Purple Trees in Rain
purple petals
Yesterday we headed into town to do some last-minute shopping and errands. We're getting ready to go to England in a few days and and suddenly things have that hectic feeling. In this case, though, town means Santa Barbara, which when combined with "hectic" is somewhat oxymoronic. I always think of Santa Barbara as the place you get to be if God decides to go easy on you. I remember coming here on a quick pass-through visit in the 1970s when I was still living (if you want to call it that) in a bleak northeastern city and assuming that vaguely miserable was just the way I was and always would be.
That first visit to Santa Barbara had something to do with a horrible man I would rather forget, and in order to pay for my airfare, I pawned an antique lamp of leaded stained glass, a beautiful object that my father had bequeathed to me. I sold it to a so-called friend with an option to buy it back, but when I came back with the cash to reclaim it, he had decided he liked it too much and it was worth a lot more money. Oh, well. Another lesson learned. I think it says a lot about my desperation that I parted with that lamp just to fly to California.
Anyway, there I was in Santa Barbara in 1970-something, and even with that horrible man, my heart soared just looking up at the backdrop of mountains, and I wondered what privileged beings might call such a place home. It will never cease to amaze me that Santa Barbara is where I now go for mundane commerce. (Living well is the best revenge. I win.)
So...yesterday we went to Santa Barbara. Contrary to what you might imagine for a day in May, it has been raining, mostly just drippy, but occasionally for real, and by my wimpy California standards, it's chilly, which means a fleece jacket for me, although I still saw plenty of folks in the usual uniform of shorts and flip-flops. Those aforementioned mountains were crowned by dramatic gray clouds, and the jacaranda trees were dropping purple petals onto wet sidewalks, and pretty girls pedaled by on pastel-colored bicycles, heartbreakingly young, thinking they will be that way forever. Makes me sigh.
Monte and I had lunch in a little café, and afterwards I bought a travel umbrella, in red, of course, and a bag, another bag...this one with compartments to keep me organized, and just the right size to carry easily and everywhere. My theory (based on experience) is that you have to be meticulous to a whole new degree of compulsivity when you travel. Losing a credit card, misplacing a passport, or even just lacking a proper place for your cell phone, can instantly diminish the pleasure of a trip, so if this helps, it was worth every cent. At least that's my rationale.
The fun part of this jaunt to Santa Barbara, though, was wandering around like a tourist in one's own town, just noticing things and talking to people. I went in to replace my watch battery, for example, and it turns out that the man in the shop is a skilled Swiss-trained watchmaker who grew up in the Netherlands. He likes to do what he calls "three-dimensional" drawings when things are slow (which seemed likely to be the usual state of affairs), mostly just odd little designs on post-it notes, which he showed to me with a bit of pride that I found touching. In the Aveda store where I intended to buy one stick of their excellent if over-priced lip balm and ended up buying a new lipstick as well, I met a couple visiting from England who said that they didn't have an Aveda store there, and of course I told them I had seen one in Oxford.
"Oh, Oxford," the man said. "Oxford is posh."
They also remarked about this English weather that they hadn't expected in Santa Barbara.It was that sort of thing, just chatting with folks and moseying around...a vacation preceding the vacation. I bought a couple of gifts in a certain store I like that has pretty earrings and a brick floor that makes a lovely clatter when you walk. Then we went into Chocolats du CaliBressan -- where Jean Michel bills himself "the French chocolatier of the American Riviera" and we chose an eclectic sampling to bring to our neighbor, then sat down to enjoy an Earl Grey tea chocolate (Monte's favorite) and a coconut-curry for me.
We walked along State Street...with one stop at the Apple store, where, at the risk of sounding obnoxiously materialistic and acquisitive, I decided that I need to own a MacBook Air someday soon...then back to the parking garage...where the stairs are bordered by jacaranda trees and there's actually a great view from the roof.
(I took the picture above at the steps leading into the parking garage; I'll never get used to the purple trees.)
I guess all this "pretty" can be boring, all this lack of grit and drive, all this scenery and affluence. I realize, too, that there's an underside. But you know what? It was downright pleasant. Maybe if God is going easy on you, it's okay sometimes to just accept the grace with grace.