Actually, it's downright mean and nasty.
And really, it isn't their fault.
Not entirely their fault.
Maybe, like 49% their fault.
But mostly it's me, working out my anger issues.
A lot of the people here love it and wouldn't live anywhere else. And perhaps, if we'd chosen to live here, I'd feel the same way. But the truth of the matter is, we didn't. We were dumped here by fate after losing most of everything we had, so to say there are some rage and resentment issues would be an understatement. I'd probably feel the same way if we had been stranded against our will in, say, Paris. OK, maybe that's not the best analogy, but you get the point. And since I can't afford a therapist, I have the blog.
Something happened last night that may have softened my outlook. We were just preparing dinner around 6:30 last night when we heard a wave of sirens somewhere nearby. And then another. And another.
We stepped out front to see what was going on and when we looked to the west we saw a massive column of smoke rising from just around the corner. It must have been a huge fire because the smoke was rising hundreds of feet in the air and was glowing bright orange from the flames. Red hot embers were shooting skyward in the updraft.
We decided to investigate and as we rounded the corner we saw half a dozen firetrucks and a house fully engulfed in flames. I know the house well, the dogs and I walk by it almost every single day. In fact, we'd just walked by it that morning. I'd always kind of admired it because it was beautifully landscaped and immaculately maintained. And now it was gone. Or nearly so.
There was a gaggle of neighbors in the street and in the adjoining yards and as we approached we could see the homeowners, seated on a curb, sobbing, two firemen trying to console them. The fire was intense, like something I've never seen before except on the news. It was heartbreaking.
We suddenly felt a little guilty being lookiloos on someone else's tragedy, so we quickly left.
The phrase "count your blessings" is overused, and yet that's all I could think about on the walk home. And I have. We may not have what we once did, we may not be where we want to be, but at the end of the day we still have a lot, not the least of it each other.
So with that in mind, I'm going to try and make an effort to be more generous and kind.
I said "try". I make no guarantees.
In that spirit, I'd going to share something that I love about living in Bakersfield.
I'll give you a moment to get off the floor.
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What I love about living in Bakersfield is... Fall.
I spent my entire life living in Southern California and of course we had Fall there too. Even had same maples and birch and cottonwood trees. But Fall in LA meant the trees went from green to brown to gone. We never had the cold *snap* that set the whole color spectrum in motion. This is my third Fall in Bako and each time is still new and magical to me. I love it.
These are shots from our backyard...
Sure, it would probably be nicer in New England.
But after last night, I'm just grateful to experience it at all.
Even in Bakersfield.
