January 26, 2006

I think I know how he felt.

Noah, that is.

He was walking along between the animal stalls, and all of a sudden, he stopped. Holding up one hand, he put the index finger of his other hand over his lips.

"Shhh! Listen."

"What? I don't hear anything."

"That's just it. The rain has stopped!"

Yeah, I know how he felt. Where I live, it sure isn't rain. It's WIND! Those devil Santa Ana winds.

I am not sure when it happened, but sometime today they stopped their month-long pounding. It is a little like living in a hurricane of sunshine and constant wind, with huge gusts of 70 or 80 mph interrupting the status quo.

They seem to pick up gusto sometime after midnight when you are lying in the darkness, desperately trying to fall into the first stages of sleep before the next blast. You can hear it beginning to build, slowly at firs, then with a window rattling, roof shuddering force, it sweeps over the house, and falls into a lull.

At some point, I get up, form a large, tight wad of tissues and stuff it between the clanging louvers of my bathroom window, take a "Sleep Aide" from COSTCO, and stumble back to bed.

After a week or ten days of this, you begin to notice that your lips are peeling, your nerves are jagged, and you have grown tired of the trash accumulating in the northeast corners of your shrubs and flowers.

But the sun is shining. Always. And it is nice and warm. In January.

Today�sometime... the winds stopped.

It's awfully quiet here.

You can hear the TV.

There are no garbage cans rolling down the street.

I may sleep well tonight. Maybe. Unless it is so quiet that I lie there staring at the ceiling. Then I might have to turn on my "sound machine." You know, the one like they sell at "Sharper Image" with nature sounds?

Like�wind.

January 27, 2006

The story I am about to tell is true. I am not going to change the names to protect the innocent. I have decided to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Well, almost.

It was a warm, sunny January morning in California, (don't recall any wind that day). We decided to take a little drive and investigate a Whole Foods market recently opened in a nearby community. We have been trying to be more healthy in our eating habits, avoiding as many chemicals and additives as possible. Our town has Trader Joe's, but that store is very limited in variety and volume.

We got a little hungry on the way there, and drove through El Pollo Loco for a quick snack. When we crossed the street and entered the Whole Foods parking area, one look at the mass of vehicles there should have been a signal that we were probably there on the wrong day.

We eventually found two parking places at the outside edge of the lot. Carefully we began to turn into the slot, when a much smaller car streaked around us and screeched to a halt in the other spot. Before our front wheels were in place, a middle aged couple jumped from the car, slammed doors and strode off toward the market at a pace. Now, there was a clue as to what was ahead for us. (We later spotted them inside the store and they were half way through their shopping expedition while we stood and stared...but that is getting ahead of the story.)

Taking a few moments to pull ourselves together and emerge from the car, we realized that we had some leftover food to dispose of, in a white paper sack bearing "El Pollo Loco" in very large letters. We started toward the store, and began to have a feeling somewhat akin to walking into a cocktail party in blue jeans and a sweatshirt. People here, meant business. They were hurriedly advancing from all directions, determinedly pushing their shopping carts as though they were canons advancing upon the enemy.

My son, normally quiet and non-confrontive, suddenly pulled himself up to his full height, cleared his throat, and with a scowl, held out the fast food trash bag for all to see, and admonished, "I told you not to get any of this crap again!" And with a disgusted flourish, swished it into the trashcan in front of the store. It was all I could do to keep from busting up laughing, but when I noticed the serious expressions on the faces of the advancing shoppers, I checked my impulse.

We managed to snag a cart for ourselves, and passed through the doors at the seemingly sacred portals of the market, only to find ourselves in what resembled a bumper car ride in Tomorrow Land, without the tracks.

We stood motionless. We had no idea which direction to take. The last time I had felt like this was when I drove over the American Border into Tijuana, Mexico and suddenly nothing was in my native tongue.

I stood still for a moment and scanned the store. Everyone looked as though they had received advance warning that �The Big One� was going to hit Southern California in the next 24 to 48 hours, and they had to gather a couple weeks� post-earthquake survivor supplies into storage. This was serious business!

We meekly advanced into the gridlock.

I had no idea how much I shop by just glancing at familiar brands, labels and packaging. I had entered a world where there were no products that I recognized. I imagine entering a shop where only Middle Eastern food was sold, would have been comparable. My limited vision hinders my ability to read labels in any event�so you can just imagine. Isle after isle looked like Greek to me.

I am used to being in markets where you have to go knock on the back door to the stockroom in order to find a clerk to assist you. Here was a shopping world, where militant appearing clerks were posted everywhere, some demonstrating tofu products or sugar free treats, others expediting the long lines of shoppers and answering product questions which went right over my head. It seemed that knowledgeable looking employees, arms folded across their chests were staring out from every corner of the store. Every shopper seemed to intuitively know exactly where to go for whatever they wanted and they did so�with determination.

We crept up and down each isle, trying to appear knowledgeable as well, perusing strange looking cans and boxes. I had thought surely I could find some wonderful items to carry home.

Circling around to the heavily staffed deli department we approached the chedkout lines. Every shopping cart seemed stacked to almost twice it�s height with produce and packaged goods. Yes,�they were stocking up for the �Big One�. I knew it.

I looked down at my cart. It had three cans of soup (I had figured out the soup cans�) and two small bags of turkey jerky. It was appalling.

�Mike, I WILL NOT be seen in the checkout line with nothing but this in my cart.� We stood staring at each other for a moment, and then quick thinking Mike grabbed the basket and maneuvered his way to a dark corner of the market. We casually turned away from it, and strolled past the last deli service counter. I looked down at the crab cakes, which by the way were $19.00 a pound. I love crab cakes. The ever vigilant clerk was staring right at me.

�Those are so good.� I commented. �Expensive, but delicious.� He nodded, and I smiled and passed on a little closer to the exit doors. Humming a little tune under my breath, I casually strolled around and past the registers (all packed with long lines of overflowing carts). I put a very cool look on my face, and we passed through the electronic doors to the outside world.

The fresh air felt wonderful. The sunshine never looked more inviting. We stood looking at each other laughing a little nervously.

�Please don�t ever ask me to go back there again.�

�Okay. Maybe next time, I will take someone with me who can translate.�

�Good Idea.�

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