Ailantha - Blog

Wondering About God At The La Brea Tar Pits

12/15/2018

Don't sweat the holidays!
Give the gift of a sweet and spicy read.
"Equal and Opposite Reactions"
by Patti Liszkay
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Wondering About God At The La Brea Tar Pits

...Continued from yesterday:
     I'd of course heard of the La Brea Tar Pits, the famous ponds that are in fact not filled with tar, but with asphalt, formed millions of years ago and which have yielded a treasure trove of ancient animal fossils.
    I also knew that the La Brea Tar Pits were somewhere around Los Angeles.
    Turned out the Tar Pits were in the back yard of the Los Angeles County Museum of Art.

So after lunch at the museum cafe,

...where the food was surprisingly good,

...we walked out to the backyard of the museum,

...to the La Brea Tar Pits.

It was here that we learned that the pits are not actually filled with tar, but with asphalt - which is essentially crude oil - that was forced up from an oil field located 1,000 feet below this part of Los Angeles.

We also learned that these asphalt pools were death traps for animals of the Pleistocene era who, thinking they were pools of water, were lured onto their sticky surface:

At one end of the biggest tar pit were statues of elephants enacting the plight of a female mastodon trapped in the asphalt while her mate and calf look on helplessly.

     Thus the La Brea Tar pits are a 2 million-year-old bone yard from which paleontologists continue to dig up fossils which are pieces to the puzzle of how life on the planet has evolved over time.
     And yet seeing the graphic scenes and images of the terrible, drawn-out deaths that those animals suffered in the tar pits made wonder why God created these sticky, gooey death traps for His/Her animals, and why God allowed those animals to suffer so? Surely there are enough fossil repositories around the world that these tar pits weren't absolutely necessary for the enlightenment of humankind? Why, then, was the animals' suffering necessary? After all, animals are not like humans, who for the most part create each other's suffering.
       I do sometimes wonder what God is thinking.
      What was God thinking when He/She created oil and allowed it to bubble up to the surface to entrap animals?
        Not to mention, 2 million years later, humans?

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The Los Angeles County Museum Of Art

12/14/2018

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Don't sweat the holidays!
Give the gift of a sweet and spicy read!
"Equal and Opposite Reactions"
by Patti Liszkay
Buy it on Amazon
http://amzn.to/2xvcgRa

...Continued from yesterday:
The following day, Friday, November 23, we visited the Los Angeles County Museum of Art,

....a very open, Southern California-style structure designed with lots of outdoor spaces,

...and, of course, palm trees.

Among LACMA's vast holdings are plenty of kid-friendly exhibits, a few of which we visited that day,

...starting with a street lamp environment,

...that was fun to run through.

The next object of interest we came upon was a giant sculpture by Jeff Koons called "Balloon Monkey (Orange)"

Tom looking at the Balloon Monkey.

The monkey is worth $30 million,

...which is probably why there were a couple of guards around the monkey whose job it was to chase off the little kids who ran too close to the pond above which the monkey hovered.

Frankly I found the monkey somehow kind of off-putting. I think it's the schnozzle on its face.

I figured monkey guard duty had to be the worst.

We then visited an intriguing exhibit of images that required the use of various kinds of 3D glasses.

We discovered an elevated walkway that offered a panoramic view of the Hollywood hills,

...and the Hollywood sign.

We participated in an art class in which one could paint whatever one felt inspired to paint.

My painting.

The artists' work was displayed on the walls or around the room.

Some of the pieces were quite good.

   Sometimes I wish I were an artist. I imagine it would be so serene and satisfying to have one's workspace set up, an easel and supplies, a space to which one could retreat and then get lost for hours in the creation of one's vision.
       I suppose being an artist is somewhat related to being a writer.
      Still, I sometimes do wish I were an artist.
       But I guess you take what God gives you and do what you can with it.

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The Balboa Peninsula

12/12/2018

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Don't sweat the holidays!
Give the gift of a sweet and spicy read!
"Equal and Opposite Reactions"
by Patti Liszkay
Buy it on Amazon
http://amzn.to/2xvcgRa

The Balboa Peninsula

...Continued from yesterday:
The day before Thanksgiving Tom made one of his famous apple pies (see post from 1/31/2014, "It Takes a Village to Make a Piemaster") for Thanksgiving dinner, which would be at our son-in-law's parents' house.

He had some help.

