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January 18, 2010

Silence again.

Silence, and the sound of fat rain drops dunking themselves on the metal awning over my back door.

And the sound of cars occasionally splashing down Kings road.

Supposedly there are a number of storms heading towards LA right now, and where we usually get on average 10 inches or rain a year, in the next week we’re going to get seven of them all at once. I say supposedly because I haven’t bothered to validate this information that I’ve heard. I mention this because the sound of cars splashing down Kings road is getting louder, and remember that the roads here aren’t built for heavy rainfall. The houses perched precariously on cliffsides aren’t either. Not that I mind too much– signs of nature triumphing over man make me secretly gleeful. I am a traitor.

This is all people talk about, in a place where it rains maybe five times a year. The opposite of Glasgow, where, when the sun pokes out, people strip down to their undergarments and talk about the ‘heat wave’. The first year I ever moved to Southern California was El Nino year. I had no idea what El Nino was other than it was to blame for the mountains around the desert being the prettiest colour of purple I’d ever seen. Here, after a few raindrops, cars start swerving erratically (while people look for the windscreen wiper button) and people discuss the storms that are coming in the check out line at the supermarket, or while getting their morning coffee. Not that I mind too much.

What I do mind is that the rain makes me feel like a caged animal. I think my cat feels the same way. She claws at the front door, and I open it, and she’ll sit outside in the tiny bit of space where it’s still dry gazing longingly at the wilds that fall in the shadow of the Beverly Center (a place I have affectionately dubbed the ‘Sentinel of Evil’… this is how I will refer to it from now on. Those of you who read it now,  you’re in the know. Everyone else will worry their hearts out of their chests for this poor girl trapped in some distant land under a tyrannical overlord that is brainwashing the minds of everybody who falls in its wake). One day, I promise her, we’ll move up into the mountains, and I’ll remove her collar, and she’ll get to catch me presents like a normal cat, instead of being hindered by the tinkling around her neck. She brings me things she can catch, like crickets and cockroaches. The squirrels that live here should really be thanking me.

Owl, you’re not missing much here right now. Getting to practice in the morning would be a definite danger with all those high-on-spirit kundalini yogis skidding around the westside in their Pri-i.

One Comment leave one →
  1. January 23, 2010 04:05

    Haha… so true! Morning shakti- and caffeine- charged Pri-i could be a hazard!

    It is funny how Angelenos only talk about the weather when it rains, I agree! It’s a town not well-equipped for anything like an apocalypse. But that’s ok since otherwise it’s kind of heaven.

    Take care there on King’s road with the poor cat. When this thing clears, those hills to the north will be so sparkly clear it might almost feel like looking at them for the first time.

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