Hello people. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m back. And boy do I have stuff to talk about.
First of all, going home was great. México always makes me feel better. Relaxed. Comfortable. But, then, I’ve already discussed this a lot. That’s not what I want to talk about. I want to talk about the fact that the skies were gray all the way there and all the way back. And no, that doesn’t mean that the sky was cloudy. It means that the sky was gray, as in hazy as in smoky. To the east and west coasters, that means that the smoke from the blessed fires that were in the news until something more newsworthy came along and they ceased to be important enough to be mentioned so of course they must not exist anymore . . . where was I? Oh, yeah, the smoke. The smoke from those fires has cast an even gray tone in the sky. And we waited and waited and waited for rain to clear the haze. And it had been weeks since I’d seen a blue sky. And I didn’t even notice how accustomed I’d become to it until someone pointed out that they missed blue.
It’s amazing how quickly we accept things. My beautiful blue sky is just returning — I don’t know when it happened, I was in San Francisco at the time. But I didn’t think about it, didn’t question it, didn’t hesitate when I went about my day. I accepted a gray sky. That’s kind of sad and scary. I mean, if I can calmly accept the loss of something that fundamental, that ordinary, what else would I accept if I suddenly lost it? Maybe I would stand by and watch my rights be taken away one by one if it was done quietly enough. Maybe I would will myself to not see that I was losing things that should always be mine if I were busy enough. Maybe, maybe, maybe . . .
Okay, now that I’ve rambled on and given myself the beginnings of a nightmare, I’ll say goodbye. Hasta luego, gente.