Thanksgiving morning promised a beautiful, balmy, palmy, day

...in other words, a typical Los Angeles day,

...and so my daughter and son-in-law proposed that we drive an hour down the coast from Manhattan Beach to the Balboa Peninsula, a scenic section of Newport Beach.
Scenic the Balboa Peninsula was, even the parking lot by the beach, which was lined with palm trees,

...and birds of paradise, a which I also love.

"Are you taking a picture, Grammie?" asked one of my grand daughters (see yesterday's post). Indeed I took quite a few along the way.

We walked over to the pier,

...which offered a lovely panorama of the Peninsula,

..and the sea.

Then we walked back down the pier,

...towards the cute village of Balboa,

...where we stopped at a little place for some lunch.

...which we decided to eat outside, since we had Pinky Poo with us,

...all the better for people-watching,

...and running around.

After lunch we walked towards the dock,

...from where we took the ferry across the bay,

...to Balboa Island.

We walked around the Island for a while, looking at the pretty streets and houses,

Then we headed back across the bay,

...and soon were on our way home.

Some of us were tuckered out from our long walk,

But a refreshing nap does wonders, and by evening everyone was in good form for the lovely Thanksgiving dinner at which we were guests.

The food was wonderful,

...and a fine time was had.

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Plaisir De Los Angeles

12/10/2018

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Ah, the joys of Los Angeles in November for a Midwesterner:

Waking up to bright sunshine streaming in through the kitchen,

...the clear cerulean blue skies, palm trees in the back yards,

...palm trees everywhere.

    "Look, Grammie, your favorite," invariably would say one of my grand children during every outing, "palm trees. Are you going to take a picture?"
      Even my grand children have my number.
      But, of course, for this Midwesterner the real joys of Los Angeles transcend the natural wonders,

...and so I took advantage of those little joys as much as I could.

We made Thanksgiving cards for aunts, uncles, and the other grandparents.

We made a gingerbread house.

Oh, the agony of waiting for the icing glue to dry.

We made pizza.

We did karaoke,

...and made more greeting cards.

We went out for breakfast,

...and we went out for lunch,

...and sometimes we went shopping.

Sometimes we had friends over,

...and sometimes we just did whatever we were doing.

It was all good.

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Next Stop L.A. And LOLs

12/9/2018

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...Continued from yesterday:
After my 50th high school reunion Tom and I returned to our hotel, but not without first stopping by Andy's (see post from 12/05/2018),

...to snag ourselves a couple of the restaurant's yummy-looking desserts.

I chose a wedge - and ginormous it was - of caramel-topped cheese cake, while Tom had an equally behemoth slice of apple pie, both of which desserts would have been wonderful enough in their own right. However when the server approached our table with a can of whipped cream and began spraying,

...the results were truly sublime.

The following afternoon, Monday, November 19, we boarded a plane from Philadelphia to Los Angeles for a visit with my daughter, son-in-law, grand daughters,

...and my effervescent, talented little grand dog Pinky-Poo. (See post from 9/6/2018, "Somebody Get That Dog An Agent!").

By the time we arrived in L.A. it was almost 8 pm West Coast time - almost 11 pm East Coast time - which made it almost past the children's bed time, but they were allowed to come along to pick us up at the airport.
When we arrived at their home,

...there was a surprise waiting for us.

Tom and I had, of course, also come laden with surprises, and the girls were allowed to stay up long enough to open the LOL dolls (see post from 4/26/2018) we'd brought for them,

...despite the ensuing mess that always accompanies the opening of an LOL doll.

    I was hoping that the girls still loved LOLs as much as they did the past few times we'd been out to see them, at which times their LOL dolls were their favorite playthings, and for which they'd build elaborate environments from found items.
      I hoped they still loved the dolls not so much because these were the gifts I'd brought them, as because I hoped that they hadn't yet outgrown their magical world of childhood imagination.
        To my joy, they hadn't yet.

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What I Learned At My 50th High School Reunion

12/7/2018

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...Continued From yesterday:
Here we are on our graduation day, the Melrose Academy class of 1969. That's me in the bottom row, sitting second from the right.

Melrose Academy was a small private girls' school located in the Philadelphia suburb of Elkins Park,

...and run by the Grey Nuns of the Sacred Heart, an order of progressive, socially-conscious nuns out of Buffalo, New York, who taught at Melrose and lived in the Motherhouse, the big convent in the background of the above photo.

