Fruit from the trees

LA day 17

Oh my!  I am behind on my blog!  People keep giving me fruit!  From their trees!  I have Meyer lemons from some lovely old pals I connected with last Saturday. I’m going to make Chicken Picatta! 

And yesterday, Pickle and I were on a walk and I admired a neighbor’s garden, while he admired my beagle.  He said he was looking for a new dog, and considering Beagle mixed with Shephard (Is that a thing? I hope the shepherd is the mommy, not the beagle).  Anyway, he beckoned me to come around the house and to the back and I thought---here it is!  My demise---I shouldn’t follow this strange man back here.  But, Pickle was on a sniffing spree, so I figured she’d die happy.  We got to the back door, and he yelled for Vanessa to come meet Pickle.  Guys---Vanessa is his daughter, and his  name is Ramon!  They didn't even try to cut me or anything!

We gabbed and gabbed about the neighborhood.

Ramon has lived in Highland Park for 40 years, and can walk to the Rose Bowl parade
“It looks much better in person than on TV, I don't go every year.” and asked why on earth would I live in Chicago?  

Ramon handed me Kumquats, FROM THE GROUND, and asked “Why do so many mexicans live in Chicago?” and I responded “I think it’s the second largest concentration of Mexicans in the US, outside of LA.  I believe, like many, they came to Chicago for industry jobs, and then settled in, so nowadays there’s a number of very nice Mexican neighborhoods, and Chicago is an amnesty city.”  Is this true dear readers?

Pickle was a little shy, but was a decent dog puppet.  (When parents ask their kids to do tricks for visitors, even when the child is being shy, Amy and I call that making the kid a puppet for the parents to show off their kid)

I wanted to ask if I could buy their house, and that seemed rude.  The neighborhood I’m in is off a busy street but once you go up the hill, it’s just a secret enclave, with craftsman bungalows, a Queen Ann tucked in by a little brick hobbit-looking cottage, and is a damn delight. My little cottage in the woods is behind a main house, and the street is called “Elder”---almost my last name!  Eldridge with a little rearranging! 

Elder street is the main branch, and 2 more branch off, going further up the hill.  And by hill, I really mean a HILL. I love it---and love walking around my little secret pod of LA, and meeting the various neighbors (another pair of German ladies walking their dog, met Pickle, and said “She is very spry.  She must have been a good hunter!”.  SWOON!

Pickle is taking the LA air, and loving it. She’s bright, alert, and loves sniffing around with energy I haven’t seen her have in months. 

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I love it here.  Which is scaring me quite a bit.