tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33628509929902249372024-03-13T14:15:27.527-07:00Anitra Ford's Personal BlogSanta Barbara Sketchesanitrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17042584896640034932noreply@blogger.comBlogger122125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3362850992990224937.post-43278380895150238962016-05-15T20:16:00.000-07:002016-05-16T19:34:23.815-07:00Moving Forward<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It's spring and my mind is going to thoughts of traveling, taking classes and workshops. Life is calling me to expand and move forward. I feel the need to replenish, to divorce myself from he long hours I spend sitting in front of the computer. I notice my neck and shoulders beginning to hunch forward from the act of always leaning into the screen.I want to be outside in the open air without an agenda, to dawdle in the freshness of life and fill my own cup.<br />
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The quote of Joseph Campbell's: "When I let go of what I am, I become what I might be," resonates with me. We are born anew each morning, always changing and evolving. I am in the mood to release myself from self appointed obligations -- from Face Book and this blog, (even as dear as it it to me), and numerous other tasks and pursuits which I have already been detaching from. In my eyes, this life only rolls around once. And here it is before me, sparkling, inviting and begging me for quality time.<br />
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The only way I see to find this quality time, is to prioritize. Given that so many of my tasks are tasks I love, this decision is especially daunting. Nevertheless, I must let go of some of them -- at least for a period of time.<br />
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My plan is to take a year off from this blog. If I find myself bursting to make a post, I shall. And those of you who are followers of this blog, will receive an automatic notification when I do. What I will be doing is akin to going back to school, enrolling myself in the college of life, improvising, exploring and appreciating.<br />
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I adore you all in so many ways, and am regularly astonished and enlightened by your brilliance. I am and have been honored by your presence and attention; and for this, I am infinitely grateful. I hope and trust we will connect again.<br />
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Until then, blessings to each and every one of you. Arvoir, arrivederci, wishing you sparkling and richly rewarding hours and days.<br />
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Heart, heart, heart<br />
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~ Anitra<br />
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** All photographs and text in this blog are copyrighted by Anitra Ford<br />
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<br />anitrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17042584896640034932noreply@blogger.com37tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3362850992990224937.post-49121326786220677212016-03-14T20:25:00.000-07:002016-03-15T18:42:50.331-07:00Stearn's Warf After the Rain<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Some places guarantee magic, one of them is Stearn's Warf. I went there chasing a rainbow, but when I arrived, it was gone. Instead, I was greeted by frigid wind that whipped my hair and spun me into a dizzying swirl. It wasn't just the wind that spun me, it was also all of the life unfolding around me. There at the end of the Warf, surrounded by ocean on three sides, I found people, birds, clouds, waves, surfers, boats, and more, much more, all moving and changing second by second. And in that, I snapped photo after photo as if in a trance.<br />
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I dove into the images head on, participating in what I've come to know as the "sport" of photography. And as it goes, when one becomes so engaged, time disappears. It wasn't until my hands became so cold that I could no longer bend my fingers, that I realized I had been out there for two hours. Even though my hands and face were frozen, my mood had not contracted -- I was exhilarated. Too cold now to continue taking pictures (or even click the shutter!), I retreated to my car. There, I rubbed my hands trying to thaw them out. When that didn't happen quickly, I reluctantly decided, it was time to go.<br />
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Gripping the wheel with lobster claws instead of hands, I started the engine and began to back out of my parking place -- that's when it appeared, a partial rainbow, glowing over the mountains. It felt like an affirmation. As if nature was bestowing a gift. "You brought yourself here, Aneet, searching for a rainbow, you immersed yourself completely in everything around you. Just to let you know your ardor didn't go unnoticed, here, accept this reward, this nod to acknowledge the needle eye of your attention."<br />
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PS: Just to let you know, if you're on a computer, you can have a nice slide show by clicking on an image (preferably the first one), and then going to the film strip that appears. By clicking on a photo on the film strip, you can stay in the frame and continue clicking to receive a full show of large images.<br />
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<br />anitrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17042584896640034932noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3362850992990224937.post-19371714478643372792016-01-15T12:15:00.000-08:002016-01-15T14:23:32.457-08:00Two Haiku for the New Year<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Practicing Newness</div>
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on this first day</div>
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of twenty-sixteen</div>
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Sunbirds flutter</div>
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around nyjer seed sock</div>
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a Mozart ballet</div>
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It's lovely to see you all here in this New Year.</div>
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I plan to return with a new post on March 15th.</div>
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Until then, wishing you a sparkling New Year.</div>
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Blessings, Peace and Love,</div>
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~ Anitra</div>
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<br />anitrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17042584896640034932noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3362850992990224937.post-65348819294951267812015-11-22T12:03:00.000-08:002015-11-22T21:25:29.528-08:00Do Da Days and a Photo Montage of Recent SightsSunday, the most perfect morning of the week is here. No gardeners blasting leaf blowers, no carpenters pounding hammers, no tree trimmers with shrieking saws. Only a couple of crows protesting the silence, and a rogue commuter rounding a curve on A.P.S. Highway.<br />
