We’re in the midst of some devil winds here in Los Angeles. And they’re not the type we’re used to.
During autumn, we usually experience Santa Anas, which are warm or hot winds that blow everything about and scare the bejesus out of me. Santa Anas often coincide with fire season and they tend to make things worse. After 2 decades of living here, I’m still surprised each year when they arrive. Surprised, but not flabbergasted or anything. I suppose on some level I’ve come to expect them.
We are not experiencing Santa Anas right now. We are told this is the beginning of our El Niño weather. That it will continue, off and on, for months. Rain is promised, and prayed for. Flooding is expected and we’re receiving regular admonitions to batten down the hatches and prepare for the worst. Snow has started hitting the Sierra Mountains and that’s great, as we desperately need it. Locally, there’s no rain but the winds are a-blowin’ and they’re fierce. They’re also cold. Cold, y’all! Everything is still flying about and I guess the bejesus is still getting scared out of me, but I’m wearing a sweater while being a wuss. And a hat. And a scarf and gloves. I’m not kidding. Friends are laughing at me when I’m bundled up so, but then I notice they’re doing a fair bit of shivering and I’m pretty sure they wish they had all the winter gear I’m donning. So there.
Yesterday I was in a Holly-weird skyscraper and I watched giant, metal light posts swaying in the wind. It was odd. And I could hardly bring myself to look away. But I eventually did, and then I left the building and walked the swirling sidewalks. As I passed others along my way, not a single person laughed at my warm, protective gear. And I understood why. I was surrounded by wusses. My thin-skinned people.