“Krap Kraproom” is backward speak for Moorpark Park, which is a triangular green swathe at the corner of Laurel Canyon and Moorpark street. There are few amenities beyond four picnic tables and a fenced-in sand area where swings and a climbing structure are in nearly constant use during day-light hours. Recently, there have been some minor improvements - a new water fountain and a couple of benches with dedication plaques on their backs. A few times a year the park is the venue for arts and crafts fairs, and more regularly, for pet adoptions on Sundays.
Moorpark Park becomes a corridor of welcomed softness when walking the mile or so between my home and Ventura Boulevard which has convenient shopping, banking and eateries. Even my dermatologist, some great thrift stores and Book Star for browsing are an easy walk from home by way of the park. I’ve been delighted for decades by what I’ve witnessed in this neighborhood park.
February 14, I am walking through on my way home from food shopping - with bags that are way too heavy to schlep for a mile, and there is a sweet tableau unfolding.
I set down the four cloth bags full of Trader Joe’s goodies to rest my arms, mop my brow and scan the scene. An internal smile warms me further. A twenty-something woman, who clearly has been instructed by her boyfriend not to peek, is standing with her back to a blanket on the grass, and poses prettily in her red and white heart-bedecked frock. She‘s barefoot. He has set stuffed animals of “Lady” and “The Tramp” up-right on the picnic cloth and is serving out spaghetti and salad onto paper plates in front of them from plastic deli containers. Totally engrossed in his task, he doesn’t see a real dog who is running off leash towards him and putting distance between herself and her persuing owner’s shrill voice.
Seeing potential for imminent disaster, I hoist my groceries and walk between the mutt and the picnic spread with a warning, “Hey! Go to your mama,” to the four-legged, and a cheery “Happy Valentine’s Day,” over my shoulder to the two two-legged ones. The dog loops around and back to shrill-macher who finally catches and leashes her.
I’d like to think that my actions are a payback to the Universe for guiding me to meet my beloved, dear-hearted Valentine forty one years ago and to Luck which has given us opportunities to ground our relationship in mutual respect and adoration.
For us, Happy Hearts Day means walking through the park again to our favorite Indian restaurant on Ventura Place for supper. It is not spaghetti that brings our lips together, as it did for Lady and Tramp in the iconic scene from the Disney movie, and hopefully, the lips of the young couple in the park, but rather Tandoori chicken and fragrant Basmati rice. We savor our papadum appetizer - still making moon eyes at one another after all these years... until we notice the next table.
Seated there is a family of four. The nine year old girl finishes her dinner before anyone else and clearly she is bored. My funny valentine keeps making faces at her, wiggling his ears and pushing his glasses askew. We all laugh at his antics. He is a natural-born clown.
When the family leaves, Manit, the owner of Gangadin’s, comes over to our table and tells us all about Isabella, the nine year old, who first started coming here in utero. He says her parents are actors. I ask about Manit’s wife Sangeeta. He asks how we know her. I say that it was in her capacity as Physical Therapist with Kaiser Permanente when she came to our house a few times in 2002. My mom had just received a bionic hip. Manit turns and tells the diners at large, “My wife took care of her mother!” He says to us, “I want to show you something.” He bustles to a back wall and brings a framed color wedding photograph. In it, he and Sangeeta are being showered with red rose petals in New Dehli. Both look radiant, slim and very happy. My husband and I “Ooooh and Aaah” over the photo. All three of us remember the sweetness of new love. Manit hands me a red rose, just as he did Isabella and her mom.
As we walk home through the park, I put the rose through my lapel button hole and tell Mark about the young couple’s Valentine’s Dinner on the grass and how I hope the relationship turns out well. When we pass the spot, I reminisce about caligraphing our wedding invitation while sitting on this same grass in 1972 when we lived in an apartment across the street.
All of 2011, we would bring mama Barbara here in her wheel chair every fair afternoon from our home around the corner. She chattered with the squirrels in their own “Ehh, ehh, ehh, ehh” language.
Our local farmer’s market happens on the street right in front of Sangeeta and Manit’s establishment each Sunday. The family, including two grown sons now, is often out in a vendor stall selling Tandoori, Tikka, Masala and Curry dishes. They’ve been in business since 1984. The farmer’s market has been on Ventura Place about 15 years. Since mama Barbara passed away, I’ve wanted to share a passel of pictures of her with Sangeeta and again thank her for the sweet care she provided Barbara when she was still active, but every time we walk to the market, it’s either too early and the Gangadin stall is not yet open or I’ve forgotten the photos at home. One day, it will all come together.
Meanwhile, I marvel at how refreshing it is to maeander through Moorpark Park and note how far it and the neighborhood in general are from being a "krap kraproom."
Life happens here and it makes me happy.
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