Have You Ever Been to Oz?

I don't mean the place over the rainbow.

I mean the secret garden in the Hollywood Hills, constructed over many years by a woman with a passion for tile and Dorothy and Toto.

I had heard of it, and then a potter from Silverlake invited me to a peace ceremony there with some monks, to commemorate the dropping of the bomb on Hiroshima, and pray that no horror like that would ever take place again. After the ceremony I was presented with a key. The only rule: you cannot write about it, take pictures, or go after dark. I agreed to the conditions instantly.

I couldn't believe I had a key of my own.

It turns out the key passes through many hands, and you never know who you will meet and where, who will have been to Oz, or who will hand you a key of your own. It is a like a secret society of cool people. At least that is what I tell myself.

The place is magical, whimsical and a little girlie. There is a yellow brick road and a million broken pieces of tile and mirror and heads of dolls. It is reminiscent of Watts Towers, and a true urban treasure. I have heard it will go to the Smithsonian when the owner dies. (and I confess I do not know her name...)

She makes you want to tile your own hillside backyard, in odes to Ella Fitzgerald, Rumi, Louis Armstrong and Dorothy, to build blue glass thrones for yourself, and your own private yellow brick road.

Well, imagine my surprise today when I walked into my favorite tile store in Atwater Village, Mortarless, and saw an actual photo of Oz. Not one, but two. Not labeled, but blown up.

I ran to the man at the counter and I said, "Excuse me, but is that Oz?"

"Yes," he said. "It is."

He said the owner has bought her tiles at his store for twenty years and always promised him a picture, but never gave him one. Finally he gave her an ultimatum: "If you don't give me a picture, I won't sell you any more tiles."

She said, pleeeeeze? He said no.

So she handed over the pictures, but she made him promise, no labels, no addresses.

He said fine, but he wouldn't lie either.

The final deal was this: If someone like me came in and said, "Is that Oz?" he could answer. If people wanted to know where it was, he would not answer.

She got her tiles, he got his pictures, and I got a little giggle and the thrill of feeling like I am a real L.A. insider for an afternoon.

I'd post a picture, but that would be against the rules!

But, reader, if you want to go, email me and I will be your personal guide.

It is meant to be shared on a magical afternoon with a friend like me.