Matt and I have tootled around southern California almost every weekend since we moved here. To steal a friend's Facebook status, we live like someone just opened the gate. Now, to be honest, there have been times when we passed hours lolling on our little living room sofa shifting our weight from one cheek to the other. But mostly, we tootle.
I bring this up, not to brag, but to share our surprise. What's happening is that folks who have lived here for twenty years or more say things to us like, "Golly, I didn't know there were flower fields in Carslbad," or "Gee, you can take the MetroLink to San Juan Capistrano?" (They don't really talk like the cast from Leave it to Beaver. That's just me being me. But they do talk like they don't get out much.)
Matt was chatting with a nice lady named Linda who helps us deal with relocation caca. Mind you, this nice lady manages the relocations of hundreds and hundreds Disnoids a year. Whenever Matt speaks with her, he shares our latest discovery, the most recent of which is a fabulous little Mexican joint with potato tacos so spicy they'll set your hair on fire. Last time they talked, Linda said, "Matt, you are your wife are rare."
She didn't mean steak. Well, if she did that would be weird since we're vegetarians ... or even weirder if she thinks of bloody cow whenever she talks to Matt. Nope, she was complimenting him our get-out-and-go-ed-ness. I think that's nice.
Here's the thing. I've decided that even with the crime and pollution and smog and sirens and air so dry it makes my knuckles bleed, that this is a fine town. Yep, it has more than its fair share of egotistical maniacs, but it's bursting with creativity and vitality and beauty, too. What I love most about L.A. is that it is an utter celebration of all. No person or idea or belief or skin color is unwelcome. This is a city with its arms open wide.
Arms open wide is a lovely way to live.
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