This past week I met Lucy Jones, nicknamed by many Californians as the "Beyoncé of Earthquakes."

Dr. Jones is a leading voice in seismology. Her work at Cal Tech and the US Geological Survey have vastly increased our knowledge and subsequent prediction of earthquakes. Indeed she and her partners at USGS developed the "Great Shakeout Earthquake Drills," educating millions on what to do should an earthquake occur. 

Which is how I met Lucy. Doing an earthquake drill. In church.

When it came time for announcements this past Sunday, Lucy got up and gave us a brief overview of earthquakes and the importance of preparing for such events. And then, while standing in the pulpit, she encouraged all of us to "Drop. Cover. And Hold On."

At her command, I dutifully climbed under my seat on the altar while the congregants all disappeared underneath the pews. 

When Beyoncé preaches, everyone listens.

"Earthquakes are part of our environment. It's the reason Southern California is as beautiful as it is." - Lucy Jones

With daily temperatures hovering near 100 degrees this week, going to a theater and watching a movie sounds pretty darn good. And with movies ... comes popcorn. 

Usually I'm a Milk Duds or Good&Plenty kind of gal, but sometimes a bucket of popcorn feels like just the right thing at just the right time.

Popcorn made its theater debut in 1912 and later survived a temporary ban after patrons complained it was too loud to be served in the quiet confines of darkened movie houses. 

Americans eat more popcorn than any other nation, a pattern cemented during WWII when sugar shortages shrunk the availability of other tasty options. And if that's not enough to convince you of popcorn's allure, how about this nutritional fun fact. Popcorn contains more iron than eggs or even roast beef.

Happy popping!

"Every once in awhile, someone will mail me a single popcorn kernel that didn't pop. I'll get out a fresh kernel, tape it to a piece of paper, and mail it back to them." - Orville Redenbacher

In 1985, actor Michael J. Fox starred in a whimsical comedy titled Back to the Future. 

The plot revolves around his character being sent back in time, returning to the days his own parents were still in high school. But who needs such cinematic wizardry when a peek into your t-shirt drawer will produce the same result?

Especially now that I live in a warm climate, my t-shirt stack has grown over the past few years. I have a few emblazoned with the names of schools. I acquired a handful after volunteering for the LA Food Bank and various 5K runs. But my two favorites, held together by a few threads and a prayer, are decades old.

The first depicts the cartoon character Gumby, made famous by USC alumnus Art Clokey. Gumby has been around since the 1950's. My t-shirt, almost as long. And the second, a tattered pink shell, has a picture of Mr. Bubble across the chest. It's soft, worn, and definitely too raggedy to be seen outside the confines of my bedroom.

How did I acquire these two wardrobe wonders you ask? I did what everyone does. I stole them from my spouse...

"Wait a minute, Doc. Are you telling me that you built a time machine ... out of a DeLorean?!?" - Marty McFly in Back to the Future

On Monday morning I discovered a handful of poker chips on the bottom of my swimming pool.

That is to say the communal swimming pool at my apartment complex, a two-building behemoth filled with youthful fit singles living their best lives. 

After most weekends, the pool deck is strewn with the debris of late-night hijinks. Still, the poker chips were new.

When I was a kid, my mother would attach a hose to our lawn sprinkler so we could frolic amidst streams of cool water. Soon enough we outgrew the sprinkler and moved on to the ever dicey Wham-O Slip 'n Slide, spending hours and hours careening off the end of the plastic strip onto the wet grass. We later launched ourselves into the neighborhood pond by way of an old rope swing. Our fascination with water held no bounds.

These days I glide across the water by way of a decent enough breaststroke, the only option that allows me to wear my sunglasses while swimming. As they say at the poker table, I'm "all-in."

"The water doesn't know how old you are." - Dara Torres (5X Olympic Swimmer)

Last week, while idling at a stoplight on Santa Monica Boulevard, I gazed across the intersection and was startled to see that the car on the other side didn't have a driver. 

