All My Blog Posts

4040 Farmouth Drive, Los Feliz & its architect & builder, my grandfather, Harry Hammond Keith, an extraordinary person, who otherwise few people may never know. 

“Aikens’ Silverlake Manor-Previously Vande Kamps” Watercolor & ink. © 2023 Linnie Aikens Lindsay This post is a bit of Silver Lake history for you nostalgia buffs. First of all, it was written Silverlake for most of our lives, so I am sticking with that, since it took its name from the adjacent Silver Lake Reservoir, which sounded kind of redundant to many of the early homeowners, then and now, especially since it wasn't technically a lake! The n

The Songs, “Feelin’ Groovy,” “Peace Train,”“Bridge Over Troubled Waters,” and "Jesus Christ Superstar" are the songs that sum up these years for me.  I was lucky enough to have been raised during the years when Woodstock rocked and thrummed through our culture and the spirit of flower power wove itself like daisy garlands through the era.

This story could be labeled Part 2 in the dumb stuff young people do (or at least, I did), who think we are invincible or somehow know all the answers in our early 20’s.

I had a love-hate relationship with hiking... Sierra Symphonies tells of a annual 2 week backpacking trip I did with my family when I was young.

Most of us kids born in the 50's and 60's constantly heard these words from our parents. Digital toys were simply not even a figment of one's imagination back then. We played outside. We used our imaginations and figured out how to entertain ourselves.

In the late 1960’s, they called it the “Kool-Aid Fountain” for the alternating pastel colored waters of the Mulholland Fountain near the entrance to Griffith Park.

“Head out, girls,” were Dad’s predictable words each time we began a hike.  I think I had hiked every inch of the 53 miles of trails in Griffith Park, all before I was 14.

I was six years old before I actually had a name (for my imaginary friend).  That was the year my parents took us to Silverlake Presbyterian Church.....When I was little, I believed Potlucks to be every child’s favorite...

Many families have at least one story that gets told at every gathering for decades — the “big fish story” where the finally ensnared fish nemesis seems to grow to epic proportions upon every retelling. This is our family's version.

When I was a wee lass, I found some white stones in a circle under the ferns in my Scottish grandmother's backyard...

For good or bad, while I never wanted to be on the stage, I always wanted to be noticed.  My one and only day in “lights” came at age 6, when I received televised recognition. This is the tale of of an Easter Egg Rolling Contest as a child and lessons learned.

As a child, I was fascinated with wonder that anyone would paint a house in cerulean blue!  Purple and yellow pansies waved their faces between the two houses and danced like happy members of a solstice parade, under baskets of fuchsias that contributed to an exotic, almost carnival feel.  An indian family lived there...

The earliest childhood art reflects our passions in life.

Reflections on the names I've been given throughout my life.

I was that precocious child who was thoroughly obnoxious, but one couldn’t help smiling when you watched me, so they tell me, anyway.

The importance of personal stories in the understanding of the world as powerful tools for connection.

The Power of Observation in the writing process