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Why is it</div>
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in my imperfect life</div>
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I keep bumping into perfect.</div>
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The lack of space</div>
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the unstructured room</div>
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without a closet</div>
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the chores -- endless they seem -- and convoluted:<br />
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tasks folding into tasks:<br />
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unraveling tangles, loosening knots--</div>
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and then</div>
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I breathe a pocket</div>
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of electric air</div>
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and a sudden joy</div>
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washes through me</div>
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for no reason,</div>
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just the precious musk of this day</div>
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inside a world riddled with chaos</div>
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but beneath it</div>
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and around it</div>
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light --</div>
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pure light.</div>
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Dear Lovely Viewers,<br />
<br />
Welcome! It's so good to see you again. I want to wish you all a beautiful Thanksgiving. And these days between now and the 15th of January (when I will return with my new post), including Christmas and New Years, I trust you you will find and discover light.<br />
<br />
~ Anitra <3 nbsp=""><!--3--><!--3--></3>anitrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17042584896640034932noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3362850992990224937.post-41236801283146079772015-09-15T08:59:00.000-07:002015-09-15T09:12:54.105-07:00These Days . . . <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i><i>Begin at once to live, and count each separate day as a separate life.</i><br />
<i> ~ Seneca</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Now is what drives me. The way each morning arrives new. Opening my eyes to the clean slate of the fresh day. This is what I live for, the essence of the moment: slowing the hours down to rich substance. Not simply chores to be crossed off a list, or chasing after a clock, but lolling in the dynamic air.<br />
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Not letting the sounds of distant traffic from the freeway down the hill rattle me, but letting them become white noise, a resonance akin to a forest waterfall.<br />
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And fall crisping leaves; and falling in love with what is; and falling away from what was; but not forgetting the brilliance of days gone.<br />
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Remembering the lights, the craft, the art of performing. My true love, where I gave myself completely to what mattered more than anything. Acting. The art I learned in childhood from my actress mother, but discovered truly for myself at age sixteen, and vowed then to forever keep it in my life.<br />
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Knew there was nothing better than this magic art of transformation, of becoming another. Of studying not just people and how they spoke and moved, but the psychology of life itself. What could be more worthy, I thought at age sixteen, while pacing the boards of the theater during my high school play.<br />
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And today, it still whispers -- at times even shouts.<br />
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But I'm lucky to have stepped off the track, become more seasoned, and in my September, found something deeper. An essence, a heart beyond the old delicious art. Life itself my breakfast, and the air within me and around me, alive and resonating like a smile.<br />
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*****</div>
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Hello, hello lovely friends. Welcome back. Happy to see you here. The season is in flux. In the midst of record breaking heat with humid hurricane drifts, we are moving toward a new wave of 2015 and cresting the hill toward the New Year. Over the next couple of months, I want to wish you all luminous days. </div>
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I will return in two months, near Thanksgiving, on November 15th. Until then -- savor.</div>
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Sincerely, ~ Anitra</div>
anitrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17042584896640034932noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3362850992990224937.post-32893164199944713822015-07-15T11:57:00.002-07:002015-07-16T21:39:15.921-07:00Summer's Light<br />
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<br />
Summer's Light is Different<br />
<br />
softer, muted<br />
sunlight sifting through haze.<br />
The crisp mornings of winter<br />
with their bold hard colors<br />
are erased<br />
and replaced with dusty pastels.<br />
And in the evolving light<br />
I carry luggage<br />
of my years<br />
here, in California:<br />
my frolicking childhood,<br />
my roller-skating teens,<br />
my mothering twenties,<br />
my realigning thirties<br />
and the decades<br />
leading up to now--<br />
a time<br />
when I've come to love<br />
open space<br />
and the freedom<br />
to cull quiet<br />
and the beauty<br />
of living<br />
beyond thoughts.<br />
<br />
This early morning<br />
outside my French doors<br />
a breeze<br />
waves the tendrils<br />
of a pepper tree<br />
and the rising sun<br />
wraps leaves with tinsel.<br />
Only the birds are stirring:<br />
tweeting, chittering, cooing . . .<br />
<br />
It will not last.<br />
<br />
Within the hour<br />
as the sun oozes upward<br />
leaves will lose their dazzle<br />
and soon after, the day<br />
will break open,<br />
and I will enter fully<br />
this summer day.<br />
<br />
Ambling along a sidewalk<br />
on Upper State Street--<br />
or perhaps in the heart of town--<br />
wearing a T-shirt and jeans<br />
my blood simmering,<br />
my mind extracting thoughts<br />
of where I'm headed<br />
and where I've just been--<br />
I will step off the curb<br />
into a crosswalk<br />
on a street like Figueroa<br />
and notice<br />
the green light<br />
shining like a knuckle of hard candy<br />
and beneath it<br />
red numbers<br />
for pedestrians<br />
of the seconds counting down:<br />
8, 7, 6, 5, 4,<br />
and in that moment,<br />
I will forget my mental chatter<br />
and notice my footsteps pattering on the pavement<br />
not that different from a drumbeat<br />
on a Miles Davis soundtrack<br />
or the soft shush<br />
of brush scrapes<br />