It didn't have any passengers either. It was one of those self-driving Teslas, on some kind of joyride through the bustling streets of West Hollywood.

For the next few blocks I experienced a wave of emotions. Initially, I was impressed with the technological wizardry such an invention required. Then I was unnerved that the traffic that surrounded me might not respond in the ways in which I had become accustom. Crazy drivers can still be predictable ones. But mostly, I was sad.

Driving is one of my most treasured past times. I am a true disciple of America's car culture. And while walking feeds my soul, there's nothing like driving to make my spirit soar. 

"Everything in life is somewhere else. And you get there in a car." - E.B. White

teach /tēCH/ verb - show or explain to (someone) how to do something.

These days, it seems like being a teacher, or a student for that matter, involve much more than Merriam-Webster would lead us to believe.

In my salad days, thoughts of September would bring to mind three-ring binders, Ticonderoga pencils, and the color of changing autumn leaves. Nowadays, classrooms are rife with TI-84 calculators, Google docs, and fields of study that didn't even exist a few decades ago.

It can be easy to get overwhelmed by the advancements in technology along with a tsunami of information that bleats for our attention.

What isn't different? That through the act of teaching, the world changes.....

"Let us remember: One book, One pen, One child, and One teacher can change the world." - Malala Yousafzi

Ah, the mighty Cheerio!

First introduced in May of 1941, this General Mills' product quickly became a staple of the American breakfast table.

Over the decades, various flavors have come and gone. The third product iteration, Honey Nut Cheerios, was launched in 1979. Coated with a brown sugar-molasses-honey glaze, this version is second only to the original in popularity.

But perhaps the biggest uptick in recent sales is due to the "o" in Cheerios. Made from oats, Cheerios were officially certified gluten-free in 2015 after factories in the United States removed traces of rye, barley, and wheat that had previously contaminated the supply chain. That said, be sure to check the label when you venture abroad. Cheerios manufactured by Nestles, like in the UK, still contain wheat!

"It's a honey of an O!" - product tagline (1979-2004)

When my brother and I were toddlers, my Dad would take us to the cemetery.

Siblings who shared a rambunctious streak, there were days when my Mom would run out of both patience and steam with her young brood. When those occasions arose, my father would fling us into the backseat of the family Oldsmobile and off we'd go to the local graveyard.

Granted, a strange choice at first blush. But my Dad was a WWII vet who had lost his right leg on the battlefields of France. Rendered an amputee, he couldn't scamper after us when we veered toward the street or headed in the direction of some other danger. But the town cemetery was free of such quagmires; no traffic, no whirling playground equipment, nothing but grass, and flowers, and room to run.

As the child of a career military man, Memorial Day holds a special place in my heart. I'm forever grateful that the sacrifices my father made for his country did not include his life, which allowed for mine. Others were not so fortunate.

On Memorial Day we honor the men and women who did pay the ultimate price. And we remain, forever, in their debt.

"Americans may not only pay tribute to our honored dead but also unite in prayer for success in our search for a just and lasting peace." - John F. Kennedy, "Prayer for Peace," Memorial Day 1962

Sari/Saree (noun)-

A garment consisting of a length of cotton or silk elaborately draped around the body, traditionally worn by women from South Asia.

This past weekend I attended a traditional Hindu wedding. The bride, along with many of the women in attendance, wore saris/sarees. Intricate and colorful, the presence of these vibrant garments gave the occasion an elegant glean.

During cocktail hour, one of the women shared with me that her sari was made from nine yards of fabric, wrapped with protracted precision. I don't think I grasped just how much cloth and skill were involved until the line for the women's restroom came to a complete halt.

Being fashionable takes time. But beauty is always worth the wait...

"The sari's radiance, vigor and variety, produced by a single straight length of cloth, should give us in the West pause and make us think twice about the zipper, the dart, and the shoulder pad." - Naveen Patnaik

Thunder and lightning. Or is it?

The rumble you hear during a storm is actually created by the lightning. Each flash causes the air temperature nearby to quickly rise, at times to as much as 50,000 degrees Fahrenheit. Immediately afterwards, the air starts to cool. It's this rapid temperature change that creates the roiling boom we know as thunder.

