Leaving Las Vegas and Hollywood

It is a universally acknowledged truth that I really like photographing my feet ...

...which I did this afternoon on the pier at Santa Monica. We drove down to for lunch and to see what the Pacific looks like from the other end. It is, I'm happy to report, just as lovely as our part. 

Hollywood and the surrounding suburbs have been a strange experience. There is so much history, and so much familiarity, yet the town seems to be scrapped clean of any soul or heart. I've never been anywhere so rich in surface and accessories yet so devoid of flesh and feeling. 


We had hoped to do a bit of wider wandering but yesterday my spouse was laid low with a bad cold and a truly terrifying cough (seriously, birds fly from trees and cats hide under beds when he coughs). In the interest of public safety I kept him out of the driver's seat and instead we took a tour around Hollywood, part of which showed us houses where famous people allegedly live. Frankly I don't believe it - why would anyone live in the Hollywood Hills or Beverly Hills when the only certainty would be a busload of tourists rubbernecking your house every ten minutes? It was interesting nonetheless, learning the geography of the districts and seeing the fancy houses. 


I much preferred taking photos of other people's feet, which you can do, of course, at the famous Chinese restaurant pavement. The size of famous feet diverted me for quite a while (seriously, Matt Damon and George Clooney have enormous hoofers) and in amongst all those grown up feet are these tiny little baby feet: 

Sweet! 


But back to Santa Monica, where I made a friend ... 

... and my husband photographed, at their request,  some lovely, stylish friends ...

...and then he made a monochrome friend of his own: 

That handsome square-nosed four-legged chap was looking quite prepared to come home with us. 


And the big news - when we were taking lunch in a lovely cafe called Marmalade, we actually saw a very famous person indeed - Dick Van Dyke took a table a few feet from us! Mr Van Dyke and his dances with penguins (Mary Poppins) is one piece of film that always puts me in a good mood for weeks on end. I'm happy to report that Mr Van D looks like he could waltz a few rounds with some penguins yet. 


We're flying home tomorrow. It's sad to be leaving - we have had a wonderful time and learnt so much. The trip will be a long one, about 22 hours and we won't arrive until Friday. To get to Australia you have to fly through a time warp over the international dateline and you lose a day. This is academic for people like me who watch Air Crash Investigation and can't fly unless they are rendered comatose by Valium.


I have my bags packed - I had to buy two new suitcases in order to get all my shopping home. J Crew, Banana Republic and thrift shops are my weaknesses; visiting the Outlet place in Las Vegas has not helped matters. 


I have some wonderful purchases to show you when I get home, not least my magnificent Hermes blazer that I found in a store called Address in Santa Monica this afternoon. It is Holy Grail of blazers - in pristine condition, plain and yet beautifully detailed, large pockets, on sale and fits like it was made for me. I promise to provide relevant photographs when I am back in my home, but meanwhile here is my second favourite purchase - $5.99 from the CVS drugstore on Hollywood Boulevard: 

Cotton pyjama pants in a leopard skin print. Oh, CVS. Is there any whim of mine you can't satisfy? 


Before I go, a couple of other favourite feet: 

I can just picture her shoes. 

And hers. 

My two favourite Pisces-Aquarius couples. 

For ever more

Happy Valentine's Day!

St Valentine, as we know, believed in the power of love over all things. I believe in love and sweet chili sauce for my vegetables. That this little tub sweet chili sauce formed this pattern is one of the many happy coincidences that I've known these last ten days or so. 

This evening I caught the lift in my too-funky-for-the-likes-of-me hotel with a lovely cheerful young man who greeted us with great courtesy and charm. "How's it going?" I responded. "Actually," he said, "it's going great - I just performed at the Grammys! It's been one of my dreams and now I've done it!" 

Needless to say we were delighted for him. Sadly, I'm not young people so I don't know who he was. Hollywood, to that extent, is wasted on me. 

But not in other regards. For a start, I have seen the stars. None made me so happy as this one: 

My first crush! Seriously, I had a very severe crush on Sherlock Holmes - the Hollywood version - when I was 12. Sherlock Holmes is always Basil Rathbone to me. 

And of course the shops. I made rather a welter of it in Sephora and Zara this afternoon. A shopping spree on Hollywood Boulevard is not to be sneezed at. It almost beats Saturday's excess when my kindly husband took some rickety little aircraft to the Grand Canyon, something I couldn't face without being sedated to the point of coma. "I'm worried you won't have anything to do," he said before he left. 

Fat chance. 

Closing the suitcases is becoming one a major part of my daily exercise routine, and these are contributing to two of the major food groups of my diet: 

Why can I not buy these in Australia? 

Today we travelled from Las Vegas to Hollywood and when I was not eating, or thinking of eating, raisinets, I was thinking about Edgar Allen Poe. I was inspired by these blokes: 

Ravens! I'd never seen them in the flesh before. When I saw them I suddenly understood what set Poe writing for Lenore. They are fearsome and majestic and, as the truck driver who was buying something not quite coffee from the same diner told me, they can talk!

This trip to the States has done this for me on a larger scale too. Listening to conversations, talking with strangers in stores and diners, wandering through drug stores, watching the scenery - it is making the literature and the dialogue of America so much clearer. What once seemed to be somewhat mannered dialogue in Cannery Road or The Corrections now seems sparkling and authentic. 

Which brings me back to the start of of this post - hearts and love. Today marks thirty years since my mitrol and aortic valves were replaced. At the time the surgeon told me the valves would last about fifteen years and that my heart wasn't strong enough to withstand surgery a second time. It is an odd shadow to live in, a strange sound to live with,  a ticking clock that you're expecting to stop any minute. Over the years the prognosis has changed, and late last year I found out the valves I have - Starr Edwards - are now recognised to be indestructible. They could last forever, if only the rest of me were as durable. 

And that makes me very happy, that was once unclear and doubtful time is now spent feeding ravens, eating chocolate covered raisins and realising that I now understand Truman Capote better than I did.

The journey continues!