#55, The Other Ananda.

The other Ananda was actually the first Ananda. He was a friend of my mom's when i was in high school; during the days when she still drank and stayed up all night with all sorts of interesting characters. He had dark brown skin, and was from Canada, but i think his ancestry was Japanese, somewhere. He mumbled erratically when he spoke, and always had a mess of black, tousled hair flying around his face, which made him difficult to understand most times. But he was damned entertaining. Always drinking whiskey and beer, playing cards or talking about literature or movies or records. He was a smart (but decidedly goofy) guy, and eventually moved back to Canada to work in the film industry. Sometimes he wrote my mom (and us) snail mail letters, which were always greatly appreciated. i loved him for that. Hope all is well with you, Ananda.

#54, Ananda.

The tiny, self-confident, ultra-blonde girl who worked part-time at the Meadows for a couple years. Ananda was definitely more interesting than anyone would've ever guessed. She had lived for some years in the U.S. Virgin Islands, where she collected rainwater on her roof to shower with (awesome!). Then she lived in Minneapolis, and when i knew her she lived near Lake Merritt in Oakland with her boyfriend Todd, who worked in the music recording biz. This was great because she gave me a promo CD for the (then-) new Massive Attack album, 100th Window. And once she gave me a Jane's Addiction t-shirt that slowly became one of my favorite articles of clothing. Her eyes were bluest blue, and every time we got Monkshood in at the shop (which wasn't very often), Ananda would remind me of how poisonous it was. "Just remember Heather- you need to wash your hands after you touch it." It was so cute! One of her favorite stories is one of mine to remember: Once while in the Virgin Islands, on the beach, she witnessed a fat (probably American) tourist in a Speedo walking along the shore with a boombox up to his ear, blasting the song "Hot Hot Hot" by Buster Poindexter. Oh, it's so bad it's good!! Thanks, Ananda.

#53, Prima C.

Prima was a ballerina. And no, i'm not writing a rock song here, people- it's the honest-to-goodness truth. She came to work at the flower shop a few months before i left, all coltish and pretty, brimming with energy and smiles. She was 16 going on 17, carried herself quite precociously but with a twinge of self-doubt that broke that whole wall down. She wore lipstick, and her brown hair was always back in a bun. She had a very grand, idealistic way of speaking, and i would definitely say Prima was starry-eyed, but i loved that about her. It was very endearing to someone as jaded as i was. Turns out her house had been lost in the Oakland Hills Fire in 1991, when she was just a few years old (i was eleven when it happened, and it shaped me forever). My bf and i went to see her dance in a ballet performance once, and she was so amazed that i showed up. It was adorable, and she was fantastic. Truly has a career ahead of her; if not in ballet, then in any damn thing she chooses. She's that girl. Go Prima!

#52, Dry Garden Guy.

There was a nursery near my apartment on Alcatraz Avenue, called The Dry Garden. It dealt primarily (perhaps exclusively?) in succulents, and drought-tolerant plants. It was a beautiful, beautiful place, with rusted metal sculptures everywhere, a resident cat, tall bamboo hiding the fence, and a little greenhouse filled with air plants, lithops, and the like. But the best part? The guy who worked there. Skinny, late forties-early fifties, grey hair and matching moustache. Button-up shirt and light bluejeans. Blue eyes and a salty attitude. It was always just him, and his surly, twenty-something helper boy. I think he probably owned the place, and was there every day. i loved that about him. Once, on a Sunday morning, Nat and i had just eaten breakfast at the Thai Temple, and on our way back home we decided to stop in and wander around. He saw us coming in, and said, "you guys look fabulous!* Did you just come from church? ::wry sarcastic grin::" We all had a good laugh at that, and left him to his work while we checked out the array of low-growing, creeping grasses.
He basically always told us that we looked great, and was nothing but adorable. I loved his sarcastic attitude and the way he would roll his eyes. I miss that place so much it hurts sometimes.
*swishy wrist motion.

#51, "Berkeley Dave".

So, i never knew this guy's name. But i would always see him walking down the street in Berkeley, with his particular way of walking: shoulders back, head held level (but not high!), arms swinging and legs flying. The outfit? Converse All-Stars, blue jeans, and a black bomber jacket (the kind with the shiny orange lining). He had incredibly long, straight, perfect blonde hair. Parted in the middle, cut to a perfect straight line at the bottom, near his butt. Always had a hint of a smile on his face, but we could never figure him out! As someone who practically wears the same thing every day, i was so incredibly intrigued by this person who literally did wear just the one outfit. Years later, driving with my sister, i pointed him out. "Oh, that's Berkeley Dave!" she said, just like that. As if i should have known. Well, i'm glad i do. He is such a staple of those days for me, and it always brings a smile to my face just picturing him. Hope you're still rocking the same outfit, Dave! Don't ever change.

#50, Joey S.

Joey was a skinny guy with a smile always at the ready. He wore lots of denim, and was frequently drinking a bottle of beer. He was one of my sister's older, cool friends. When he found out that i had a typewriter, he was very intrigued. Seems he'd been writing a book, which i don't want to give out the real title of, just in case. But let's just say that it had something to do with termites, and i mean as main characters. He gave me his fat binder filled with pages, and i was to type it up in my spare time. i was a fast typer, even though i didn't (and still don't!) know the home keys, or how to type properly. The awful part is, i got through a good two-thirds of it, then things kind of fizzled between my sister and all of those guys, and i never saw him again, not even to return his binder. He had assured me that he had more copies, but i've felt guilty about it to this day. Eventually i came to terms with my own feelings about my conduct, and when i moved out of my third-to-last apartment, i ripped out all the pages and put them in the recycling bin, leaving the binder out on the sidewalk for giveaway. Wow, i'm an asshole. I'm really sorry, Joey. Hope that all worked out for you.

#49, Kaarin.

Kaarin worked at a flower shop with my sister when i was in high school. She had really bad skin and kind of a strange, potato-ey face. She was very slight, and wore lots of black clothing. Long, dyed red hair, and a smoker's voice and laugh. She lived in a warehouse (the epitome of cool, back in those days) in Oakland, and once i went over to her house to take artistic pictures of her, which involved her lying sprawled out on the floor, with white fairy lights strung all around her, and fresh rose petals as far as the eye could see. I believe this was right after Valentine's Day, when there were lots of extra, open red roses to take home (ah, consumerism!). Turned out the roof was leaking, though, and it was raining, so the possibility of electrocution came into play and we had to cut the session short. I can remember those pictures plain as day, even though i gave them all to her. She eventually married someone much older than her, and i hope they're happy somewhere.