I am borrowing from a high tech term that refers to areas where computers can pick up signals without being plugged into the net. Actually, there are more hot spots than you can imagine, and not all of them are of modern technology. Some of them date back thousands of years. This needs some explanation.
I must consider poor Nicole who has to make calls every day on what to publish and what to reject. She is not where she is for no reason and I just know that as long as the posting stays with what the site is all about, there is a chance. This site is about Montrose and the CV loosely speaking.
Signal Hill used to be a hot spot for the Tongva Indians. They set signal fires there to guide their people at sea. It became a real hot spot when oil was discovered there. But, I wish to speak of yet another type of hot spot. The hot spots I speak of are where memorable events occurred that, in a small way, changed a life forever. It becomes a question of which came first, the hot spot that caused the event, or the event that caused the hot spot. Probably both. I was 12 when my parents moved from downtown area Glendale to Sparr Heights.
They bought 3509 Rosemary for about $12,500 from a Richard Dorr. Try that sometime! It was there that I had a sort of awakening. Something different about "up here." There was an ambiance...very much like the lyrics "There was something in the air that night, the stars were shining bright, Fernando" The morning light was much brighter..it did more than just shed light on the trees, grassy lawns, the breaks and the bushes, the hills and mountains, it stung them with color and with beckoning hand, called into play the symphony of perfumes from the Rose family, the Camelia family, the Damp Earth Family. The Night Blooming Jasmine, having done its night's work, closed its eyes in sleep while a lonely snail stuck its pronged feelers out from under a rock, and then began its daylight ramble, enjoying the Sun in its little shell. The people also, they woke up, showered, shaved, dressed, ate, and went to their work. They missed a lot, but they survived. It was the children who saw more, much more. They felt more; the magic undisturbed by explanations and reasons. The zenith of the sun....high noon...the transition...the people rose, did their jobs, grew tired, followed the Sun to its Zenith, and began the trip to the end of another day. The Sun rested for a moment on a crest of the Verdugo Hills, and began its journey to the other side of the World.
A grand good bye.
The shadows sprung and grew steadily up the heights of the San Raphaels, the tops gave forth an Orange glow good night. and faded as the Blessed night drew its canopy of deep blue to black across the sky. The lonely snail, which no one saw nor thought about began his amble back to his rock. To him, he was important! And...he was content. The kids did their home work, out down their pencils, did the last things of the day, and went to bed. One by one, lights went out in the houses...their time to rest. The jasmine opened its petals and went to work, perfuming the night air for the next generation. So, life really is a symphony of many things...most of which we never think about.....In case you are wondering, childhood is the best hot spot of all.....Valley girls cuter, valley boys tougher, the Sun is brighter, the stars more in profusion, and the ambiance defies description...
