Loving Los Angeles

Los Angeles and I have a strong love hate relationship. I feel this is true not only for Los Angeles and me but for me and many other things. Me and writing. Me and exercise. Me and parts of my body. Me and driving. Me and so many parts of life. But recently, the hatred part of my relationship has grown stronger. When I left Michigan in July, after almost six weeks there, I was heartbroken. When I got back to Los Angeles just a few short hours later I was angry. It's hot. It's now humid to boot. It's so busy. The roads are congested. I hate all the restaurants. It's so expensive. I never see anything green. And on and on and on.

And then, a few days after being back home, I started to settle down. I started to remember that Los Angeles isn't so bad. I still like seeing the Hollywood sign when I drive north in my neighborhood. I still like the palm trees when the sun goes down and sits behind them for a few moments each evening. I have friends here. I might be moving back to the love side of things.

This weekend definitely helped our relationship. Angela and I ran a lot of errands and each time we ventured out, traffic was light. Stores were full but not busting. People seemed less on edge. Nothing like a holiday to clear out half the population and make things bearable. And then Monday Angela and I ventured downtown to our friend Krista's apartment building to go swimming. She has a glorious, huge pool right there in the middle of the city. And low and behold! Green grass in tiny patches surrounding it. By the time we headed out last night, the sun was setting and we were chilly. It was glorious.

But the night wasn't over. We had noticed something on our way downtown but we were going the wrong direction to slow too much to gawk. So on our way back home we slowed and circled the park. MacArthur Park. A place I would never really venture on a normal day. It's in the heart of a neighborhood that's not my own, one I fight traffic to get through when going other places. But yesterday we stopped. We found the last parking spot in the little lot to west of the park and we got out, still wet from the pool but giddy like kids. This is what we saw:

An art installation, right there in the middle of the city. In the midst of the trash filled lake. In the midst of the dirt covered hills. In the midst of the homeless encampments and soccer games and chess matches and cotton candy salesmen and people napping in the sun. An art installation.

We hadn't heard about it but that's because it had just gone up on Saturday and they were finishing it all weekend. Thousands of giant beach balls, hand-painted principally by schoolchildren, filling the lake. Just floating there in the water, under the setting sun. Brightening up the neighborhood.

The park was full, it normally is, but it was so cool to see so many people focused inward on the lake. Parents taking pictures of kids on the edge. A little boy explaining why the fish ball with the green fins is his favorite. So many people just soaking it in. Beautiful. Los Angeles, I'm on to you. You're wooing me again.

So we ended a long, tiring weekend of work around the house with a smile. A smile from a city that I've called home for over seven years. A city that is every single day smiling back at me.