I always say this to beginners. If you really want to mess with people's minds, just be polite and drive around Los Angeles for a while. Please stop for wheelchairs at crosswalks. Yield to bicycles (this can be a nuisance). Or, best of all, ask a bad driver to cut you in line.
Sometimes a mushroom cloud of gratitude appears. Sometimes it's the only kindness a fellow LA commuter experiences all day. And sometimes they don't wave or smile at all. That's strange.
The other night, a coyote was running through the busy intersection of Fair Oaks and Union in Pasadena.
This is what I thought. “Just one of those confused tourists looking for the Rose Bowl.”
Like White Fang, I wanted to open the back gate and let him ride in. I released the coyote into the long grass of the arroyo and ran around trying to police the rabbits and rats. In general, we don't give the lesser coyotes enough love. Lift someone up as much as you can.
When we had lunch at the Palisades the other day, I told my wild granddaughter, Caty Cakes, to look at the hawks hanging in the sea breeze near Miss Susie's house. Just when you think for a moment that there's no God and no one pulling the strings, try eating a picnic lunch with your 2-year-old while watching hang-gliding hawks.
God is in the margins. His name rarely appears in newspapers or on fancy signs outside the Coliseum.
I'm afraid we haven't been able to get to know him properly. Of course, when it comes to religion, I'm a deist, a Scorpio, and a severe skeptic. But don't you think there's actually someone or something? Hey, are you Susie? She certainly wears a lot of ethereal skirts. Gray with black accents, like Stevie Nicks.
Luckily, I'm dating an Adventist.
Or maybe Stevie Nicks is our creator. I've always believed that whoever God is, he has a guttural voice with a three-octave range.
Anyway, let's get back to Caix for a moment. Her mother had a cold today, so I'm taking full responsibility. If God lives in the margins, then He also lives in the tiny tote bag that her mother packed with wipes, tiny socks, and a change of clothes. There is something sacred about motherhood. In fact, it may be the most sacred of all.
First, I stopped by for soccer practice. Cakes is two years old and hopes to sign for the English Premier League soon, preferably with his father's favorite team, Tottenham Hotspurs. The logo is the Road Runner from the old Looney Tunes cartoons.
Road Runner, Coyote, Grandeur, God, etc. See how it all ties together?
On the pitch, young children sing silly songs about how you should never use your hands in soccer. Like most sports teams, they're a crazy, rag-tag bunch who need cops more than coaches. Just like Tottenham itself.
After practice, we head to a nearby playground. There are no parents in LA's playgrounds and parks, only grandparents, nannies, and a few angry, unemployed actors.
Another point of reference for first-timers: Just as much of LA was built and maintained by Latino men, much of LA is also raised by immigrant nannies. I can't say enough about my Latin cousin. I respect them even more.
After the playground, we go to another playground. We are having a wild day, carefree and full of energy, like red-tailed hawks frozen in the sky.
Ice cream after lunch. Then there's the gentle exfoliation you need after eating ice cream with your toddler. It will take approximately 1 hour.
We then drove around for a while and were extra nice to the other drivers, which, as I explained earlier, completely blew their minds.
“It’s such a shame there aren’t more cars in L.A.,” I said to Cakes as we passed two lights and waited to enter PCH.
Then, take a short drive along the coast back to the Eternal City of Santa Monica, California.
As we passed by the pier, we talked about my granddaughter's favorite horse (aka merry-go-round).
I said, “Yes, I'll do it again soon.”
At the merry-go-round, I teach her about ponies, pari-mutuel betting, math, daily racing forms, and all the other secrets of circles and life. Shall we eat ice cream? Or a nice cigar.
Wouldn't that be ideal? Learn about life from your dad who bets on the longshot Coyote to win the second race?
Of course it is. of course.
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