And then I wrote...
by Dick Schiling, Editor Emeritus
... that it is one o’clock in the afternoon Monday, December 15, and I had to turn on a light to see the keyboard because of the dark and foggy day.
Of course I “touch type.” I touch a key and look to see what I have typed.
This is one of many consecutive foggy days, and we have not seen the sun for a long time. Each morning, I am reminded of Carl Sandburg’s line about how “the fog comes on little cat feet.” The good thing about it is that at least temps are not below zero and the winter’s first snow has entirely melted. Has more arrived for Christmas Eve, just over a week away as I write this?
Weather is funny. Funny odd that is, not funny ha ha.
My years on the peninsula south of San Francisco very well acquainted me with the propensity of that area to experience fog. It did not rain often.
This year, that area, and much of the state of California, is being inundated with heavy rain. The state needs the rain after years of drought. Reservoirs are low, photos show, and there were some crop failures inland in previously lush valleys which are fruit and vegetable growing garden spots. Ski areas lacked snow.
One report said a relatively small area of the state is where 80% of the world’s carrots are grown. I’m not a big fan of carrots, although I use them in homemade chicken noodle and vegetable beef soups. One grandmother used to pickle them, and they were good, but no longer tasted like carrots. Oh! And I think I heard that Wisconsin is second in the nation in carrot growing? Beer, brats, cheese and carrots ... sounds like a balanced meal to me!
It was interesting to move around in northern California. One golf course we played had a dog leg around a peach orchard. Another had a large area of those big blue plum trees. A fellow officer’s grandparents had a home with a swimming pool and wet bar, and when we needed a lemon for a drink, we just reached up from the pool deck to the lemon tree. They were large and sweet and could be eaten like an orange. And on the way home from golfing, folks of Japanese ancestry had strawberry stands along the road.
Given all that, why are Californians so weird politically?
There’s a line to describe that, but I can’t use it because it is politically incorrect.
Once again this year I have inflicted a small group of friends and relatives with a Christmas letter. I dislike writing it and sending it, but it’s a bribe to get them to do likewise. For many, that’s the only time I hear from them and can catch up on their lives.
And, since this issue is dated Christmas Eve, merry Christmas to you all too, and let’s hope somebody can figure out this peace on earth bit soon.