In my class there were thirty-eight girls who traveled to school each day from all parts of the city and suburbs.
Me, I took a daily commuter train from the Somerton station,

...to the Elkins Park station,

...from which I walked the approximate mile from the station to the school with the other Melrose girls who also took the train to school.

I met up with 18 of my former classmates (see me in the last row, 4th from the right? I distinctly recall that I was having a bad hair day that day, thus the hair band),

...plus several Melrose girls from different graduating classes who came along for fun and a couple of intrepid husbands who also came along, at my 50th high school reunion held at the Jarrettown Hotel in the Philadelphia suburb of Dresher.

Our class valedictorian and our salutatorian, then,

...and now.

The intrepid hubbies who came to the reunion,

...good sports all.

The Jarrettown Hotel was charming and cozy,

...and well-chosen by our classmate who stepped up to organize the reunion (left), and her two helpers (right and below).

And yet my initial impression of the venue wasn't of the venue itself, but of the happy energy that filled the room,

...probably because of how genuinely happy everyone seemed to see each other,

...and how instantly everyone fell into animated conversation - even before we'd had time to take off our coats and put down our purses - though some of us hadn't seen each other in decades,

...or had just met, even.

At dinner Tom and I ended up sitting with my old high school lunch table mates,

...though I think this arrangement just sort of happened by chance, as we were all looking for a place to sit at the same time.
In any case, dinner was wonderful, and I'm referring not just to the food, which was indeed very good,

...well, that is to say, Tom enjoyed his salmon,

...and I my pasta with vegetables,

...and though I didn't ask anyone how the chicken dish was, it, too, looked quite delicious.

And then there were the desserts.

     But more wonderful even than the food was the conversation at our table.
We talked about high school, who we were then and who we are now, and the role we thought the former played in the latter. We talked about the Melrose teachers and students, especially the girls in the grades above us, who influenced us and who we admired.
      One of the girls chuckled over the girl crush she had as a freshman on an upperclassman. Her admission was rather a shock to me, as I, too, once had a girl crush on an older girl, but I had no idea other girls in the school were girlcrushing. It turned out a number of them were, as I learned before the night was over, when the subject was brought up again while were all standing around in a group after dinner talking and reminiscing about things. We just didn't have a word for it then, and so it wasn't a concept we could verbalize even to ourselves at the time.
       My own girl crush was on an upperclassman, a popular, personable, smart, athletic girl who was also a gifted singer, actress and class leader. My crush was born one day when this older girl, who I assumed was in general unaware of my existence, said something kind and encouraging to me. I don't even remember what it was she said, only that it made me feel worthwhile and good about myself. Here was a girl who, in my eyes at least, already possessed the star dust of social popularity to spare, and yet in sprinkling some on me increased her own wealth of it.
     I'm sure the girl had no idea of the effect of her words on me and probably soon forgot all about the encounter.
        But here the encounter is, fifty years later, still sitting in my memory bank, where it has gathered the interest of time, experience and, hopefully, wisdom.
   And if the lesson of that older girl's random words of kindness was lost on me at the time, if I was too focused on floundering my way through the volcanic soup of my own teen-age emotions to realize that I, too, possessed the power of a kind word, well, revisiting that memory was a reminder that it's a lesson never to late for the learning.
       It was a gift spending the day with these girls, who still looked young to me.

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Back To The Playground

12/5/2018

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...Continued from yesterday:

The next morning, Sunday, November 18, the day of my 50th high school reunion, Tom and I began the day by seeking out breakfast at a homey-looking diner we'd passed about a block down the Boulevard from our hotel,

...that had the neatest parking lot art,

...the most gorgeous pastries in the display case that greeted one at the entry,

...and a cute interior.

Along with the menu selections Andy's also offered a vast buffet,

...which included the creamiest-looking bread pudding, my personal weakness,

...and an omelet bar manned by a friendly chef.

We opted for the buffet and split an enormous omelet.

The food was fresh and fantastic, including the creamy bread pudding.

As we left we vowed that before the day's end we'd return to Andy's to snag ourselves some slices of those to-die-for-looking pastries.

As my reunion didn't start until 1 pm, giving us several hours to kill, we opted to return to my old Somerton neighborhood to have a look at my elementary school, St. Christopher's,

...as well as old St. Christopher's Church, where Tom and I were married, which was no longer the church but now utilized as the parish hall.

