Hey all you California folks, you still with us? Can I get a roll call from my Best Coast gals? I am thinking especially of those in So Cal (cough *KIM* cough). Roy? Mom? Bueller…Bueller?
The Santa Ana winds kicked into gale force late last week and into the weekend. Like Sami People have hundreds of words for snow, San Franciscans can finesse the qualities of their winds like the large, sniffing nose of a wine snob. (That sounds really bad and reminds me of this South Park episode…). What I mean is…wind is our homeboy. Blasting in over the Pacific, that oceanic air is full of billions of little cold water particles that penetrate anything but the thickest jacket. It gets up close and personal without an invitation, and our relationship with wind is intimate, if not entirely welcome.
We know there is a stranger in town when the wind changes direction, coming in from the Southeast, dry, hot and howling. For three days and nights our windows rattled in a most alarming way, waking us in the wee hours. Temperatures soared just as hibernation was truly setting in. I found myself sticking my sleepy bear head out of the cave mouth, annoyed at the interruption of my long winter’s nap. Souls became restless as El Diablo searched into corners usually unprovoked by the western breeze and the course of the season was changed, flipping around in a 180, like a ghetto car in the intersection of Fall St. and Winter Avenue.
Sunday dawned clear and still. I hear the winds are on their way back, so batten down those hatches everyone. In the meantime, here is how we took advantage of an agenda-less (and wind-less) morning yesterday.
We went to secret beach (Say it with me, “What beach?” “I can’t tell you, it’s a secret!“) with the intention of walking through the dune paths. But Fern saw the coast line and squealed while pointing, “SEA! Sea!”. So we decided to heed the siren’s call.
In her excitement, she dropped her banana snack, all to the benefit of other friends and relations.
The path I like to take has a delightful decline to the shore, which can only be taken in big sandy leaps. You know your man is a hero when he can do it with babe in arms.
The rest of the photos are best viewed in silence, so I’ll seal these chapped Santa Ana lips. Imagine gentle warmth, cheerful waves and gleeful sing song…and that’s the only soundtrack you need.
(Sweater, vest, skirt: thrifted. Tights, Target. Boots from Jeff)
Then in the afternoon, I made a wreath with greenery bits that someone gave me. It was hasty job and Fern “helped” me. Thus, it looks like El Diablo himself had a hand in it. Still, the whole arrangement lends itself to holiday cheer, not to mention toddler temptation…by the end of the day, half the cones will be on the floor and the little felt bird will be in Fern’s “soup pot” along with some wooden acorns and crayons.
How was your weekend?