Coastline Pilot/LA Times

21 January 2005

 

Chasing the Muse

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 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.