On a whim, I wanted to see if the playground where I spent at least part of every summer day after we moved to the New House in Somerton (See previous post) was still where it always was, on Kelvin Street behind St. Christopher's school and also behind Comely School, the public school at the corner of Byberry Road and Kelvin Street. The two schools and the playground formed three points of a geographic triangle, thus the playground was within walking distance for almost every school kid in Somerton. And walk there we all did.
The playground was still there and in good repair,

...as were the old basketball and tennis courts,

...and the baseball diamond,

...as well as the modern art mosaic on the office building, which I always loved and thought made our playground fancier than other playgrounds.

But, alas, the playground was no longer meant for the big kids, such as I was back when the playground was my turf,

...the swings and climbing structures appearing to have been designed for young children.

And the field and woods behind St. Christopher's through which we used to walk to the playground was gone, having been replaced by streets and houses.

Things change.

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The New House, Part 3

12/3/2018

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...Continued from 11/27/2018, 11/28/2018 and 11/29/2018:

After spending the morning in Mayfair in Lower Northeast Philly,

...visiting the environs of my family's old house on Barnett Street,

...Tom and I then drove north on the Roosevelt Boulevard toward the Far Northeast neighborhood of Somerton to have a look at the New House on Byberry Road between Roosevelt Boulevard and Bustleton Avenue that we moved into when I was nine years old.
I hadn't seen the house in almost 25 years, but I know that it looked like this when we lived in it:

...and like this decades later after it had been trashed and abandoned by subsequent owners and homeless
squatters.

About half-way to Somerton we approached the Rhawn Street intersection,

...at which point I asked Tom, who was doing the driving while I did the reminiscing, to turn left off the Boulevard onto Rhawn Street.
I had him do this because much of the action in my novel,

...Equal and Opposite Reactions,

...takes place in a run-down condo complex that I set at the intersection of the Roosevelt Boulevard and Rhawn Street, and so I wanted to see if perchance there actually was a condo complex set at the corner of Rhawn and the Boulevard.
Turned out there wasn't a condo complex where I imagined the one in my book to be. Just a whole lot of row houses. Still, this would have been a good location for a condo complex. If not for all the row houses.
We then continued on to Somerton via the Bustleton Avenue route, passing along the way the McDonald's at Red Lion Road where I worked one summer while in college,

...and the Leo Mall a couple of blocks from my street where there used to be a movie theater at which I spent most Friday nights of my teen-aged years.

My girl friends and I could go to the movies together only on Friday nights, as, according to the social norms of the times, Saturday nights at the movies were reserved for couples. Thus us single girls used to spend Saturday nights at each other's houses, playing board games, listening to records, or watching TV.

We reached the corner of Byberry and Bustleton, where Pavio's restaurant used to be,

...in the banquet room of which Tom and I had our wedding reception almost 42 years ago,

...But which is now Pavio's Galleria of Shops.

We turned onto Byberry Road,

...then parked on Lewis Street,

...the small street that bordered the building and parking lot next to our backyard.

The building, which has been in this location since we moved next to it in 1961, and likely years before, has had a number of purposes over the years.

     I believe it originally belonged to the local Catholic parish, St. Christopher's, and for a while was used as over-flow class rooms for the parish school located around the corner. The building was used for the sixth grade classes when I was in sixth grade at St. Christopher's. That was the best year of my elementary career, as all I had to do was cut across the back yard to get to and from school.
       Years later it was the United Hebrew Happy Daze daycare center.
       Here's the sign currently in front of the building:

After we parked the car we walked around the corner, and what to our wondering eyes should appear:

... but the House,

...looking absolutely,

...fabulous!

All right, so mayhaps the landscaping and setting left a weence to be desired, but the house itself looked great.

We were particularly impressed by the front steps.

These were the best steps the house had had since the wooden steps that my hubby Tom built for the house back in 1994,

…and which had survived the years of abuse and neglect that the house withstood after my parents moved out.

We walked all around the house,

...trying to get a peek through the windows, which were papered over.

