The calm before the storm

A couple weekends ago—Saturday, January 4th, to be exact—I was getting a bit of cabin fever in our Eagle Rock home, and felt this primal desire to head towards the ocean. I hadn’t been leaving the house as much as usual, spending many hours and late nights both writing songs for my record, and then recording them with the help of my husband, John. Trying to get as much of the record done in the next couple months as possible, before I run out of money. We tracked vocals and acoustic guitar in our living room, which we usually refer to as the “play room” or, less often, the “piano room.” “Play room” because it’s where most of our home’s toys live. It’s the only part of the house where our wood floors are softened by a huge multi-colored rug, beckoning somersaults and general horsing around. “Piano room” because of the 800 pound piano that the piano movers had a hell of a time moving into our house years ago, with our steep driveway and plethora of winding steps. The piano is a dark brown upright from the 1800’s. My friend once described it as having a Charles Dickens vibe, whatever that means. It’s the piano me and my two siblings all learned to play music on. (See Anna Troy, Bagwell & Troy, and Safety Orange.) Family legend says it was also the first piano to come on the railroad out to San Francisco. Gold rush piano? It’s also a bitch to find someone to tune it. Most piano tuners don’t want to touch something this antique. After calling around to many piano tuners years ago, John finally found a lovely older man who would tune it for us. He came to our house when Georgia was a newborn and played and sang “Georgia” to her. A couple years ago, I was sad to receive a postcard in the mail saying he had passed away, and that someone else was taking over his business. I hope I can find that card, as it is definitely in need of another tuning. The piano room, with its huge windows and high ceilings, are great for acoustics, we think. Or are they? We’re learning as we go. It’s all a matter of taste I suppose.

We record electric guitars, bass, and synths in a small little room we call “the office.” Sometimes we call it the guest room. It also functions as a studio. We get a lot done in our two-bedroom house.

All this to say, we had been spending a lot of time indoors, not going for quite as many nature outings as usual, and I was feeling a bit cooped up and needing a beach adventure. I had this primal urge to head west and breathe in the salty ocean air. John thought it was kind of random, as the day was already half gone, but he was down.

So we packed up our kids in the car and headed towards the sea, which can take anywhere from 30 minutes to an hour and a half, depending on the traffic. John took some edibles, so he wanted me to drive. I didn’t really know where exactly I was headed, just West, so I drove until we hit Santa Monica, and then I got off the freeway. As we drove through Santa Monica, John said we could just park and hang there, but it was dense with people, felt too much like Coachella or something, and Shiloh was still napping and I wanted him to rest a little longer. I felt this strong pull toward the PCH (Pacific Coast Highway) and Malibu. A joy ride up the PCH is really a destination in itself. I wanted to soak up all its beauty, just because. John acquiesced and let me take the lead, so I typed in “Neptune’s Net” as my destination spot, (the legendary spot made famous by the much-watched movie of my childhood, Point Break) really just so that we had one, and we headed north along the coast. Shiloh woke up as we were cruising along.

We drove along the beautiful coast and neared one the Malibu Feed Bin, a legendary shop that’s been there since the sixties, where aspiring chicken owner can go pick out their new adorable pets and everything else they’ll need for them, feed, water containers, dried grubs, you name it.

John and I have had several batches of chickens over the years, and I always looked forward to my trips there to pick out our new feathered friends. Opal, Shirley, Pearl, Mrs. Mustard, Susan Renae Schezuan, Goldie Hahn, Whitney White, Betty Black, Hazel were the names of our sweet little ladies.

So I had to stop at Malibu Feed Bin and see what chickens they currently had, and show my kids the funny little things. John made me promise we wouldn’t buy any more chickens, and then we went inside. when we went out back we saw they had really downsized their chicken collection. We asked them about it and they said that someone had just come in and swooped up fifty of their Silkies, and that since it was winter they weren’t hatching any babies. They also said business had been slow and they were slimming down to save money, which gave me a pang of sadness. The young man who worded there then said they hoped business would pick up and people would want to have their own home-laid eggs, since the cost of groceries and eggs are so high. There were only two coops with chickens in them, and in the past there had been around eight or so. This time there was one coop full of chickens, and another with only two chickens, and a sign that said “sold as a pair.” John asked why they were sold as a pair and the guy said that they get really sad when they’re separated, that they’re always together. I asked if they were sisters and he said probably.

After looking at the cute chickens, we hoped back in our car and kept driving north up the coast. We admired the legendary “sand castles,” the mansions on the sand. I was keeping my eyes peeled for a nice beach spot to watch the sunset from. I spotted a huge mountain of sand with a few people on it, staring out at the sea’s edge.

We parked, put on our puffy jackets, and hurried to the beach. We were grateful for our jackets because it was L.A. freezing aka uncomfortably nippy. We climbed the big mound of sand and I stared at maybe the most beautiful sunset I’ve ever seen. I couldn’t stop gushing about the colors and patterns reflecting on the moving water: the silver, aquamarine, peach. The sky was salmon, neon coral, cerulean. I never got so high from a sunset in all my life.

Georgia is a budding artist and I told her to make a mental snapshot of the colors on the water and the sky. I kept saying how I get why painters always want to paint the reflection of the sun on the water. It was entrancing. I didn’t want to peel myself away, but finally the sun was down and John and the kids were getting cold, so we left for Neptune’s Net.

When we got to Neptune’s Net, we each drank a beer and I had a clam chowder in a bread bowl. The chowder was decent enough. John and the kids had fish and chips and it was not a hit, but the day wasn’t really about that. Like I said earlier, it was just a place to end the journey. Somewhere to go. As we drive home, I felt like I’d just had a soul cleanse, a recharge.

Three days later, as I’m sure you all know by now, things took a turn for the worse in our beautiful L.A.

That inexplicable urge that drive me west and up the PCH seems fateful now, like some sort of spidey sense or intuition. It was my chance to say goodbye to those beautiful, iconic places. My beloved chicken sanctuary, Malibu Feed Bin, was destroyed in the fires, along with many of those legendary sand castles. Parts of the PCH got ravaged by the fire. We are all mourning here in L.A., some more than others. I’m grateful I got to see this beautiful part of L.A. one more time and share that experience with my children and family, before it was gone 💔

Part 2 coming soon.

Sorry I missed this last week’s post. I just couldn’t get to it with all the moving around and the chaos.