On the way to the Dance, Kay Nielsen
11,646. A bitch getting up at 5:30 this morning so I could write. I weaseled the time, stealing minutes until it was nearly six and a little voice, the ever-ready doubt demon sleazing his way in, whispered, “You don’t have to get up yet; it’s Friday; sleep in; do the words tonight.” Fat chance. Not after the Sepulveda to 405 crawl. First thing I’m gonna do when I get home is dive into the gin pail, and when I resurface, I’m gonna collapse in bed and watch one of my frequently re-played movies (I really need to add some new viewing to the dvd collection.) and stare until the sleep fairy hammers my eyes closed. So, knowing myself so very well, I got up, hefted the Mac into bed, and managed to do a new heretofore unthought of scene. It’s not finished; it’s rough, bare bones stuff, but it’s a good thing. If I’da snoozed, I’da missed it.
On occasion, the mundane gives way to surprise. Yesterday the Farmer’s Market returned, after a long absence, having been pushed out of their old location by construction, and a flower seller had red lilies! I hardly ever see red lilies. These were large, six-petaled rose-colored beauties, black-freckled on the inside. I bought the last bunch to grace my desk and make me smile through my long Thursday afternoon when I work until seven.
And, at lunch time yesterday, in recently created Century Park, we were treated to a concert by none other than Stevie Wonder. CAA has offices in the new building and I guess this was just one of those nice things. The park, a middling swatch of thick grass and young trees, was full with as many people as could find a spot to stand. Blustery, cold-edged winds swooped among the stone and glass canyons, but the sun beamed happily, and Stevie Wonder gave us a sweet, free performance, finishing the set with his popular “Superstition.” Nice lunch hour.