     Tom was able to see over the top of the paper in one of the front windows. He said he could see that the wall between the kitchen and dining room had been knocked out and that the plaster had been stripped to the studs and was being replaced by new plasterboard.
      We also saw two heat pump and air-conditioning units, which meant that vents would have to be installed throughout the house to accommodate the new heating and air-conditioning systems.
      I, in the meantime, was busy snapping shots of the houses across the street that used to be the houses of of our old neighbors and playmates,

...and the house of our friends next door, who lived in an even bigger domicile than ours,

...though the first floor had been a doctor's office while the doctor's family resided on the second and third floors.

However we now saw that the backyard of the doctor's house been filled with a massive cinder block structure attached to the back of the house.

"Hi," called a voice from across the street.
I turned around and immediately recognized one of my childhood playmates, the youngest daughter of the seven children of the big, friendly Italian family who lived in the house directly across the street from ours.

     "I knew it was you," she said as we hugged. "I called my brother to tell him somebody was looking all around the house across the street and taking pictures, but when I saw you taking pictures of my house, too, I knew it was you."
      She invited us into her house. In truth when I was young and used to be in and out of that house, just as all the neighborhood kids were in and out of each other's houses, I never appreciated what a neat house it was: Lots of dark wood, wood floors, big wood banister, marble in the bathroom.
        She updated us on our old house, told us about the non-grata hippy family who moved in after my parents moved out (see previous post), how one of the children set a fire in the attic (I'd heard about the fire before, but had forgotten about it), how the parents moved out and left the teenagers to live there alone.
        "Who leaves a bunch of teen-agers alone living in a house?" she asked.
        She told us about how the house was eventually abandoned and for a while was lived in by homeless people.
        "I didn't say nothing about it," she said. "They didn't cause any trouble, and a person needs a roof over their head, I'm not gonna begrudge them."
           The house was bought, she told me, by a man who was in the process of fixing up the house to sell it. "A Hispanic guy, nice guy, lives down the street." She told us that the man had recently invited her into the house to show her how the work was progressing. She said he was completely gutting the inside, renovating it top to bottom.
           Just as my mother dreamed of doing.

I asked her about the cinder block structure built onto our old next-door neighbors' house.

     She told me that the house had been bought by a Hasidic organization, and that soon after the group moved in she and several other neighbors went over to welcome them to the neighborhood.
      "The guy who answered the door said he wasn't interested," she said. "I told him, 'Look, we're all neighbors and in this neighborhood everybody knows each other and looks out for each other and keeps an eye out for each other.'"
        The man repeated that he wasn't interested and shut the door.
       I thought it was too bad that those new neighbors had so carelessly brushed off the good fortune of landing in this neighborhood.

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The New House, Part 2

11/29/2018

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...Continued from yesterday:
A reader commented on Facebook that it was too bad that yesterday's post didn't include any inside shots of The New House,

...which motivated me to sift through my stash of old photo albums from whence I often glean vintage pictures for blog posts.

...to look for any photos I might have of the interior of the house.
In the process of my sifting I came across another good shot of the exterior of the house,

...but, alas, only a few random, not-great shots of the interior, none of which tell much of a story of the house, but which I'll post anyway:

1. Our dog Brownie in the front bay window of the living room.

2. My Aunt Mary in the living room.

3. My brother and his wife at the other end of the living room.

4. Tom and me on our wedding day in the front bay window of the other living room, which we called the far living room. My mother made the partially visible stained glass piece hanging the window behind us.

5. Me sitting at the other end of the far living room.

6. The bedroom that my sister and I shared. There was a bump in the street in front of our house and, as Byberry Road was a busy street at all hours, while lying in bed I'd feel the house rattle a little every time a car or truck passed our house

7. My brother in the dining room. I made the arty collage on the wall and the arty "Shalom" hanging on the basement door during my young, arty phase.

I don't know what became of the "Shalom" hanging, but the arty collage currently sits over my fireplace mantle. You can see the spot in the lower left corner where one of our house bunnies once nibbled off the paper ( See post from 2/15/2016: "The House Bunny").

I even caught her in the act.

7. Me with my prom date in the dining room ( See post from 5/16/2014: "A Tale of Two Proms, Part One: The Bad Prom").

8. My sister in the kitchen.

9. My father at the kitchen table, his favorite sitting spot in the house. Our kitchen table was a picnic table that my mother covered with a piece of linoleum. One of our childhood pastimes was setting a piece of paper on the table and running a crayon over the paper to bring out the design on the linoleum table top.

