Saturday, February 21, 2004
A Grande time. Jeffrey S. and I walked up to the Grande Avenue Festival. Stopping to admire the house for sale on the corner. At night the Virgin of Guadalupe is lit up by neon. Out in front tiny daffodils are blooming.
Virgin of Guadalupe. There are lots of shrines in my neighborhood.
Miniature daffodils- the former owner also grew fantastic irises.
The festival is in its second year- it began last year to celebrate the re-opening of the area after a horrible sewer pipe leak that undermined the road and stunk up the neighborhood pretty bad. I was out of town last year, so missed it. I was amazed at how many people were strolling up and down the street. Food booths, crafts, carnival rides, a band on stage, and lots of neighbors. The crowd was mainly Mexican-American, with the occasional Anglo (mostly hippies) mixed in. It is strange how cultural events in this community are so segregated.
Jeffrey S. admired the vintage cars. Sometimes I think he is secretly straight because he can rattle off the make and model on sight, and is knowledgeable about whether the interior is original or not.
Jeffrey S. and the 1965 convertible.
We ran into Kent, and the three of us hung out. Jeffrey and Kent hadn't met, and I mentioned to Kent that Jeffrey had been a Peace Corp volunteer in Africa. Kent, when he was younger and more impressionable, had been a Mormon missionary in Peru. They spent the rest of the time chatting. I am playing matchmaker. Wonder what will happen?
Kent
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Virgin of Guadalupe. There are lots of shrines in my neighborhood.
Miniature daffodils- the former owner also grew fantastic irises.
The festival is in its second year- it began last year to celebrate the re-opening of the area after a horrible sewer pipe leak that undermined the road and stunk up the neighborhood pretty bad. I was out of town last year, so missed it. I was amazed at how many people were strolling up and down the street. Food booths, crafts, carnival rides, a band on stage, and lots of neighbors. The crowd was mainly Mexican-American, with the occasional Anglo (mostly hippies) mixed in. It is strange how cultural events in this community are so segregated.
Jeffrey S. admired the vintage cars. Sometimes I think he is secretly straight because he can rattle off the make and model on sight, and is knowledgeable about whether the interior is original or not.
Jeffrey S. and the 1965 convertible.
We ran into Kent, and the three of us hung out. Jeffrey and Kent hadn't met, and I mentioned to Kent that Jeffrey had been a Peace Corp volunteer in Africa. Kent, when he was younger and more impressionable, had been a Mormon missionary in Peru. They spent the rest of the time chatting. I am playing matchmaker. Wonder what will happen?
Kent