And so it is with life. Out of the blue, something happens. The shock blinds us for a moment, just like a flash of lightning. But it's the aftermath, the thunder, that is so damaging. These secondary waves of tumult are what truly test our mettle. Reverberations that demand we dig deeply into our reserves -- for strength, endurance, and faith.

In life, as in science, it's lightning ... and then thunder.

"I spent the night on a sliver of rock, listening to the lightning crack above me and the thunder roll down." - James Salter

The Pink Palace.

Originally built in 1912, the Beverly Hills Hotel has been turning heads for more than a century.

Earlier this week, I found myself on the wide red carpet that leads into this posh establishment. The famed banana-leaf wallpaper is still there, as is the distinctive green and pink color scheme.

The hotel oozes vintage celebrity glamour. Dotting the walls of the lobby are charcoal drawings and black and white photographs of some of this landmark's most well-known patrons; Marilyn Monroe, John Lennon, Frank Sinatra, Howard Hughes, and of course, Elizabeth Taylor, who is said to have spent six of her eight honeymoons on the property.

That said, to go to the Beverly Hills Hotel is not an experience of grandeur. The sprawling grounds are carefully landscaped to offer the eye a smaller scale. The twisting paths that usher patrons to the bungalows are lush but petite. The pool, where Faye Dunaway once posed with her Academy Award, is tastefully constrained. Despite being lined with velvet, the elevators hail from the early 20th-century. Somehow the hotel's shimmering luxury remains demure, understated even.

If you're looking for vistas and marble and chandeliers, this venue is not the one. But if private nooks, polished bar tops, and a penchant for the 1940's, 50's, and 60's are what you seek, welcome to the Beverly Hills Hotel. It does not disappoint....

"I took my daily swim at the Beverly Hills Hotel pool despite the presence of onlookers." - Esther Williams, actress known for her "aquamusicals"

When I was a tween, my mother decided she would volunteer to be the leader of my Girl Scout troop. Ugh.

It had become increasing difficult to find mothers who wanted to chaperone the more outdoorsy events. When the topic of sleeping bags, campfires, and mosquito-laden adventures was raised during our monthly meetings, the silence of the adults in the room was deafening.

My mother was a rough-and-tumble kind of girl back in the day. She wore overalls. She braved the frigid New England ocean. She could identify most trees at just a glance and kept a copy of the "Peterson Field Guide to Birds" by her favorite chair. I still have her dog-eared copy.

She taught me to love and respect the created world, as she did. Taking on my Girl Scout troop was no big deal.

This past week we marked "Earth Day 2024," some 54 years after its inception. The current theme is "Planet v. Plastics." It's hard to imagine a solution to the overwhelming heap of polymers with which we have poisoned our earth. But as my mother's example has shown me, the first step is to throw yourself into the fray.

"Into the forest I go, to lose my mind and my soul." - John Muir, naturalist and conservationist

42

Inside the hearts and historicity of baseball, the number 42 is imbued with a kind of sacredness. Worn by Jackie Robinson, the first African-American man to play in the Major Leagues, this was the number sewn across his chest as he rambled out to first base on April 15, 1947, officially breaking the color line as a member of the Brooklyn Dodgers.

Robinson's number is on display at every baseball stadium across MLB, retired from use in perpetuity. And while he is among the most-lauded heroes of our national pastime, he is also a local boy. Raised in Pasadena, a statue of he and his brother Mack, an athlete in his own right, stand just across from City Hall.

The eyes of Mack are focused on Pasadena's central governmental office. Besides a trip to the Berlin Olympics in 1936, Mack spent his entire life in the "City of Roses." But Jackie's eyes gaze directly east, toward New York City, the site of his greatest professional and personal triumph.

"To do what he did has got to be the most tremendous thing I've ever seen in sports." - Pee Wee Reese, HOF Dodger shortstop and teammate of Jackie Robinson