swishing on cymbals,<br />
<br />
and I will realize<br />
this day<br />
of July 11, 2015<br />
is swathed<br />
in silk.<br />
<br />
<br />
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Welcome back you beautiful people. Wishing you all a summer of peace, joy and treasured moments. I will make my next post on September 15th.<br />
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Hope to see you then, ~ Aneetanitrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17042584896640034932noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3362850992990224937.post-8937403132758649062015-05-15T10:57:00.000-07:002015-05-17T10:25:40.471-07:00Farmer's Markets For RealBefore I go into the details of my new diet, farmer's markets and my three-day getaway to Santa Ynez, let me toss in this April sunset.<br />
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And now, after that appetizer of tinted sky, here's the rest of my story. I've been on Dr. Mark Hyman's Ten Day Sugar Detox Diet (similar to the Paleo Diet) for the past nine months. After catching his special on PBS, I decided to try his protocol. It's tough and rigid: no sugar, no wheat, no starchy carbs, no dairy.<br />
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Being thin to begin with, keeping my weight up has been difficult. But the diet balances my blood sugar and makes me feel more energetic. This has inadvertently led me to shopping at our farmer's markets. In the past, visiting a farmer's market was something I did for the joy of capturing colorful photographs: grapefruit and radishes piled in picturesque stacks; jars of honey with sunlight illuminating their burnished nectar; orchids too and multi-colored bouquets of ranunculus, carnations and roses sparkling in plastic bins.<br />
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My new habit of shopping at farmer's markets began unexpectedly on a three-day getaway to Santa Ynez. There, one afternoon, after exploring the winding roads of Figueroa Mountain and enjoying the pastoral landscape of Santa Ynez Valley with its oak dappled rolling hills, I drove to the heart of the city, and proceeded down highway 246. There I ground to a halt and wound up going nowhere in a traffic jam. It turned out that the congestion was due to the Solvang farmer's market. Rather than sit in my car with a trusty Chihuahua staring at me with large amber eyes, and watching the stoplight change from red to green and back to red again, I decided to park, stroll through the quaint streets of Solvang and peruse their farmer's market.<br />
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At the market I was smitten by a box of ripe tomatoes shimmering in the afternoon sun. Without a nick or flaw, and in a rich shade of vermilion, they may have been the most beautiful tomatoes I've ever seen. I purchased three of them, and when I returned to Santa Barbara two days later, I was already regretting that I'd bought so few. I inhaled those tomatoes; soft and succulent, they were the nightshade version of ambrosia.<br />
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Once home, I began to dream of them and wonder how I might find more. This urge took me to our Santa Barbara farmer's market, and set me off on a new quest. There, I found fine tomatoes, but no match for the godly globes from Santa Ynez. In the meantime, I also found exquisite veggies straight from the fields still damp with morning dew, and I began to realize that it makes sense -- now that I eat so many vegetables -- to choose from the freshest and the sweetest.<br />
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Then there are the live musicians playing everything from bluegrass, to classical, adding rhythm, melody and beat to the experience. There are toddlers too, nibbling on juicy apricots, and a whole scene unfolding before me with its myriad photo ops -- which in between bagging my veggies and filling my rolling cart -- beckons the black little camera slung over my shoulder to join the festival and click.<br />
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Stay healthy and happy my delightful friends -- savor your days.<br />
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I will return in two months on July 15th.<br />
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Until then, my warm regards, ~ Anitra<br />
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<br />anitrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17042584896640034932noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3362850992990224937.post-17357233868890049172015-03-15T09:23:00.000-07:002015-03-16T10:21:59.972-07:00Nearing April<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Gold</div>
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Spring</div>
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Luminescent</div>
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Poppies closed at dawn</div>
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open to full sun</div>
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and I catch my shadow picking blossoms.</div>
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A white-crowned sparrow pecks seeds beside stone Buddha</div>
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acorn woodpeckers, clutch bird feeder-- twirl in twos and threes</div>
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Air, thick with scent of orange blossoms</div>
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sweet and soft as velvet</div>
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and I am adrift</div>
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between sunrise and sunset</div>
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on the cusp of a season sparking.</div>
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The flowers of my past</div>
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and the garden of my future</div>
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Hello you beautiful people. I welcome your comments and messages. Wishing you a scintillating springtime. It's wonderful to see you again. My next blog will remain true to my current schedule, and be published on the 15th, in two months. That will be in May.<br />
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Until then, expressing my warm regards. Health and happiness, ~ Anitraanitrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17042584896640034932noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3362850992990224937.post-22055406055114193592015-01-15T22:37:00.000-08:002015-01-20T20:04:42.087-08:00Erin, Memories, Christmas Eve<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Christmas with my daughter, Erin, is an annual event. One in which I drive from Santa Barbara, down the coast to Beverly Hills -- the area where we lived, loved and spent our days for almost 20 years. Usually we dine out on Christmas Eve, and afterwards, coast the elegant streets of the city, viewing the Christmas lights at night.<br />
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Here, our history is rich.<br />
