Sometimes I HATE Change

Sometimes I HATE change. I may not even have to be a part of the change, feel the change, personally experience the change, but I can anguish over it any way. It's like, I remember Santa Monica and Venice Beaches, back in the early 50's and there was plenty of sand for everyone, clean water to play in, free parking close to the beach, cool and eclectic shops abounding... It's gone. No one can re-create it. They can go for the "feel" of it, but that will carry a heavy price tag. I remember Washington Blvd, before Marina Del Rey was built, and there were dirt fields, Mud Lake, a go cart track, and horse riding stables called Hoppy Land, because Hop-Along Cassidy was part owner. And the blue wooden wind mills that stood on the land. You could crawl inside them.

I was about three years old, and I could walk the 2 or 3 miles to the liquor store down by Washington Blvd and Speedway, and buy some candy, and come home safe. I remember lots of those little orange butterflies back then too.

When you walked out onto wooden piers, you would still smell tar they used to seal some parts of the piers from weather and salt water. Shoot, I remember POP before it burned down.

I miss those days. They were full of innocence that life had not yet robbed me of. I did not have much fear in my heart, despite the domestic violence around me, despite the degree to which people drank and smoked. Most of the time, I felt safe. I guess I was in my own little bubble. Happy little Debbie, in Happy little Debbieland.

I remember The House Of The Future at Disneyland! Wow. That was really something. It had prototypes through out the house with futuristic technology like cordless phones, giant TVs, electric razors, kitchen appliances that rose out of the countertops and dishwashers, microwave, intercom system, and closets filled with polyester clothes. I am very sad that it no longer exists except in my memory and some tributes to it. Technology goes so fast today, that a home of the future will be outdated before it leaves the drawing board... http://www.yesterland.com/futurehouse.html.

I think maybe what I miss, about things of the past, and why I hate change, is because I was not aware of the hardness of the lives around me, or the scarey things happening around me. I had some magic in my life. I grew up when hot dog stands were made to look like the dogs they served. These were the things that distracted me, and let me still believe in magic and things being fun and OK. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tail_o'_the_Pup. http://math.jacobs-university.de/pfander/latimes.htm

Can you believe it. Someone got paid to drive a vehicle that looked like a hot dog! Yeah, that Oscar Mayer Weinermobile survived. They are still driving them. But I don't know... they are getting smaller, and that's what happens to some old folks before they leave us! http://www.autobloggreen.com/2008/03/16/even-the-weinermobile-is-downsizing-now-based-on-a-mini-cooper/

You could find magical food like "chiffon cake," first served a in restaurant shaped like, what else? A brown derby! http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brown_Derby. There was once a Pup Café, in Culver City, shaped like a dog, http://www.thebark.com/content/roadside-giants. I still remember the big doughnut at Washington and Sepulveda, which was a part of the original Randy's Doughnut chain. It was one of my favorites. http://math.jacobs-university.de/pfander/latimes.htm

I once lived walking distance from the back lots of MGM near Overland and Jefferson in Culver City, and that's where some real magic happened. I could sometimes get a peek between the fencing, or through holes and see where they made MOVIES. Old dusty sets, looking like whole towns, set my imagination on fire!

I remember Fox Hills Mall was once the land where a horse riding stable stood. My friend Sandy showed me the way there. People boarded their horses there. I used to groom an old pregnant mare in trade for riding her for free. I could barely get my legs up and over her to ride, she was so fat with her foal yet to be born. And she was magical to me.

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But most of it's gone. And nobody asked me if I would mind if they tore it down, or picked it up and moved it away. They never really asked any one else either. Someone just showed up with a large enough bank roll and they could wipe out a lifetime, or decades of memories. You could leave a neighborhood for a few years, come back, and feel like you are visiting for the first time.

Rarity does not matter. It's like the Queen in Alice in Wonderland, yelling, "Off with her head." And so it is. Some thing unique and rare, is bought, and smashed down to bits and pieces and the memory lasts only as long as the youngest witness to the magic is still alive.

I guess I hate some changes so much, because it really amounts to a certain kind of death, in my way of thinking; death of a landmark, death of innocence, death of a simpler, happier, kinder and yes, more magical way of living. Maybe it means my child-within is losing her places to hide and play. Yeah. We hate change. Both of us.