Sunday, April 3, 2011

Sunday Morning

I've been helping keep the doors open at the Mexican Cultural Institute for about 7 years now, as a board member and now as the director, both as a volunteer. It's time-consuming, somewhat gratifying and necessary. And overwhelming. I had a dream about it last night and I woke up shaking.

Visit it when you can. The website isn't up-to-date. If you want to learn more how you can help, let me know.

In downtown L.A., there isn't a good panaderia. I've found a couple nearby, some in the Pico-Union area, but nothing with as good a selection and quality as El Aguila in El Sereno. So every few months, I make the drive and pick out the cuernos de canela, empanadas de calabaza and bolillos dorados. Worth it.

After breakfast, I walked the dogs. A bus was stopped on Grand and 8th. Someone called my name. It was the bus driver. I'd met Jose about 10 years ago when he worked in security at the Home Savings building on Figueroa and 7th Street and I worked as a freelancer for Durazo Communications (now gone). Jose had a lot of personality and was very helpful. And he played good guitar, bringing in his six-string acoustic into our office to strum a few tunes every now and then.

I first saw him driving a bus when I lived in South Pasadena and it caught me by surprise. He looked good behind the big wheel.

Still does.