Time again for a little change

CATHARINE COOPER

As a writer for the Coastline Pilot, I have the privilege of being

part of a small extended family. Alicia, my editor, and “mom” of the

marauding columnists, has headed my segment of this community. She

has guided me through punctuation crises, spelling adventures and

even gently nudged me toward content.

“It’s a community paper,” she’d remind me, as she’d pull my column

back toward the local scene and away from broad-based political

issues.

Alicia’s note this week, that she was departing the paper,

saddened me -- no one likes to lose a family member. While I am

thrilled that she’ll have the opportunity to press upon young minds

the importance of who/what/when/where and why, and that she’ll cull

more time to spend with her young children, her presence will be

greatly missed.

It was under Alicia’s tutelage that “Chasing Down the Muse” was

transformed from a simple column about the how and why of creativity,

to an expression of its manifestation. My co-columnist, Cherril, and

I asked ourselves one day, “What is it, exactly, that we are

chasing?” Certainly not the Greek goddess.

To “muse” as a verb, from the depths of a dictionary, means to

think about something in a deep and serious or dreamy and abstracted

way, or to gaze at somebody or something thoughtfully. Talk about not

being clear! How can one be both serious and dreamy at the same time?

As a noun, I find a closer definition of the “chase” in which I’ve

been engaged.

“A muse is somebody or something, which is the inspiration for an

artist.” (Encarta World Dictionary) Since I began exploring this

definition, I’ve run rivers, climbed mountains, and kayaked azure

seas. I’ve visited points south, north, east and west. I’ve hung out

in the center of our very own village and wandered our shorelines,

canyons and ridges. I’ve found that the natural world, more often

than not, provides me the fodder that is my own personal muse. I’m

not much of a city girl, and that becomes more and more apparent as

the crowds fill our fair city on warm weekends, and I retreat to the

solace of my home sanctuary.

Growing up in Laguna provided a distinct point of view toward

development, and as the surrounding hillsides and valleys gave way to

sub-divisions and shopping centers parts of me cringed and felt

despair. I was gifted with a childhood of cattle roaming our ridges.

In fact, the Irvine company heifers and bulls used to lean over their

fencing and gaze into my backyard. Most of north Laguna was

undeveloped, and my siblings and I ran free through fields of coastal

sage. Rattlesnakes, skunks, gophers and the occasional bobcat were

all part of the neighborhood.

Once upon a time, my father was involved with ownership of many

pieces of “un-developable” property in Laguna. He knew then it was

only a matter of time before the price of living on the coast would

begin to chip away at the cost of foundations and pilings. It was

simply a question of holding on. What was once considered forever to

be open space is now covered with high priced residences.

We had a “saying” growing up -- that when the land between Corona

del Mar and Laguna was developed, it was time to go. Away went the

Al’s horse ranch. Away went the cattle. In came the bulldozers.

Crystal Cove and Newport Coast have provided new homes for many

people, but for some of us, I’m not sure their presence outweighs the

loss.

What I know to be true is that change is the foundation of every

waking minute (I suppose, while sleeping, too). Restaurants and

trendy stores have replaced treasured canyons and a new generation of

families has taken root. For the most part, they think they have

landed in heaven. They have no reference at all to my early

experiential baseline when Lake Forest was El Toro, and that was

merely an air force base, a gas station and a small country store.

To find that connection with my muse, I seem to travel to farther

shores. The noise of construction machinery, the fumes of automobiles

and smoke, and the glare of bright lights that dull the night sky

reduce the connection I have with my home community.

In several ways, the loss of an “old way of life” can be equated

with the loss of a friend. So Alicia, while I understand the need for

the journey, don’t travel too far, and do stay in touch. Your gentle

guidance has been a treasured gift. I wish you the best.

* CATHARINE COOPER is a writer, designer and photographer. She can

be reached at ccooper@cooperdesign.net.