive to take in the breathtaking modern design that is inspirational and will open your mind to the coming new age.

A day trip to Pomona makes for a relaxed and funky afternoon. It’s a step into the past and a gateway to the future. Pomona is a perfect example of where cities are headed in Southern California. Celebrating a proud heritage, preserving beauty from the past and creating a new culture that incorporates history in a new and though provoking way.

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The Fabric Of Our Lives

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I love clothes and how people choose to express themselves through adornment. One of my favorite past times is to look through the glossy pages of a fashion magazine and dive into Pinterest blogs on fashion. One day, feeling completely inspired and like I wanted to immerse myself in that world, I headed out to the fabric district in Los Angeles. The fabric district is really part of the Fashion District, but it’s a whole world on to itself, so I really think of it as it’s own district-no matter what the city of Los Angeles says.

I drove into Los Angeles and splurged on great parking. The parking was on a rooftop and just across the street from one of the oldest and most prestigious fabric shops, Michael Levine. It was great being in the middle of the whole scene and convenient too. Pedestrians, cars, vans, motorbikes and city buses moved quickly to avoid colliding. There were several blocks where every corner and the spaces in between contained a multitude of fabric stores. There were fabrics of every color and type imaginable. The prices were amazing and the shopowners were out to bargain. It was not a place to be shy. The fabrics were works of art. Every weave imaginable was represented. There were beautiful and glorious pieces with beading and flowers that shimmered in the light.

It was a world filled with color. A Kaliedescope of various hues. The possibilities were infinite. It made me think of how our world is lit by the sun. Each morning, light greets the world and illuminates our space and creates a stage. The colors of the rainbow that are reflected in beams of light influence human mood and energy.

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Through science we’ve learned to understand the meaning of light and color and apply what we’ve learned in traditional scientific medicine as well as holistic and ancient medicines. Therapy utilizing light and color can be implemented on a very basic level and artists have known this for ages. Famous artists have expounded on the life giving benefits of light and color for centuries. Physicians as far back as the Renaisance implemented light therapy. The oldest spiritual guides and texts direct the human flock to follow the light, that God is light. The path to Nirvana is filled with light and color which serve as milestones for various levels of enlightenment.

I headed into Michael Levine’s, which had been there since the 1940’s. Groups of people milled about discussing projects and making plans. The employees were skilled and answered my questions quickly and with in-depth knowledge of the product. They seemed to have a good eye for serious buyers and creatives that frequented the district to make their livelihoods. There was an air of seriousness and intent hovering over the scene. Creativity danced about the space, seeming to be shooting everywhere, from so many people that had come to this industrial, but beautiful space to realize their dreams.

Photo by Brunel Johnson on Unsplash

There were designers comparing fabrics and discussing building a line of fashion for the next season, people picking out small accoutrements to add to their creations such a flowers buttons and beads and moms with their daughters picking out fabric for possibly a prom dress. It was completely open and comfortable with a sense of purpose. I soaked it in and stored it away for future inspiration.

Next, I headed across the street and up a flight of stairs into a worn warehouse smudged with grease, dirt, graffiti and possibly anything that had been flung at it by humans and machinery. About three flights up was the remnant store for Michael Levine. It was a great spot filled with fabric ends. You could fill a bag for just one dollar. It was quieter here with fewer customers. I toured the space, sizing up what was offered and realized what a great opportunity it was to be creative on a smaller budget. I filled up a bag and then was on my way.

Before I headed back to my car, I stopped in a few of the smaller shops that were jam packed with gorgeous fabrics from around the world. I spoke with one of the sales guys, who was super friendly and ready to make a deal. After scoping out the district and experiencing the excitement of the area, I felt that I had got what I came for and even more. I headed back to my car feeling that it had been an amazing day well worth the drive that took about an hour on a Saturday morning from the Inland Empire.