(If you’re wondering who The Association was, well, let’s just say it was a six man vocal group and that pop music back then had very little in common with Miley Cyrus or her soft-porn contemporaries. The group was popular when tight harmonies were considered much more important than tight ... but, I diverge.)
I don’t know if any members of The Association were inspired by our nefarious Southern California winds, but as native, I can attest that fierce, desert-hot winds are not unusual in our little corner of So Cal paradise.
Many years ago, in fact, when our youngest boys were students in Monte Vista elementary school, one of their classmates – a tiny wisp of a girl – was actually blown off the sidewalk in front of school, lifted off her feet and slammed back down into a nearby hedge. Thankfully, she was only shaken up and not physically hurt by the impromptu Mary Poppins impersonation, but we joked with our boys that from then on, they would have to put rocks in their classmate’s pockets or get on either side to hold her down whenever the wind kicked up.
I actually like it when the winds kick up as long as we don’t lose power for longer than a few hours, and of course, as long as trees don’t crush homes and cars, or feed out-of-control wildfires, or ... well, okay ... I’ll admit they can be very destructive and are often an extreme hardship on all of us So Cal residents. That said, to my thinking even a week of Santa Ana winds is better than boring Southern California heat, haze and stillness. Yawn.
It might be odd, but one of the items on my bucket list is to have the experience of hunkering down somewhere relatively safe in the midst of a hurricane or tornado. Not kidding. To be surrounded by the full fury of weather would be an awesome thing. Now, I would never become an obsessed storm chaser, but I watch news stories about people huddled together in boarded-up buildings, reading or playing games by candlelight while rain and wind pummel their shelter and I think, yeah, that would be cool.
My wife, on the other hand, hates the wind because of the super-low humidity it usually brings with it. During Santa Ana events, we break out the 50-gallon drum of Lubriderm or some other moisturizer bought by the pallet-full at Costco. Dry skin is not her friend.
I will admit, however, that I don’t like the way the wind strips every pine tree in La Crescenta of needles and deposits them like a four-inch thick blanket of compost all over our yard. Just as there is truth in the old So Cal saw that you should wash your car if you want it to rain; it also seems to be true that if you want to summon a near-hurricane wind event, spend a weekend cleaning every last pine needle and fallen leaf from your lawns and planters and cram them all into the “green” waste bin (the bin that for some inexplicable reason is actually black). Guaranteed, the wind will kick up within a day or two at most.
My dogs also don’t like the wind. There is hardly a more pathetic sight than an 85-pound, bear-of-a-dog laying on the kitchen floor with his snout resting on the bottom of the doggy door frame, the flap pushed out just enough so the brave beast can peek into the yard. The big goofy fur ball wants desperately to go out and play, but as soon as a gust of wind blows noisily through the trees, he comes barreling back through the door like he’s being chased by a pack of vicious badgers. Makes me so proud.
And with that, I’ll put down the keyboard and pick up my gloves and rake. After all, there are about 35 million pine needles out there calling my name. But first, I’m gonna download a certain song onto my iPod. No, not “Windy” ... another song from the same era; “Blowin’ In the Wind.”
I’ll see you ‘round town.
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