better off redding

Monday, aug. 2, 2004   |   0 comments

Last Saturday on a whim, and day-old bear claws, Kristin and I drove 200 miles to see Redding’s new Sundial Bridge (designed by international wonderneer Santiago Calatrava). And it was kind of worth it!

The main view.

The “had to crop out the flash of bare, white stomach once again” view.

The fine-ass view.

It’s next to impossible to take a bad photo of the Sundial Bridge, what with the sky so blue and the bridge so glowingly white and sweeping. It’s enough to goad you into a false sense of talent.

The arty under-view.

The required view.

The “maybe I should switch my major to photography” view.

Originally the land surrounding the bridge had been earmarked for housing, but instead the town (and an incredibly generous and well-moneyed private party, to the tune of $23 million) decided to build a park full of trails, gardens, playing fields, and this searing white footbridge. In a small, specific way, I found it incredibly heartening, this low-profile town dedicating big resources to public space versus the usual craven and short-sighted focus on private profit. Especially since they did it in such a spectacular, and initially controversial, way. It made me really happy. Plus they have a really good Ross Dress for Less!

The Redding RDFL skirts the issue to the tune of $8.99.

It kind of freaks me out how much I match my house. (New pickup line: “You like? It looks even CUTER in my apartment.”)

After we crossed and circled and exhausted the bridge (though I will not rest until we go back and experience the thing at night, all lit up … and ooh, on a grey, rainy day, that would be white-on-white amazing), we walked around up the bank of the river for awhile and came across an amazing menagerie of sights and animals, including a tooth-spare woman who had brought her kitten to the park for “some fresh air and grass” (batsnanas), a magical mystery bug surrounded by chickens, a man-eating rig, and a full-blown rodeo (bulls have painfully pendulous, photo-defying balls).

Hopping, leggy kitten.

Chickens and hippie wheels.

Rowr.

Then we drove home and watched the bloodiest, plumpest harvest moon struggle to get off the horizon:

Hold on …

Wait … wait …

Okay maybe let’s make this part of today’s trust-building exercise. You got to believe me: Saturday’s moon was huge and swollen and highly unusual. And right now I am wearing delicately pink underthings with a built-in pocket (for notes, or mints, or ear plugs?) and the word “pout” scripted across the ass in glittering bubble-pink rivets.