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And when I return, it's as though the sidewalks welcome me back. The years of traveling down Wilshire and Little Santa Monica Boulevards, going on interviews on the Sunset Strip, and performing modeling and acting jobs. Even the shopping excursions to keep my wardrobe up to snuff were memorable. In that world, part of my personal job description was to always keep searching for that eye-popping outfit: something unique to wow on and interview, and hopefully, make them remember my name.<br />
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Shopping at Georgio's on Rodeo Drive, for an ensemble to wear to the Oscars, is an episode that stands out in my mind. And today, driving down Brighton Way, the memories encircling me like whirling leaves, I could almost hear Al Green crooning in the background and catch the drift of Chanel #5.<br />
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Erin was such an integral part of those days: days when I strove and raced and never seemed to stop. And now with so many of those days behind me -- some that live on video and film -- I see how the past still shines. But also, I notice the way it pales beside the light of my dear daughter's eyes.<br />
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<br />anitrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17042584896640034932noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3362850992990224937.post-65108767746002208452014-12-30T09:10:00.000-08:002014-12-30T09:12:40.216-08:00New Post on Anitra's Book of Days<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Letting you know that after a three month hiatus, I have made a post on my other blog: "Anitra's Book of Days." You may find it on my profile page here (click on last line in side bar highlighted in red,) or by searching Google. My every other month post here is scheduled for January 15th.<br />
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Cheers to you beautiful Readers, and a sparkling New Year,<br />
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~ Anitra<br />
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anitrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17042584896640034932noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3362850992990224937.post-15317828362882308722014-11-15T08:06:00.001-08:002014-11-20T12:15:53.899-08:00Sunrise on Calle Cortita<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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When I arrive on this hill above Santa Barbara, the lights of the city are still glowing in the half-dark. On one side, I see the city and the harbor, on the other, the curving coastline with an ocean silvered by the morning sky. I sit in my car and watch the unfolding.<br />
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The mountains silhouetted against the first tinge of dawn, rise, ripple and fall like frozen waves. At this early hour, I'm betting on color: color, shape and some luminous image only appearing once. Something memorable like last night's rain whooshing, shushing and pelting the walls of the house -- the first real precipitation we've seen in six months.<br />
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And there they are, pink clouds hovering above Santa Cruz Island 25 miles out. Its broad presence stretched wide across the channel like a snoozing iguana. And now, the ocean too is reflecting mauve: creamy pink enveloping the harbor and sliding into slips like shiny fingers.<br />
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Stillness hovers and morning seems to be holding its breath. In the quiet, it appears nothing is out there in the shrubbery of the canyon. But this is the home of coyotes, and moments ago, when I climbed the hill in dim light to capture a view of the cove, I thought of them, the coyotes in a pack -- and me (still in my sleep sweatshirt), not even as large as a full-grown deer. I kept snapping photos, but then opted to quick-step back down the hill and get into my car.<br />
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The views everywhere, even from behind my windshield suffice. But I'll go out again, just stay close to the door of my car until dawn grows brighter.<br />
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Hal's house on the edge of the canyon, with its spectacular view of the city and the ocean -- was sold. Hal, a gregarious fellow, would, when he saw a photographer taking photos through the open space between his garage and house, greet you in the street. He loved to talk about how he came to purchase this property considered a risky location years ago. And then, he'd invite you onto his deck with its unobstructed vista and say, "Be my guest. Take as many photos as you'd like, and please, come back anytime."<br />
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Where Hal is, I can;t say. I'd guess at Val Verde retirement village at the edge of the city, a community nestled behind the hills of Hope Ranch and closed off from ocean views. I could tell immediately that Hal was gone. New hedges had been planted, tall ones, designed to block views from the street, and to discourage any artist or interloper with a hankering for beauty.<br />
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"This is mine dammit! I paid 3 mil for this crib. You don't deserve it, get out of my hair, get off my shoulder!" It took no special skill to sniff out the difference between this new John Doe and the old tar Hal.<br />
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While taking photos with John Doe's new hedges sprouting into my picture, the new growth appeared like vines of barbed wire. I thought of the Bruno Mars song, "Locked out of Heaven," and the random words: A prison inside out.<br />
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Scouting new angles for when the view through Hal's house is completely obscured, I went into the street and climbed higher onto the hill, losing my view of the ocean, but finding a fetching scene of the city. As I snapped my photos from this new vantage point, I had to blink and look more than twice at what had manifested. Across the city to the west, in the sky above Ellings Park -- surprise! A rainbow shooting through a cloud.<br />
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Hello Dear Viewers, welcome back. It's great to see you here again. I plan to stay with this every-other month schedule. That means I will return after the New Year -- 2015, yep, really. It's a date: January 15th. Until then, sunny skies, warm breezes and a heart-filled holiday season.</div>
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Gratefully yours, ~ Aneet</div>
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PS: Click on the photos for fuller panoramic views.</div>
anitrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17042584896640034932noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3362850992990224937.post-2218996343149152232014-09-24T17:17:00.001-07:002014-09-24T17:19:36.120-07:00New Post on Anitra's Book of DaysHello Delightful readers and viewers. One post below is my September 15th post on "Anitra Ford's Personal Blog". I have also just made a new post on my other blog, "Anitra's Book of Days." As we can't link it in the text here, you may find it listed when clicking at the bottom of my profile in the sidebar under "About Me", or else, you can Google it and come visit.<br />
