In the Good Old Summertime

The weekend felt like a welcome pause, suspended somewhere between Friday and Monday, like a coastal haze in July, at once heavy and light. Sunday afternoon brimmed with the stuff summer is made of, seaside amusement parks, sandy hot dog stands, and the far off tinkle of a carousel organ. We channeled childhood on the swing sets at the old Muscle Beach, waded in the Pacific and rode the Ferris wheel after dark - thus crossing that "first summer in Los Angeles" rite of passage, off our lists. At the end of the day, two utterly exhausted girls returned to Apt. 10 and emptied cameras full of pictures.

I like to think about what it was like in the old days, the women with Edwardian hats and billowing skirts in an opening day promenade, the raucous of be-knickered little boys clamoring for a ride on the Whirlwind Dipper, the vanished La Monica ballroom, echoing twenties jazz and wartime swing across the water, the waves and the decades rolling by.