An Ode to Winter, or, Whoever Says California has One Season is an Idiot

I ran errands today, a seemingly odious task, or would be if a) it was sometime other than winter, b) was actually winter but it felt like august, or c) I didn’t live in Fallbrook. I absolutely adore Fallbrook. I lived through the awkward years of people in Carlsbad having no idea where Fallbrook was (15 minutes away) and of going to school in Temecula and hearing the shoe joke [“So I was driving in Fallbrook last weekend, and I saw a guy with one shoe on standing on the side of the road. I pulled over and asked him if he lost a shoe, he said, ‘Nope, I found one.’”] almost every week. But Fallbrook is a damn nice place to live.

As I ran errands today bundled in a scarf and gloves because the weather is actually very very blustery, and the sky looks like its bulging with rain and going to rip open like a cheap paper towel, soaking the proverbial kitchen counter. On a side note, weather in San Diego is fantastic. You would think the world is ending. You turn on the news here, and there’s a huge red flashing banner with “Storm Watch: 2006” blazoned across it. Lots of reporters, everywhere. For rain. It’s great. Businesses are actually closing.

But really, California has 4 seasons. While they may not be as extreme as say, Vermont, they are still there. Beautiful blooming springs, hot unbearable summers, crisp autumns, blustery winters. I wore a scarf today, and not out of defiance or “oh but it looks so cute.”

So Fallbrook. I’m driving down Mission Road with my mom and brother. We are off to grocery shop at Major Market. And Fallbrook just looks beautiful. There are people with shopping bags everywhere, and those ghetto tinsel candles are on every street lamp, and there’s lights in the bank windows, and the Boy Scout Christmas tree lot is up. We drive by all these places I grew up around, Wayside Café, The Mission Theater, The Lace Apron, La Caseta, ect…so we’re driving, and I let out a cry. Where Hank’s Hardware used to be is now…Joe’s Hardware. I make my mom pull over and I run in and ask what happened to Hank. Apparently he retired. I didn’t know what to say, so I told “call me Joe” that his inflatable Santa outside looked like he had drank too much gin and passed out, and that he wasn’t really promoting family values like Hank did, and that he should probably put him back up. And with that I left.

We went to Leilani’s for lunch. Right when I walked in, Leilani made a fuss and started making my favorite teriyaki chicken and made me sit down and tell her about college, in which she tried to get me to try her new coconut crème cake. Everyone who walked in said “Merry Christmas!” in a way that came from their belly, full-hearted and rich with feeling. When people say “Merry Christmas” in Fallbrook, they mean it, just like they mean “Have a nice day!” And there is something to be said for Leilani’s teriyaki chicken. No, no. There is a lot to be said for Leilani’s teriyaki chicken. After placing an order to be catered for a party this weekend, I ran into a very large man’s belly, and after bouncing off, he said exuberantly, “Merry Christmas!”

We spent two hours in Major Market, getting everything for baking and cooking for the season. It was amazingly fun. Every aisle we ran into someone from the church, someone from the school, someone from an old soccer or basketball team. And each time we bump into someone…”Merry Christmas!” Cheese aisle…”Merry Christmas!” Meat counter…”Merry Christmas!” Produce area…”Merry Christmas!” Standing in line…”Merry Christmas!” ”Merry Christmas!” ”Merry Christmas!” We may not have a movie theater or a mall, but we’ve certainly got cheer. Avocado crates of it. Take that, LA. And…everywhere else. That’s all.