As this column is written, the week’s forecast for my hometown shows the possibility of knee-high snow followed by seasonably shivery temperatures, bottoming out one night with a low of minus seven degrees Fahrenheit.
You are likely grateful to not be there. I know the feeling.
For the moment I blissfully bask in the comparatively balmy temps and sunshine of the South Bay. Walking through the neighborhood where I am staying, the thought occurs: do my readers appreciate how nice it is here?
As this column is written, the week’s forecast for my hometown shows the possibility of knee-high snow followed by seasonably shivery temperatures, bottoming out one night with a low of minus seven degrees Fahrenheit.
You are likely grateful to not be there. I know the feeling.
For the moment I blissfully bask in the comparatively balmy temps and sunshine of the South Bay. Walking through the neighborhood where I am staying, the thought occurs: do my readers appreciate how nice it is here?
If you are unfamiliar with the Midwest at this time of year, let me elucidate. The terrain’s predominant shades are gray, white, and sometimes brown. Mind you, the variety of these hues in nature’s color palette generally range from dull to gloomy, with the occasional blinding glare of winter sun shine over snow covered ground.
You see, the landscape back home is not typically swathed in an alabaster blanket, but one in transition from pristinely glowing to partially sullied by melt and road grime. Except for the pines, the trees bare their bony limbs to howl mournfully in Arctic gusts.
What is more, the air outside bids you bundle up from head to toe, with multiple layers top and bottom, gloves, scarf, hat, and warm boots. At times – like the upcoming night with the predicted negative low – the environment is downright life-threatening. That is, the cold could do you in if you are not careful.
Add those circumstances to the recurrence of potentially lethal conditions on icy, pothole-strewn roads, and you want to punch anyone who dares to sing “Winter Wonderland.”
Your roads, though burdened too often with too many vehicles, are smooth and well maintained by comparison. Your climate allowed you (and me) to don shorts and a T-shirt over the weekend spanning January and February.
Your trees include palms, as soothing a sight for snowbirds’ eyes as ever there was. And, to this climatic refugee, your shorter flora is breathtaking.
Striding down the sidewalk, I marvel at homes where lemons and oranges hang heavy from deep green branches. Seasonal rain showers have cacti and other succulents thriving colorfully. Multiple plants are in bloom; spider flowers and bitter aloe, jade and birds of paradise, Japanese apricot and hibiscus dazzle with bright pigments to thrill my winter weary eyes.
Walking along the Manhattan Beach shoreline the other evening, I wondered if the folks living in those pricey beachfront places ever get blasé about their phenomenal view. Maybe some of them do; we human beings have a tendency to grow complacent about what we experience every day. Gazing for a few days at your gorgeous surroundings, I hope you see how lovely a home you have.
Anyway, your local forecast for Sunday was sunny and in the 70s. Perhaps you saw me at the beach; I was the pale guy wearing the bathing suit and smiling like there was no tomorrow, the day I had to return to the land of ice and snow.
Pat Grimes, a former South Bay resident, writes from Ypsilanti, Mich. He can be reached at pgwriter@inbox.com
