WESTCHESTER is an interesting neighborhood - one plagued with young and old issues, people, a collision of young and old worlds. Westchester is closed in by the "Lincoln, Sepulveda, Manchester, Bluff" box - literally encapsulating the realities, livelihoods and day to day experiences of its spectrum of residents. I am continually blown away by how polar the community is: the turf originally belonged to the elderly, the family dynamic - a combination of wholesome activities and physical growth. Now, having (reluctantly) opened its gates to a burgeoning community of young adults who drink, smoke, party, have often times don't value the land as much as its other inhabitants. Houses go up, not out, property lines have long yearned to stretch their sleepy limbs. One house on each block is home to an elderly hermit, whose dim reading lights permeate slide-shuttersm, onto the moonlit neighbors lawns. Parking is impossible, nobody seems to go anywhere, and if they do, their absence is quickly forgotten in the headlights of a woman muttering, "hail mary full of grace, help us find a parking space". McConnell and 80th has seen more DUIs than first steps. Regis' trees spawn the enemy of all drunken skateboarders; their seeds are difficult to locate in the dim evenings, and throw kids from skateboards harder than senior citizens would like to. Westchester brings safety by shunning the outside world, scoffing at La Tijera, not daring to continue along Manchester unless it will surely lead to the beach. Chester is a jump off point, a springboard, a cliff for some, a ledge. For others, a person, a man leaving for work, a woman gardening in soft-kneed jeans. For me, Westchester is a recoiled place; parents think one way, you know another, yet here we are, trapped in a bulb, lathered in SPF 75, waiting for someone to flip the switch, or not.
Photo Credit: "Ageism" by The Savvy Boomer Blog
-- Ryan Cavalier
Great article Ryan, long live the Bluff House!
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