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anitrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17042584896640034932noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3362850992990224937.post-47551884525830636792014-09-14T15:11:00.001-07:002014-09-15T22:51:58.446-07:00Santa Barbara, I. Magnin, and Passion<br />
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A fog shrouded morning on the coast. Mid-August and we've had fog-hazed days all summer. May, June, July, and now August, filtered through mesh. The mountains, just a mile away, are invisible. Blotted out with the fuzzy cloth of fog. And when the fog thins, you're left with a filter buffering the mountain's typography. The ridges that in November slice clean against the sky, we rarely see in summer.<br />
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When I came to visit 35 years ago, I'd been here once before. Shuttled from L.A., and put up in a quaint cottage inn for one night. Five I. Magnin models were brought here for their annual Champagne Fashion Show. We had just performed it in Los Angeles to an invitation only audience. Two-hundred privileged guests, who included the Ronald Reagans, the Robert Stacks, the Charlton Hestons, and other notable celebrities like platinum-maned Maimie Van Doren and the velvet-voiced Johnny Mathis.<br />
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We brought the clothes and the show up the coast. First to Santa Barbara, and then to San Francisco in 1962. I was a "house model" at the store on Wilshre and Vermont, who walked the floor from 9-5 wearing too tight Evan's shoes (supplied by the store.) I strolled the white carpet of the second floor and the beige linoleum of the first, inhaling the dreamy moneyed scent of Eau de Joy. I stopped in front of patrons, smiled and said, "Hello, good day." Then posed, touched the fabric of my garment, and said, "This suit is by Jones of New York. You can find it in the knit department on the third floor." I'd then--in spite of my aching blistered feet--do a full pivot, and if the shopper had no questions, smile and say,"Have a lovely day," and move on.<br />
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At age nineteen, Santa Barbara was not for me. I had plans, things to do, places to see. I. Magnin was a first rung on the ladder to my future. I was gong to be a great model. I was going to work in New York. And once I got confidence down, solid in my pocket like the four-corned square of a wallet, then I would do what I was meant to do. I could handle it then, that thing I could not, <i>not</i> do. The art that stirred my passions from way before the euphoria of starring in my high school play.<br />
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Santa Barbara was stodgy. Santa Barbara was stuffy; I saw its winding roads ascending into the hills, I saw its sandstone retaining walls, I saw its lush foliage; they all registered somewhere in my mind's eye, but I didn't really see them past the stars blazing across my vision. My future is what I saw, and Santa Barbara was to me exactly what the whispered slogan said: "A place for the newly wed and the nearly dead."<br />
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Welcome back Dear Readers. I'd like to mention that the photos above were taken of me by I. Magnin when I worked for the store. After fashion shows, newspaper photographers waited in the wings to take photographs of the designer garments. The fashion coordinator would choose models from the staff to pose for the newspaper shots. In the photo with Marc Bohan, then the head designer for the "House of Dior" in Paris, I am sitting to his left.</div>
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It's great to see you here. I plan to return -- as I have been -- in two months. That will be on November 15th. I am about ready to make a new post on my other blog, "Anitra's Book of Days." I imagine that will be within the next few days. Expressing my warm regards to you all. Be cool and safe, ~ Aneet</div>
<br />anitrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17042584896640034932noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3362850992990224937.post-57559603960686983972014-07-14T22:19:00.000-07:002014-07-17T23:44:00.497-07:00A Visit With Charles<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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On Erin's couch. Eating artisan granola with my hands and wondering, could this be the fourth day already?<br />
After these few days away from home, I am just beginning to decompress. Like a beach ball losing air and growing soft, the taut plastic panels giving way to puckers and dips.<br />
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I am not in the woods or at the beach, or even beside a park, but in my daughter's Beverly Hills apartment on a corner of one of the busiest crossroads in the city. Even so, I am finding something rare (at least for me nowadays), solitude. I am not completely alone. Her cat, Charles, is the main reason I'm here. To feed him, brush him, and play with him, and to keep this cat who I've known since he was 2 months old, company.<br />
The once scrappy little Charles, who grew to be a teenager and became a feline who could play hide-and-seek for hours, is not ancient, but at age 12, has grown stodgy and slow.<br />
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Charles--an Abyssinian--is social, and follows me non-stop with his eyes. He seems to remember the games we used to play, but rarely shows up to confront me where I'm hiding. In those old days on Woodcliff Drive in that sprawling 3-bedroom house with its long, narrow hallway, we used to run and chase and scurry from room to room. But now, when I hide, I wait and wait, and Charles does not come to poke his head in curiosity around the corner, or rub his back against the door. Instead, I finally lean out from my hiding place to look and find him sitting 10 feet away starring at me with stunned anticipation. He has silently and stealthily crept from the living room through the office into the kitchen. When he sees me appear, his ears twitch and his head starts, but that is all.<br />
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I will then dart out and rush toward him, but he does not flee like in the past, scampering all the way across the house like a rabbit to hide in his favorite place under the couch. Today, he just sits and flips his tail, as if to say, "Go on now, hide again. I'm enjoying the show. Continue to entertain me."<br />
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Hello Lovely Readers, </div>
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It's delightful to see you here. This is not the first time I've introduced Charles on this blog. He can be found in several posts here: "Charles,"Nov. 30, 2010; "Running Away From Home," April 4, 2011; "Greetings From Charles," Sept. 15, 2011; "Winter Sights," Jan, 2013. </div>
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You can find me on my Facebook page: "Anitra Ford's Celebrity Page," </div>
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as well as on my artist's page: "Anitra's inspriation."</div>
