Once upon a Rainy, Rainy Day...
It rained today. And yesterday. And it's expected to rain tomorrow and possibly Teusday as well. This is rare. LizBeth tells me that this is our "season". The closest thing we have to winter is four days at the end of January when it rains. I took the opportunity to go to State Street and get thoroughly wet. The streets and sidewalks don't seem to have been constructed with drainage in mind. At all. I wandered semi-aimlessly through Paseo Nuevo, occasionally sipping my caramel machiato/rainwater mix, and looking to buy a very small box that you put very small things in and looks pretty. I found a few that showed potential, but none for less than a score of bucks. I found this to be ridiculous considering the box took up no more that one cubic inch of space.
It's not until my shoes are completely water-logged and make ominous squelching noises every time I take a step that I stumble across the antique shop. And fall in love. It is a pack-rat's paradise--narrow, packed with Cool Old Stuff, and so impossibly deep that it reminds me of something out of Alice in Wonderland, complete with an odd collection of pocket watches. Music from the 20's or 30's is playing. I never even hit the back of the store because I need to catch a shuttle and am running out of time. Maybe it doesn't have a back. I leave, thinking I'll come back later, but notice on my way out that the store closes at 5:00 on Sundays. Blast. I walk out the door, stop, turn, and walk back in. The store owner gives me strange looks. I practically run to grab the little box and make a swift purchase. While he's ringing it up (slowly, because the cash register seems to be atleast as old as everything else there), I notice the sign describing the store hours. It looks something like this:
Sunday: 11:00 - 5:00
Monday-Thursday: 10:00(ish) - 6:00
Friday: 10:00ish - 9 or 10 (depends)
Saturday: 9 or 10ish - 10 (probably)
I smile.
Then it was off to the architectural wonder that is the Santa Barbara Public Library. As I walked in I noticed that it also closes at 5:00 today. Blast. It's one of those libraries with soaring tall windows and giant rose bushes outside. All very Spanish. Lovelier outside than in, but still lovely within. I wish it was open later. Probably so do the homeless people who stay inside on days like this until it closes. While I was there I overheard a couple of them debating whether or not whether this was really their life. "How can living like this be my reality? How can this be my life?" one asked, rhetorically. "First rich, then poor, now homeless. It's all too confusing." Then the other, as they were making their way out, "Well another day down the drain..." "Uhm hmm."
It's been a good weekend. On Friday when I went to the beach, the waves were huge and crashing. But only sometimes, like intermittent thunder. And the sun was mingling mysteriously through the clouds. And the sand was trembling with excitement as the ground quivered beneath from all the beauty. I wanted to sit and watch and absorb forever. That morning was wonderfully cool and mostly sunny. I wanted to lay face down on the warm green lawn and hug the earth. Grasp the grass between my fingers, clench my fists, and hold on tight. I like the way the grass and mud feel beneath my shoes. I like the way the waves sound in my ears. I like the way the ocean captivates my eyes. I like the way the vine roses and lavender fill my head with their aromas. I love my God.
It's not until my shoes are completely water-logged and make ominous squelching noises every time I take a step that I stumble across the antique shop. And fall in love. It is a pack-rat's paradise--narrow, packed with Cool Old Stuff, and so impossibly deep that it reminds me of something out of Alice in Wonderland, complete with an odd collection of pocket watches. Music from the 20's or 30's is playing. I never even hit the back of the store because I need to catch a shuttle and am running out of time. Maybe it doesn't have a back. I leave, thinking I'll come back later, but notice on my way out that the store closes at 5:00 on Sundays. Blast. I walk out the door, stop, turn, and walk back in. The store owner gives me strange looks. I practically run to grab the little box and make a swift purchase. While he's ringing it up (slowly, because the cash register seems to be atleast as old as everything else there), I notice the sign describing the store hours. It looks something like this:
Sunday: 11:00 - 5:00
Monday-Thursday: 10:00(ish) - 6:00
Friday: 10:00ish - 9 or 10 (depends)
Saturday: 9 or 10ish - 10 (probably)
I smile.
Then it was off to the architectural wonder that is the Santa Barbara Public Library. As I walked in I noticed that it also closes at 5:00 today. Blast. It's one of those libraries with soaring tall windows and giant rose bushes outside. All very Spanish. Lovelier outside than in, but still lovely within. I wish it was open later. Probably so do the homeless people who stay inside on days like this until it closes. While I was there I overheard a couple of them debating whether or not whether this was really their life. "How can living like this be my reality? How can this be my life?" one asked, rhetorically. "First rich, then poor, now homeless. It's all too confusing." Then the other, as they were making their way out, "Well another day down the drain..." "Uhm hmm."
It's been a good weekend. On Friday when I went to the beach, the waves were huge and crashing. But only sometimes, like intermittent thunder. And the sun was mingling mysteriously through the clouds. And the sand was trembling with excitement as the ground quivered beneath from all the beauty. I wanted to sit and watch and absorb forever. That morning was wonderfully cool and mostly sunny. I wanted to lay face down on the warm green lawn and hug the earth. Grasp the grass between my fingers, clench my fists, and hold on tight. I like the way the grass and mud feel beneath my shoes. I like the way the waves sound in my ears. I like the way the ocean captivates my eyes. I like the way the vine roses and lavender fill my head with their aromas. I love my God.