by Phyllis McCrossin
It’s Saturday as I write this.
King and I moved to a new location on Monday. It’s ideal, and it isn’t ideal.
We are in the yard of a gentleman we met last year. It has a glorious view of the mountains to the east and the Pacific to the west. It’s also a suburban yard, meaning we are literally just feet from his back door and I can reach out and touch the fence between our trailer and the neighbor.
Evidently, California is an unusual place when it comes to zoning as compared to Michigan. I spent 40 years covering planning and zoning boards and zoning boards of appeals in Michigan so I kind of know. Or it could be that California adheres to the “don’t ask, don’t tell,” rule and so many people don’t want neighbors peeking over the fence and complaining about their doingings, that they simply let things go?
At any rate, we have a nice place to stay while we make repairs.
With the view from the side of a cliff overlooking a river, the night sky is also in full view. No, you can’t see the stars that you can see from the middle of the desert, but it’s perfect for viewing the SpaceX launch from Vandenberg Space Force Base (formerly the Vandenberg Air Force Base). There was a launch on Thursday and I watched the rocket as it traversed from north to south along the coastline. My phone camera is not sophisticated enough to capture it, but it IS a sight to watch.
And we continue to keep busy.
Last night our daughter, a family friend, King and I took the boys to a rodeo at Petco Stadium (where the Padres play baseball) in downtown San Diego. We had dinner at a nice (and authentic) Italian restaurant before the rodeo. It was a good evening.
I just now did the math, and it’s been more than 25 years since I attended a rodeo and that was at the VanBuren County Youth Fair. At that time, one of the fair barn superintendents competed in the bull riding event. Eight seconds is eight seconds (the length of time one must stay seated on the bull, for the uninformed). It’s an event in which you hold your breath and count to eight, regardless of whether you know the rider or not.
At the moment, King is on the roof fixing the roof vent, which could not be repaired at the campground where we were staying in Lakeside, Calif. I would like to go out to watch him work, but he would get irritable and consider my standing on the ground making sharp intakes of breaths irritating, so I’m inside where I can hear him, but can’t see what he’s doing (and not worry about his being too close to the edge).
The vent will be repaired today. So that’s a good thing. Not that there is a lot of rain in California this winter, which brings me to the big news in California right now – the wildfires to the north of us.
The fires are in Los Angeles and we are in Oceanside – about 90 miles away. We are safe. A friend who formerly lived in the L.A. area knows 11 people who have lost their homes. I can’t imagine losing everything.
As I watch the news I see a lot of finger pointing and blaming, but the reality is it’s dry here. The previous two winters there has been a lot of rain, which caused underbrush to grow, then an extremely dry summer caused said underbrush to dry out, helping to fuel fires. Strong Santa Ana winds of 100 mph are further helping to fuel the flames.
And fueling the flames of blame are the politicians and billionaires who love to point fingers but seldom offer anything else in the way of helping out. It’s rather sad.
Blaming someone while the fires are raging is like blaming someone with a terminal illness for being sick. How about offering support until the danger is past? My feeling is those who point the fingers of blame have never had the opportunity to grow up and have a lack a lot of empathy. But that’s just me leaning to the left a bit.
May you never, ever be on the receiving end of a finger of blame and may you never point them yourself.