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Sending you all cool summer breezes and warm wishes,</div>
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Sincerely, ~ Aneet</div>
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P.S.: My next post will be in 2 months on the 15th of September. It would be lovely to see you then.**</div>
<br />anitrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17042584896640034932noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3362850992990224937.post-35685156011371913282014-06-15T18:18:00.002-07:002015-07-21T13:09:38.693-07:00A New Post on "Anitra's Book of Days"Hello Dear Readers,<br />
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I have recently posted on my other blog, "Anitra's Book of Days." the subject is Santa Barbara's ubiquitous jacaranda trees. This Blogger format does not provide direct links, except through my profile page, which you can access by clicking on the red words at the bottom of my profile in the sidebar, or you can simply Google "Anitra's Book of Days."<br />
My latest post here, on "Anitra Ford's Personal Blog," is "Scolari's Serenade", which you will find directly below. My next post is due on July 15th. Lovely to see you here. I always enjoy hearing from you and responding to you comments.<br />
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Cool breezes and happy days, ~ Anitra<br />
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anitrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17042584896640034932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3362850992990224937.post-65311702623430592842014-05-14T15:25:00.002-07:002014-05-17T11:42:47.565-07:00Scolari's Serenade<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I continue to post on this blog every other month on the 15th. My next post will be on the 15th of July. On my other blog, <b>"Anitr's Book of Days"</b>, I post intermittently, and on my two public Facebook pages: <b>"Anitra Ford's Celbrity Page"</b> and <b>"Anitra's inspiration"</b>, I have been making weekly posts.<br />
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Cool Breezes and Happy Days to you, ~ Anitraanitrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17042584896640034932noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3362850992990224937.post-61188538588677508422014-04-06T20:18:00.001-07:002014-05-31T08:45:24.175-07:00tpirmodelstv.com - Anitra & Janice 3Here is a video of clips from the early days of "The Price is Right." These scenes taped in the 70's, are fun and vibrant, and as I taped hundreds of shows over my four-and-a-half years as one of the two first "Price is Right" models, their memory runs deep.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/THr7PeEKeLQ" width="459"></iframe>anitrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17042584896640034932noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3362850992990224937.post-14008920767091620412014-03-14T20:02:00.001-07:002014-04-16T20:12:33.913-07:00Where are These Crows Headed?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Above is a video of my neighborhood crows. They were clustered at the very top of an oak tree in my front yard and were aligned in a picturesque manner. As usual, they were squawking their heads off. When I saw them, I hurried into the house for my camera, not expecting them to still be there when I returned. But I was in luck, they were still in action. I began to take a photo, and was sorry that the viewer would not get the full effect without sound. That's when it dawned on me to employ my little-used video application. In short order, the crows delivered a perfect surprise. I've decided they're on their way to visit my new blog<b> "Anitra's Book of Days."</b> You're welcome to follow them and stop by for a visit.<br />
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It's wonderful to see you here. I will return to post on this blog May 15th, two months down the road. In the meantime, you may visit me on Facebook at <b>"Anitra Ford's Celebrity Page"</b> and also at my Facebook Artist's Page: <b>"Anitra's inspiration."</b> Keep the wonder going.<br />
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My warm regards, ~ Anitraanitrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17042584896640034932noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3362850992990224937.post-69390995279976333512014-01-14T22:23:00.000-08:002014-04-06T20:34:42.295-07:00Is There No End to the Depths of Which One Can See<br />
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It started with a band of coral glowing through my drapes early Saturday morning. I stepped into my slippers, grabbed my camera and went out onto the deck. I then crossed the lawn to where a tiny patch of ocean was visible. The warm December air hung around me like a shawl. Below the coral sky, the sea was glassy and silvered. I took photos.<br />
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When I turned back to go inside and begin my morning ritual of writing, the sun was cresting the canyon, and I noticed the stone Buddha beside the pepper tree was now outlined with light. I clicked more photos. Before I stepped away, the jay that visits every morning requesting his handful of peanuts, hopped onto a stack of rocks on the banister of my deck. Again, I clicked my camera. That's when the Elvis Presley birdhouse caught my eye. The birdhouse -- a yard sale find -- I keep, not because it's a great likeness, nor is it that attractive or well-made, but simply because it's an ELVIS PRESLEY <i>BIRDHOUSE!</i><br />
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And that was the thing Saturday morning, the ocean, the Buddha, the jay, the birdhouse, the air, the light, the warmth, just grew more and more heady, and I was beginning to feel as though I couldn't stop or rest for one moment. Everywhere I looked -- everywhere -- I saw something remarkable. I looked to my right, and the heart-shaped bird feeder dangling from the eaves framed the pristine mountains in the distance. On and on it went until I felt dizzy from all of the sights unfolding.<br />
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Here it was, the same world I saw every day, the same shadows, the same morning light -- but this day, it was more. The molecules in the air seemed to be humming. Things that had looked just so-so, or hadn't even caught my attention in the past, appeared charmed. And the imperfections all around me: the unattractive wire fencing, the awkward mix of pots and saucers, the dust, the faded wood and even the rough corners were all smoothed and invisible to me that morning, and I found myself wondering what had happened.<br />
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How did this eclectic hodgepodge become a kind of Eden?<br />
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When I finally went back inside, the projects on my table looked like art, and I continued taking photos, stumbling around my house snapping and clicking, unable to stop seeing image after image illuminated.<br />
