California Dreaming

It's October, and I'm freezing. It's way, way too early for winter to start, with the cold, and the dark...ugh. Makes me grumpy. Of course, in my perfect world, it would be about 75 degrees every day, light breeze, warm sunshine. Wait, I've visited this magical location. It's called Los Angeles. There's an ongoing family joke that I was actually born in California, and...misplaced? (That would be a heck of a hospital mixup, but work with me here.) I think it all started when I visited the West Coast about 12 years ago and felt an uncanny sense of belonging. I found myself surrounded by people crunching salads, and sipping smoothies, and pedaling their bikes along the beach. These were my compadres! They even recycled, just like me, before it was the hip thing to do! I know I'm idealizing things and it's not really perfect there--after all, they do suffer their share of traumas: mudslides and wildfires and traffic and Paris Hilton. But when I bury myself in my fuzzy coat (the one I wouldn't even have if I lived in a more temperate clime), to take fruit scraps out to the compost bin, I can pretend to hear the ocean, and to be warm.