A Covid19 Dream about Sepulveda Blvd

  Yesterday I was looking for a photo and ended up in the "cleaning up my iphoto library" rabbit hole. Here's a photo that I did keep. It's  from my April 2018 drive from UCLA (where Mike was talking science) to Bakersfield (where I went to do Sesma genealogy work) that I took as I turned at the light to get on to the 405North. 

   Last night, I had a dream about Sepulveda Blvd. Something about how it was figuring in the Covid19 pandemic and helping people keep their distance when driving to and fro in L.A. Yes indeed. It was a dream so it made no sense. And I woke up thinking how ridiculous. Sepulveda  Blvd already runs mostly parallel to the 405 – or really the other way round given the Blvd was there first. And reports are that L.A. traffic is already reduced during the pandemic isolation efforts. 

   Still I kind of love a dream that, when I wake up, sort of takes me back to times and places in my memory. In many ways Sepulveda Blvd is a road of dreams for someone who grew up in Los Angeles 1955 to 1965; and then returned to visit when her parents moved back in 1973. 

   In that 1955-65 decade we lived in Westchester, next to LAX. Sepulveda was as far as we were allowed to walk by ourselves. Sometimes Mom would let us tag along on her grocery store expeditions or her weekly beauty shop appointments, and allow us to walk another block to the public library.  Our little neighborhood no longer exists but you can still see our parish church on Google maps.

Brother Tom's baptism with siblings & cousins, Mom, Dad, Grandma. Visitation Church.

   I saw the Beatles movies at the Paradise Theatre on Sepulveda. During the summers the Loyola Theatre on Sepulveda showed afternoon movies for kids. We stopped at the bank down the street to get our tickets; crossed the street to Sav-On Drugs (now a CVS?) to buy three candy bars for 25 cents (or maybe it was 50 cents?) and then back across the street to the theatre. We went up to the parking lot on top of the Broadway (now a Kohls?) and sometimes got into mischief as we watched people on the sidewalk below.

In the kitchen of our McLean Ave house.1958

   We visited parents' friends in the San Fernando Valley, which I now know is near the northern end of Sepulveda, just before it once again intersects with the 405. It was an almost three-hour drive before the 405 opened. That route took us through the "Sepulveda Pass" tunnel at Mulholland. When we visited cousins in Hawthorne or Long Beach or went to Disneyland, we drove through the Sepulveda tunnel at LAX. It took forever to drive back and forth to San Diego during the months our Westchester house stood on the market in 1965-66. And then Mom and Dad and the two youngest kids moved back from San Diego and lived in Palos Verdes in 1973. Palos Verdes occupies part of what was a Sepulveda family ranch.

At Disneyland in 1959 with siblings & cousins & an aunt & an uncle.

  Then later, they moved to Pacific Palisades and we mostly bypassed Sepulveda, depending on where we got off the 405. Ang and Betty are buried at Holy Cross Cemetery in Culver City. To get to the cemetery from LAX, I take Sepulveda.

   And then, the least expected connection is my Sesma genealogy research. The family legends are that there have been Sesmas in California since before it was admitted as a state in 1850. I've only been able to find "our" Sesmas back to the 1893 birth of Albert Sesma in Sacramento. Someday maybe we'll figure out the Sesma story. Meanwhile, when you look up the history of Sepulveda Blvd and Sepulveda Pass, there are names that show up in the Sesma history. Moraga, as in my photo. Angelenos know the street name, Figueroa. 

   California is almost 1400 miles long from north to south. The 405 is 72.41 miles long. Sepulveda Blvd is almost 43 miles long north to south. The intersection in my photo is about 15 miles from the northern end of Sepulveda Blvd. I know that this photo triggered my dream. I know why my dream connected Sepulveda to the current coronavirus pandemic. Aren't we all having Covid19 pandemic dreams? I just wish I remembered the details about what they were trying to do to the road that was supposed to help people dealing with the isolation of the "stay-at-home" orders of this pandemic. 

   And finally, I wonder about the Sepulveda Blvd stories of all the Californians I know.

Say Say Oh Playmate. Hand Clapping Songs and Games: For My Personal Historical Record of the Covid19 Pandemic

I knocked on the window and waved and tried to coax her out to the front porch to sit 6 feet apart for a little YiaYia-Harper time. Suddenly I started singing but then realized it was not a song she knew. Even Amelia didn't recognize it. I couldn't even remember all the words, but I remembered the hand-claps that go with it. 

Say, say, oh playmate,

Come out and play with me

And bring your dollies three

Climb up my apple tree

Slide down your rainbow

Into my cellar door

And we'll be jolly friends

Forever more more more more more

   Of course I found the words via the internet machine. There are many variations and additional verses. But in the first two traditional verses, the rainbow versus rain barrel is often noted. Modern houses don't have cellar doors or rain barrels.

   The second verse?? That's what really hit me in this time of a viral pandemic. My dolly's got the FLU???

Say, say, oh playmate

I cannot play with you

My dolly's got the flu

Boo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo

Ain't got no rainbow

Ain't got no cellar door

But we'll be jolly friends

Forever more more more more more

   I found the song in my old WeeSing songbooks, with clapping instructions: Start at "Play"

Slap knees, clap own hands, clap partner's hands, clap own hands. Repeat

Can add: slap knees twice, clap own hands twice, clap partner's hands once, partners clap backs of hands together once, clap partner's hands once, clap own hands once

   I found an article on the history of the song. The song is more than 100 years old! There's a Willie Nelson version. There's some really creepy versions with extra verses about death and enemies. There's a big band version by Kay Kyser and orchestra. There's a 1955 version by the Fontaine Sisters. Look up a really cool interpretation with clapping, by singer Ambre McLean. Somehow, it seems that in all the versions, everyone remains friends forever more more more more more.

   I felt like I'd better write down this story. I've heard we should record our experiences for the someday-told history of this pandemic. Yes, we're in the middle of a pandemic. Covid19. Coronavirus. Isolated in our homes until who knows when, while the science people figure out how this virus works, and test treatments, and develop and test a vaccine. Meanwhile, people are very sick, or are worried about getting sick. We worry and we're scared. For ourselves and for our families who we can't even hug. 

I miss my grandkids and long to hold their little hands. 

I worry about friends and strangers. I worry about the health care workers, the scientists in their labs, the newspeople covering the stories, the people stuck in isolation with abusive partners, the women giving birth during a pandemic, the people with no "home" to go to, the people attempting to isolate in small spaces. The list goes on. 

   There's no joy in Mudville - or if there is, it's hard to find. There's no hand clapping allowed unless you're at least 6 feet apart or hanging out your apartment windows to thank the doctors and nurses as they leave their hospitals. 

   But we can still sing songs and I know Harper is singing her own songs, as she has for years. These days, she loves watching the singing contest shows and tells us we should watch them too. 

   So yes, we still can sing songs. Even when we can't remember all the words. Even if the version I remember is different from the version you remember. Even if we're looking into the window from the front porch.

Oh playmate. Come out and play with me!