California dreamin', Part 4

Today I synched my iMac and MacBook desktop pictures to the above pic. I did the same thing three years ago when I found “Snow Shed” on the now semi-abandoned MacDesktops.com. At the time I had just bought my MacBook and was eagerly counting the days until I flew back to Iowa for the holidays. Needless to say, I was yearning for Midwestern winter.

Last week I listened to some of the Henry Rollins stand-up Zee German gave me. Rollins is originally from the Washington, DC area and now lives in LA between tours. In a track called “The Hollywood Method” on Talk is Cheap, Volume 3, he calls LA “the city of whores” and tells the audience to stay away: “It is a polluted hellhole covered with used condoms, dried pools of blood, and expended bullet casings.” He says it is “a business capital” where the basis for every relationship is money. There is no good excuse why he lives there; “…it’s kind of where my modem ended up years ago,” he says. He goes on to promise:

One fine day I will move back east to the land of zero bullshit and deciduous trees and seasons…

I laughed at everything he said about LA (because it is totally true), but his line about returning east resonated with me. It took me back to those final few days before a holiday trip to Iowa and my impatient longing for bitter cold, ice, and snow — to experience a different season.

In terms of the weather, people think I am crazy for returning to Iowa. “Don’t you miss the weather?” they ask. I respond: “What weather?”

Yes, sometimes it rained and the Santa Ana’s kicked up and blew hot and crazy. The coast experienced “May Gray” and “June Gloom,” when the marine layer did not burn off until noon. Every once in a while we were battered by a Pacific storm that brought wind, rain, and massive waves, and Labor Day always seemed to bring desert heat. But for months and months it was the same thing: clear skies and temperatures in the 70s and 80s. It is paradise for many, but boring for me.

When I moved to Huntington Beach about five years ago, it was nice not having to deal with ice, snow, and bitter cold. I remember my mom calling me one night during an ice storm. Power was out, tree limbs were breaking, and the roads were a nightmare. “That sucks,” I thought. For whatever reason I was at the Westminster Mall. There was no ice, the temperature was probably in the 60s, and the lights were on. I was safe and warm, and it was so nice to hear about others suffering from winter and not being stuck in it myself. But around April, as wet spring changed to dry spring, I felt I was missing something spiritually. April did not feel like April. I did not feel the giddiness of spring fever as there was no warming trend or natural rebirth to kick-start it; the plants had actually been greener thanks to winter rains. As the year progressed and “spring” seamlessly became “summer” and then “fall” without any real difference, I began to think, “This is not right.” The spiritual void inside me was growing and growing, and I knew exactly what was missing: seasons and weather variety in general. The lack of both was confusing my inner calendar. By 2008 I was completely fed up with the constant sunshine and warmth. It irritated me. I cherished the rare cloudy and rainy days because they broke the mind numbing monotony.

When I left Iowa I knew I would miss fall, my favorite season, but never imagined I would also yearn for winter. It shocked me but also made perfect sense once I thought about it. As I wrote in the long essay I am now eviscerating:

It had been my way of life for as long as I could remember, and dropping it entirely for something different exposed the transcendental bond linking me to the heartland. Iowa influenced me in ways I never imagined. It was my natural habitat, and my heart, mind, and body pined for it like a lost love.

Not all transplants felt the same way — I met many Midwesterners who never wanted to return — and those who have never relocated to a more temperate locale cannot understand (like those who think I am crazy for returning just because of the weather). But seasons are a part of my personal fiber, and without them I was missing a vital part of myself.

Yes, that includes winter. It epitomizes my personal connection to the seasons as the polar (literally) opposite of summer. The trees are bare and perennials dormant, the ground is often covered with snow, and it is cold. Sometimes it can be downright Arctic and inhospitable. But it is beautiful to me, especially right now. Though it is technically not winter yet, it feels like it. I love this time of year since it is so iconic in that holiday way. I love that first, wet, sloppy snow that covers the trees, making everything white. I love putting on my Triclimate, stocking hat, and gloves to brave the cold. The air is crisp and dry, and I can see my breath. It is magical. I even love cold, dark, overcast days when automatic headlights never turn off. (I wonder, though, if I love them for the weather or for the feeling of being warm and snug inside. That is a very rare experience in SoCal.) It is a bitch dealing with the ice and shoveling snow, but that is life in the Midwest. If you do not like it, stop bitching and leave. I will gladly enjoy it for you.

Go ahead and think I am crazy. The fact is I lived in Southern California.