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View another chapter of this story by going to my new blog: <i>Anitra's Book of Days.</i> You can find it on Google, or by clicking the bottom line under my profile in the sidebar that reads "view complete profile." It will be listed at the top of the page under "My Blogs." Click on the title and you will be there. The post is titled "Magic Morning" and was made on Jan. 15. Happy travels<br />
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Have a fulfilling and charmed 2014. My warmest regards,<br />
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~ Anitra<br />
<br />anitrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17042584896640034932noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3362850992990224937.post-33689619080938896912013-11-13T18:22:00.000-08:002013-11-13T18:30:35.252-08:00Ruing, Rowing and Flowing<br />
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Right now I want to rue, rue the fact that everything is passing. The pink light from the sunrise casting its pastel color onto my writing page is measured. Each day is like those grains of sand in the hourglass, spilling. Now I have a new perspective of the hourglass, so different from those days in the past -- days when I was outer-driven, always reaching, always striving, always hoping to attain my ever-present goals.<br />
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With those days of racing behind me, my pace has changed, and my focus has gone inward, not in the sense of navel gazing, but of savoring moments, of being in my body instead of casting it about. And as I stop and look around me at patterns of sunlight illuminating the French doors to my deck, I see one shaped like a butterfly. And in the distance, a small crimson heart glows mid air, suspended in the leaves of the pepper tree. And I wonder how could that be -- a heart suspended in space -- what is that? And then, I see it's part of a stained glass strand dangling from the eaves of my deck and glinting in the slant light. And I realize, I am holding this journal to my chest, feeling the smooth tooth of its paper under the pads of my fingers and being with this day as it it were a person; as if it were a dear relative who I love.<br />
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<br />anitrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17042584896640034932noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3362850992990224937.post-45583372153297076342013-09-14T21:03:00.000-07:002014-01-04T23:25:35.561-08:00Savoring Summer<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Today, I perch on the cusp of fall. The days are growing shorter, but my memories of the second half of summer remain bright. Visits with friends took me to Santa Barbara's harbor several times. You'd think that after 33 years of living here I might become inured to the same old, same old, "There it is, the blue Pacific" yawn. But it's just the opposite. Every time I visit the harbor, I relish it more.</div>
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Shore birds foraging, frolicking and wading in the shallows put on a constant and ever-changing show. A steady stream of sailboats -- their silky banners coasting past Stearn's Warf -- is another captivating sight. The colorful parade of boats leaving and returning to the harbor, </div>
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An empty barge invites droves of pelicans, cormorants and a night heron or two. A few spirited egrets get into the mix. One balances on a tightrope. </div>
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Black-hooded night herons breed and sleep in the trees, and pelicans amass on the sand spits. In summer, nestlings hatch in the tall ficus trees adjacent to our public swimming pool. On warm August evenings, after watching fleshy, featherless humans splash and cavort all day, juvenile herons and young egrets descend from their nests, and take their turn in the swimming pool.</div>
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This summer, after having fallen more in love with the harbor than ever, I began to view Lazy Acres Health Food Store on the Mesa, differently. Lazy Acres has always seemed too far away from my neighborhood to frequent. But this summer, I changed my tune. I began to see shopping there as an opportunity for an adventure. I realized that I could use going there as an excuse to take the coast route, where I could then tool languidly along the shore. On my way to Lazy Acres, I could scout out activities at the harbor, I could spot sunbathers savoring summer's August days. I could see sailboats swirling across the channel, and catch new sights at every turn.</div>
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One afternoon on my way to the market, I saw a fleet of rainbow-colored sailboats racing on Leadbetter Beach. On my way home, just 45 minutes later, parachutes had appeared. </div>
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Wind driven para-sailors embracing gusty breezes, were flying their chutes above the water </div>
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On Labor Day I drove to L.A. to visit my daughter and few old friends. After a tasty brunch at Le Cirq, on Melrose Avenue, I found myself hankering to be back home. But my commitment promised two more days. Closed in by city streets, I craved the refuge of nature--longed for it as if for air. After sitting in a park across the street from the iconic, pink stucco Beverly Hills Hotel, and jotting a few pages in my journal, I decided to hunt for more greenery. And so, I set sail on an exploratory outing. I drove my gray Toyota up into the hills of Brentwood in search of an undeveloped canyon I had heard about--a nature preserve. Once there, I found the area weathered and dusty. But even though the city encompassed it on all sides, I found surprising life there. In fact, for the second time ever, I came face to face with the glorious presence of a wood duck. After all the magnificent scenes I witnessed this summer at Santa Barbara's harbor, I have to say, I found summer's crowning glory deep in the hidden heart of L.A.</div>
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<i>*** Hello, hello beautiful people. It's so good to return. WELCOME!</i></div>
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<i>I plan to make my next post (once again) two months down the road. This will bring us to November 15. Until then wishing you rich and happy days, ~ Aneet</i></div>
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anitrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17042584896640034932noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3362850992990224937.post-67790843806652118612013-07-14T21:33:00.001-07:002013-07-15T20:26:31.857-07:00Summer A<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Let Me Play</div>
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Let me live in joy and wonder.</div>
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Allow me to let go of constraints</div>
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and mental constructs of how things ought to be.</div>
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Let me release my automatic knee-jerk reactions</div>
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and open to a world of infinite possibility.</div>
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Let me find that thread of agelessness</div>
