A life of words and journeys reflected inside a writer’s Hermosa house
I must have driven past Ron Arias’ house at least a hundred times before learning it was his. The light pastel green cottage in Hermosa Beach sits near a congested juncture I used to wade through every weekday en route to the old Easy Reader office on Hermosa Avenue.
We met last October in that office; I had just begun my reporting job at the Easy Reader, while Ron, a 71-year-old retired journalist, bicycled over twice a week to volunteer his time copyediting the paper. It didn’t take long before I learned (from someone else) that he was not only a retired journalist but someone who for several decades was the designated “parachute reporter” for People magazine, skipping around the globe to find and write about people amidst disaster or grief. He once told me that there was a stretch of time in NYC when he kept his passport and a packed suitcase in the trunk of his car.
Last month, I volunteered to write an architecture piece on his house, where he and his wife Joan have lived since early 1998. It always struck me as the quintessential Hermosa Beach home: a brass welcome sign with a geometric sun hanging below, a white picket fence with red brick steps, an antique wooden bench with rustic metal finishings, pastel yellow panes surrounding stain glass embellished with designs of red and purple bamboo stocks. I would learn that its origin dates back to 1923, and that the home – built in California Craftsman style – is deemed a historically significant landmark. Contact fencing contractors Wollongong to get a quote on how much building your dream fence will cost.
For some 60 years, it was known as “Wind Bells Cottage,” an antique shop doubling as a home for owner Delma Peery and her husband. After her death in 1985, there was talk of collapsing the house to conjoin it with the next-door parking lot. Local architect Pat Killen wouldn’t let it happen. He bought the house in the early 1990s and remarkably modernized the interior spaces, living there with his family until Ron and his wife Joan took over the quarters in early 1998.
The couple invited me over for a late-afternoon tour of their deceivingly spacious abode: it’s 4,000 sq. ft. total including the half-story-tall loft also known as their master bedroom, and a connected back house where two moderate-sized guest rooms sit tucked.
Walking through their home feels akin to exploring their travel diary: Every wall in the house is covered with framed photographs and art, collected over decades from all over the world. Some are from painter friends, others from serendipitous discoveries at local yard sales and antique shops. Still others are from the couple’s own expeditions around the globe, from China to Somalia.
They easily number more than a hundred, each upon request triggering a particular memory in Joan and Ron of how it fell into their possession.
A large, beautifully-patterned kimono hangs along the stairs up to the master bedroom, a wedding gift from their son Michael’s mother-in-law in Japan. A colorful ceramic peacock sits over the kitchen fireplace surrounded by framed pictures of the couple’s two grandsons living in Tokyo. “This is the oldest thing that we own,” Joan pointed out. The couple picked it up on their honeymoon in Enseneda, Baja California, Mexico in 1966.
Their most recent acquisition hangs above a prominent living room fireplace, whose light iron and concrete blend contrasts strikingly with the russet wall panelings. The Costa Rican masterpiece is a striking landscape painting of juniper trees on a wide piece of light wood. The couple found it during an outing at Bergamot Station in Santa Monica and became intrigued. Plus, Ron noted, it fits right into place with the earthy tones of the house.
The lady who cleans the couple’s house once a week refers to it as el museo — museum in Spanish.
“I want to live with all my treasures around me,” Joan said, smiling.
For Ron, the wordsmith, his treasures are bound between covers. We crossed over the living room, and into his study, a cozy, cavelike enclave. Inside, the room is walled with vintage wooden panel walls, on which a column of maps and one of his grandkids’ framed drawings hang side by side.
Next to the window in one corner sits a round bricked fireplace and a wall of built-in book shelves.
“To me, all these books are my comfort zone,” Ron said.
Our walk and talk culminated in a gracious feast of impromptu tacos and wine around the rectangular kitchen table that Ron had embellished himself with handmade flowered Mexican tiles. Years ago, he explained, he was sent out on a freelance assignment to Mexico to investigate a small phenomenon among celebrities — the acquisition of these tiles, made in backyard factories.
The following week on the afternoon of my deadline, I realized I was missing some notes, so I jumped into my car and settled onto their curb with a pen and notebook in hand. About a minute later, I recognized Joan’s voice from inside the house. I poked my head in for a quick hello.
“We changed everything around right after you visited,” Joan said excitedly as she ushered me in. Ron quickly joined us, taking me to the newest addition in the living room: a large round driftwood table as the new focal point of the sitting area. Bryce Toney from Curious, a furniture boutique on Pier Avenue, built it a few days ago and had it delivered this morning. It looks aged and earthy, like it has a story.
“Joan made this area into a pit,” Ron said, pointing to the newly rounded formation of the couches. “So that started a chain reaction.”
In front of the bookshelf on the other side of the expanded doorway now sits a wooden rocking chair. Across from it is a vintage Vietnamese instrument called dong ma, a wooden percussion panel played with mallets. It was hiding in the other corner before, Ron noted, but now he’s brought it out for display. He picked it up for a measely $35 on Music Street in Hanoi, Vietnam during a three-month assignment there years ago.
“Now that we’ve done this, we see that every corner of the house serves its own purpose,” Ron said, striding energetically into the TV room. “I think this is the best change we’ve made.”
“Until the next one comes along,” Joan muttered with a smile, out of Ron’s earshot.
See selections from an upcoming book by Ron Arias, “My Life as a Pencil: Backstories from the Age of Old Media,”on page 22. He will read from the book at Beach magazine’s Live at the Lounge event Nov. 17.
