I live where the sun always shines. Rain is a rare and precious gift. A celebration of sorts when life slows down and we hibernate – if only for a day. I grew up in a place quite the opposite. You could count the moments you saw the sun on one hand and summer meant the clouds were merely a lighter shade of gray. I often miss the haze and the cozy, dusky spaces that beg for you to curl up with a good book.
The Last Bookstore is California’s largest new & used bookstore. The massive urban space also happens to be one of the largest indie bookstores in the world. I like to think of it as Powell’s LA cousin – edgy with a dusting of grit. You could loose a day or a small child amid it’s twists, turns and rainbow shelved stacks.
We Once Had Wings is a work of fiction, but it’s characters reside in very real places. Lake Skaneateles in New York State is the setting for the Meyer’s dairy farm, while the farmstead itself is based on the Billings Farm in Woodstock, Vermont. I stood in this parlor imagining Alice Meyer lounging on her brocade chaise among her potted plants. Margaret having just strung the popcorn on the Christmas tree, while butter cookies baked in the cast iron range.
Over the last few decades, we’ve prided ourselves on our rapid evolution with our smartphones, hybrid cars and gluten-free diets. Though have we really changed at all? In nearly 100 years, we still haven’t figured out a way to curb traffic. Detroit 1928.
Douglas Fairbanks Jr. and Joan Crawford laze on a Santa Monica beach in 1929. He was Hollywood Royalty. She a rags to riches classic. When the stock market crashed in October, this snapshot would forever symbolize a decade left brutally behind.
37-year-old Henry Ford posing in front of his car plant in 1900. By the early 1920s, over 50% of all cars sold in the United States were Ford Model Ts. The Tin Lizzy liberated millions of people, who had never traveled more than 12 miles from their homes, or the distance a horse could go in one day.
We Once Had Wings opens at the end of WW2 with the American GIs returning home. Their wild eyes and tattooed arms offering a subtle glimpse into the horrors tormenting them. In time, some men would be able to move on, but many would be haunted forever. Europe is still haunted — Germany in particular. The harsh reality is Germany needs more people; it has the lowest birthrate in the world and an aging population. Is their willingness and acceptance of refugees a global atonement?