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and timelessness that resides in all of us.</div>
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Let me savor, let me celebrate</div>
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this gift of days.</div>
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<i>***Hello beautiful people. Once again, I have made two posts. Please check out Summer B</i></div>
<br />anitrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17042584896640034932noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3362850992990224937.post-1218203394838350052013-07-14T21:03:00.000-07:002013-07-17T23:09:06.578-07:00Summer B<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The first week of summer brought with it sunny skies and temperatures in the mid-seventies -- weather worthy of Santa Barbara's reputation. But the weeks and months before and since have been dominated by fog. Our Summer Solstice Parade (see June 2011), along with high school and college graduations, and just the influx of seasonal tourists doubled our population, flooding our streets and turning serene SB into a teeming bumper to bumper hub. This week, finally, we've received full sunny days, and yesterday, the beach was packed with sunworshipers.<br />
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Late May and early June brought our Jacaranda trees into bloom. This year's bounty appeared fuller and more prolific than I can remember. Throughout the city our tree-lined streets were clad in fluffy clouds of lavender. They lingered for weeks, with blossoms sprinkling sidewalks, lawns and windshields like purple confetti announcing summer's approach.</div>
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Last week, I bought a gift for a friend at one of my favorite shops: Lewis and Clark in La Arcada Plaza. La Arcada is a courtyard with Old World Spanish architecture. It flanks our art museum, and is home to restaurants, galleries, fountains and boutiques (the window washer in the foreground wearing all white, is a fixture of La Arcada. A statue sculpted entirely of bronze.)</div>
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On my way back to the parking lot, I glanced toward our courthouse -- the heart of our downtown -- the way I always do whenever I'm in its presence. I took in its tile roof, its graceful arch, its tall clock tower that looks out to a 360 degree view of the city, and felt a certain awe, even after all these years. The interior and the exterior of Santa Barbara's courthouse are equal to some of the loveliest buildings in Italy or Spain. And as I stopped to snap a couple of photos, the clock began to chime. It resounded through all twelve numbers of the hour like a validation, a booming voice bellowing, "You're here, Anitra, you're here, at this median hour, in perfect timing. I salute you with both hands straight up. Have a beautiful day."</div>
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Welcome, welcome lovely readers; it's good to be back. I look forward to returning two months from now, on the 15th of September. Until then, cool breezes and happy days to you.</div>
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anitrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17042584896640034932noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3362850992990224937.post-10777838371068806522013-05-13T21:12:00.001-07:002013-07-04T08:44:58.905-07:00Today, my mermories are a drumbeat<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Pacing the hills, ocean in view, scent of summer in the air.<br />
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Coppertone suntan lotion wafting on breeze, impossible way up here so far from everyone. Must be a memory drifting in from my youth. Summers spent at the beach on the California coast. A high school thespian, performing plays and modern dance. Dreaming of modeling and acting. Pulsing with adolescent vitality. A fireball.<br />
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Not knowing how to get where I had to go, only that "no" could never be an option.<br />
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Loving the precious last days of youth -- the safety of high school, the freedom to be silly. And yet, waiting . . . breathless for that moment when I would fly from my secure cage and follow every wing-flap due north. The magnet of Hollywood pulling . . . calling . . ..<br />
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<b>** There is more, a long string of Santa Barbara images. See second post below</b><br />
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<b><br /></b>anitrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17042584896640034932noreply@blogger.com30tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3362850992990224937.post-31508278880258673192013-05-13T20:44:00.001-07:002013-05-14T07:34:58.030-07:00Ordinary DayThe scent of summer<br />
lifting from the still moist
soil of spring<br />
Santa Barbara blooming, glistening.<br />
Every day
the interplay
of fog and sun.
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******************************************** </div>
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How delightful it is to be back here in this welcoming arena -- this forum of friends </div>
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-- the open channel where I take the images that have greeted me over the past two months, strain them through the filter of my perception, fashion them </div>
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into form . . . and deliver them to you. </div>
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With gratitude, I welcome you into my blue world by the sea. This month, I have made two posts, both prompted by the phrase, "the scent of summer." They are fairly free-form, from the white Matilija poppy, to cactus flowers blooming in my garden, to a bucked-tooth gopher (in need of a good dental hygienist), who was plump, large and completely indifferent to my presence. Even when I stood in front of him and spoke, he looked at me, but didn't flinch, just continued </div>
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with his plight of digging and gnawing.</div>
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The Princess Cruise Line that has been showing up from time to time in our harbor: a stunning sight, surprising in its breadth; cedar waxwings clustered on bare branches; a hooded oriole; an artist capturing the slough in oils and even a white cat staring through her green window are a few of my offerings today. What's missing is the birdsong, which you will have to imagine, or perhaps you could go for a walk in your own neighborhood and hear some similar music.</div>
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On another note, my work continues and is going well. Posting every two months now, feels just right. It's wonderful to see you :) I will return on the 15th of July.</div>
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Bountiful wishes and happy summer solstice my valued readers and friends, ~ Anitra</div>
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anitrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17042584896640034932noreply@blogger.com18