10. View from the dining room of my father in the kitchen.

11. A better view of the linoleum top on the kitchen table. That's my daughter Maria and my nephew Joseph apparently having a snack during a visit with Grammy and Pop-Pop.

12. A bunch of the grandchildren sitting on the kitchen table.

13. My sister-in-law hanging laundry in the back yard.

    In late 1994 my parents moved from Northeast Philly to Seaford, Delaware.
    The house on Byberry Road was bought by a hippy-esque family with six or eight children and - according to the old neighbors with whom my mother still communicated - strange and unsavory ways. The parents eventually moved out and left a few teenagers behind who trashed the house then abandoned it. According to the neighbors the house became for a while a refuge for some homeless squatters, whom the neighbors preferred over the previous hippy owners.
     I don't know who owned the house when it eventually went on the market looking like this:

...but my daughter found some pictures posted online of the house's interior when the house was for sale:

A year and a half ago someone bought the house.
To be continued...

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The New House, Part 1

11/28/2018

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Give the gift of a good read!
EQUAL AND OPPOSITE REACTIONS
by Patti Liszkay
Buy it on Amazon
http://amzn.to/2xvcgRa
"This part drama and part slapstick comedy is a tour-de-force." Amazon Review

The New House, Part 1

...Continued from yesterday:

I was nine years old in the summer of 1961,

...when my family moved eight miles up the Roosevelt Boulevard from Mayfair in Lower Northeast Philadelphia to Somerton in Far Northeast Philadelphia (see yesterday's post),

...to our new house on Byberry Road between the Boulevard and Bustleton Avenue.

Though Byberry Road was a busy thoroughfare and our new house was a short block from the Bustleton Avenue commercial district,

The view from our Byberry Road house

...still, compared to the population and row house density of Mayfair this new neighborhood felt downright pastoral.
We moved to this particular house because while my mother was raising her five children in a 1300-square-foot, 3 bedroom, 1 bathroom row house she was dreaming of acquiring a big old fixer-upper of a house that she could transform into her vision of a beautiful home.
Though someone else would doubtless have dubbed the 6-bedroom, 3-story behemoth on Byberry Road a teardown – it was already over 100 years old in 1961 –

...my mother fell in love with it and, with my father’s acquiescence, bought the house on her own for $11,000, a pittance even back then, and sunk into it $5,000 worth of contractor work before my father or any of the rest of us laid eyes on it.
     When we finally did lay eyes on and set foot inside the house it was still in a rough state, but all that summer long every day my mother would load us children into the car and drive out to the New House where she’d work, steaming wallpaper off the walls, spackling and painting the walls, repairing the window frames and tackling all sorts of repair and home improvement jobs that most kids’ mothers would have no idea of how to do.
       My brothers and I, meanwhile, with our 3-year-old baby sister in tow, ran around the new neighborhood meeting the new neighborhood kids.
       Every day at lunch time my mother would stop working to fix us cold cut sandwiches, sodas and Tastykakes which we ate picnic-style on the bare wood living room floor, sometimes with a new friend or two whom we’d invited to join us. That was the best summer.

As it turned out my mother was never able to fulfill her dream of renovating the house the way she wanted to. Why I'm not sure, though I suppose it was a matter of expense and maybe the fact that she was the sole member of the household with any interest in home decor or improvement beyond the basic functional and structural necessities.
Still, my mother did what she could.

For example, if she couldn't get the front porch step repaired she'd just plant flowers where the step should be.

My sister Romaine. Above, with our dog Brownie.

Nonetheless my mother never tired of talking about her ideas for the house, how she wanted to extend the wall of this room, knock out the wall of that room, reconfigure one room and transform another.
But in the end, for all the years we lived in it, the New House,

...stayed an old house,

...and it wasn't until 25 years after my parents moved out that someone else caught sight of the old house on Byberry Road, by now abandoned and decrepit,

...and saw in it the same kind of potential that my mother had seen in it almost 50 years earlier.
And it would be this person who would finally do with the house what my mother had always wanted to.
To be continued...

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Wondering About God At The La Brea Tar Pits

Wondering About God At The La Brea Tar Pits

The Los Angeles County Museum Of Art

The Balboa Peninsula

The Balboa Peninsula

Plaisir De Los Angeles

Next Stop L.A. And LOLs

What I Learned At My 50th High School Reunion

Back To The Playground

The New House, Part 3

The New House, Part 2

The New House, Part 1

The New House, Part 1

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