sparkler's notes

I started out on a run yesterday evening around my neighborhood iPod-less; to chase the sun down into the horizon. Not a fan of the upcoming daylight saving time. It means back to the inside of gyms with sweaty leering men, and stale air. I will miss the Rose Bowl, with its pack of bicyclists whirling past me creating a breeze that is a welcome respite to the warm Pasadena air. I will miss my chats with R during warm-up and cool down about our day, life and food. Usually we are plotting for our next food-centric party. My neighborhood run provides me with a different experience. There are more obstacles, no real sidewalk to speak of, which means parked cars to dart in and out of as cars pass, many hills of varying grades to jog up at a sometimes slower paces than I could walk, ladies watering their lawns and dogs guarding their yards.

One of the most interesting things about my run are the smells that waif from different areas. The first smell I encountered on my jog was of garlic. I imagined someone beginning their dinner with the familiar start of my own; sautéing garlic in some olive oil. This smell is about all I have to do in the kitchen to invoke a “Honey, it smells good in there what are you cooking?” Aah, simple pleasures.

As the garlic faded and I came to the top of the second small hill, I was hit with a wall of incense. Thick and perfumed, it was impossible to not drop back in time to college dorms, apartments; with burning intense, cloth tapestry wall hangings, loud music, and friends.

Unfortunately, the first two scents that tickled my nose were followed up by unpleasant ones. The ever-present skunk smell was stronger as I ran the downhill part of my journey. “Skunktastic” I thought and chuckled to myself. I was happy to have just run into the scent, not one of the members of the skunk families that reside in the area. As I made my way around the bend to the only true flat part of the route, rotting fish, and molting garbage rose up from a sewer grate.

Absent of scents, I began the final steep uphill journey. “Keep it up”, an older gentleman expressed encouragement as I started up the first climb. I used the energy from his words to help me up the whole hill. Once I reached the top, I walked around cooling off; I watched a cat stalk something in the ivy.

R and I were walking, now on downhill too steep to jog, when we heard wailing. I mean WAILING, it was loud, came from several people and could be heard clearly down to the street. We speculated that it was some sort of grieving session or an acting class; given that this is a hip part of Los Angeles, it was probably the latter. The last smell I noticed on our journey was wild fennel. R breathed deeply and sighed in appreciation. I thought of Ouzo the Greek alcohol I had only recently been introduced to.

The night sky almost upon us, I sprinted the last flat part towards home. Running so fast I could smell nothing at all.