(Note: Today’s column is also available in Pumpkin Spice. Please see Page 42 for details.)
As the days dwindled down to a tolerable few, I began taking increased interest in the sudden, colorful blossoming of political signs across city lawns.
Where none had stood before, this indigenous species stands full grown, especially in Ukiah’s fashionable west side. It reminded me once again of the differences between the state I’d spent my previous 50 years, and the land to which wife Trophy and I decided to move a few years ago.
Political viewpoints, from a certain perspective, are front, center, out loud and proud here in the Golden State. Though the soil and elements are the same, lawns featuring blue decor communicate boldly; red lawn ornamentation arrives later in the season and in far fewer numbers.
These sights and noises are more muted in North Carolina; the states also differ in a few other ways:
CALIFORNIA: Fires, flooding, therapists, Democrats roar around wherever they feel like, and hordes of the homeless plague us. Ukiah is wasting away while jolly city administrators pull down hundreds of thousand of dollars yearly, and wish to Thank You all for our lavish lifelong pensions.
CAROLINAS: Hurricanes roar around wherever they feel like it, local wines range from nauseating to undrinkable, no Major League baseball, all of Union County under assault by construction crews vomiting up one condominium development on top of the last one.
In the southeast portion of the USA political signs have not yet bloomed, although I did see a pickup truck with a TRUMP banner yesterday.
But this is the more relevant information: Having spent much of the past three years in this small town we have made a number of friends and more than a few acquaintances. One close friend is Dottie, a wonderfully sweet lady who we agree is the nicest next door neighbor we’ve ever had, and maybe the nicest person we’ve ever known.
Across the street are Rich and Mary. He did college in Ohio, we share a lot of funny memories and stories. Other neighbors are friendly and chatty. We get invited to neighborhood parties where gay couples show up, blacks and rednecks make up sizable fractions of the guests, many of whom have lived here all their lives.
And here’s the thing: We don’t know what political party any of them belong to, and we don’t know who they voted for. Or even if they vote. Not one. No one has ever asked me anything about my voting habits. No one knows my thoughts on gun control, CO2 emissions, the Infield Fly Rule or foreign policy.
Politics are hardly on the list of things people want to talk about in North Carolina, nor is it important. After three years I would know if anyone felt the need to bare their soul and confess to me they once cast a vote for George Santos or Fuzzy the Clown.
But in California it’s the first thing people want to know. They might start with “Sooo, did you watch the debate?” to find out whether or not they’re supposed to hate you. Or they might check for an American flag on your porch, or whether you drive a Dodge Hemi pickup or Subaru Outback.
It makes for rancid feelings, these mental reminders of “Do Not Invite” to your backyard BBQ and un-neighborly neighborhoods. It makes us check on what color sign is in the yard of the house on the corner, then eliminate her from the list of potential real estate agents to consider, or which restaurant to visit.
Better we leave it aside. Your vote doesn’t matter in California and neither does the vote of the lady on the corner. Getting along and helping each other matters. Cheerful, convivial, civilized conversations ought not be poisoned by a blue sign, or a red cap.
Bike lane to the grave…
By now you’ve seen the novel bicycle lane installed on South State Street near Gobbi. But I’ll bet you haven’t stopped laughing about it.
Shall we go take a peek? Please fasten your seat belt.
Here we go, rolling past the Ukiah Theater on the right, with the bike lane running safely aside State Street’s western edge, with plenty of room between our car and the curb. We proceed slowly past the Donut Shop. Oh My!
The bike lane has suddenly, with no warning, veered sharply to its left and right into the southbound vehicle lane, and thus directly in the path of our southbound car. Very thrilling. Much like a wild ride at an amusement park, and I’ll betcha lots of bicyclists experienced adrenaline jolts (and broken bones) like never before.
I have compiled a list of Ukiah attorneys who will happily represent you, including free consultations in the Emergency Room.
On the topic of amusement parks, remind me to tell you about my wild flights from Santa Rosa to Charlotte, but please don’t remind me what time I landed or what I didn’t have for dinner, says Tom Hine. TWK, on the other paw, magically transmutededly teleported himself here in zero time at all.
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