Monday, February 9, 2015

Monday Musings

Sadly, the big rain, the Pineapple Express, the rain that was going to quench our dry earth, largely passed us by.  I know others in California who got plenty of rain -- too much -- but not us.  Saturday and today have been glorious spring like, sun-drenched days.

I am feeling utterly deflated.  Or perhaps I should say dessicated.  After errands today, I treated myself to a pedicure, had my toe nails painted a tropical color in anticipation of our trip to Miami and Havana next month.  The foot treatment left me yearning for a south seas zephyr.  A cold drink with an umbrella perched on the side.    Havana Bay, Cuban music, and sandals.

Sigh.

At least we got something.  The newly planted roses benefited, as did the wisteria, Mexican lime, garlic and myriad other greenies in the yard.  At least we had the newly installed gas line to our fireplace to keep us cozy when the rain was falling.

At least I am not Brian Williams.  (Sending love to you, brother.  Haters gonna hate.)

Four years of drought in California.  One wonders when it will end.  Things could get pretty gritty around here.  Farmers have pulled orchards and other crops because they simply don't have the water to grow them.  That's what California does, man, we grow food.  In a desert.  With lots of imported water.  Yes, one wonders.

Dust Bowl Refugee
Words and Music by Woody Guthrie

I'm a dust bowl refugee,
Just a dust bowl refugee,
From that dust bowl to the peach bowl,
Now that peach fuzz is a-killin' me.
'Cross the mountains to the sea,
Come the wife and kids and me.
It's a hot old dusty highway
For a dust bowl refugee.
Hard, it's always been that way,
Here today and on our way
Down that mountain, 'cross the desert,
Just a dust bowl refugee.
We are ramblers, so they say,
We are only here today,
Then we travel with the seasons,
We're the dust bowl refugees.
From the south land and the drought land,
Come the wife and kids and me,
And this old world is a hard world
For a dust bowl refugee.
Yes, we ramble and we roam
And the highway that's our home,
It's a never-ending highway
For a dust bowl refugee.
Yes, we wander and we work
In your crops and in your fruit,
Like the whirlwinds on the desert
That's the dust bowl refugees.
I'm a dust bowl refugee,
I'm a dust bowl refugee,
And I wonder will I always
Be a dust bowl refugee?

3 comments:

  1. Interesting times for California. A whole food-producing infrastructure built precariously over desert land on borrowed water. How crazy is that? We did get a good amount of rain here. It made me wonder what it will be like when the southern part of the state decides it needs this water. It ain't going to be pretty. I don't think it will happen in my lifetime, but it will happen.

    Pedicures and boat drinks, Havana awaits you.

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  2. What Robin said. About a decade ago I wrote an article about investing in the future----water. Can I join you two for a few hours on a beach with a lime gin tonic, some shade and a peaceful breeze? I'll but the Tapas. :-)

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  3. Sorry the rain passed you by. I'm sure the anticipation of a trip to Havana and FL helped. Lucky you.

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