TheBanyanTree: T'is The Season

[NancyIee at aol.com]

T'is the SEASON.

Here, it means the snowbirds are back.  Local thoroughfares become parking 
lots; newcomers drive 10 mph, looking for their streets, making left turns out 
of the right lanes, driving with the turn signals blinking, or stopping to back 
up if they miss their turn and MUST go there. The freeway is a demolition 
derby, with everyone else slowing way-y-y-y down to better view the wrecks along 
the way. The rescue vehicles have to drive in the median or shoulder to get 
through. A high speed chase is real news, not for the crime committed but the 
thought of anyone (cops OR robbers) being able to drive fast enough for it to be 
called "high speed."

The worst are the roads to any beach. The beach parking is jammed full by 10 
A.M., and signs go out to that effect. Still, there are thousands of people 
thinking they can still find that one last parking spot, and so line up for 
miles, waiting, clogging, going nowhere near the beach. Anyone else driving those 
roads is lucky to get out by midnight.

"I don't want to go into town today."

"I know what you mean, but there's no food in the house.  We haven't shopped 
since last Wednesday."

"We still have peanut butter."

"The bread has gone mouldy."

"Pick of the bad stuff."

Silence, but I can hear the clicking of her mind.

"You'll have to go into town," she said. "You said you had to stop at the 
bank, anyway."

So, I venture out. The county road isn't bad. One hay wagon, one big semi 
loaded with oranges.  The state highway has more truck traffic, and construction 
vehicles coming and going from a new development.  There goes the 
neighborhood; more houses all alike but for color, on postage stamp lots. Near the 
freeway, it's stopped. No one moves.  Someone is out in orange traffic vest and 
flags, but all his waving is for naught.  The oncoming lanes are creeping by, but 
my lane is parked.

"What are you doing?" I ask her, calling from my cell phone.

"I thought I'd plant the azaleas. I just finished watering the new tangerine 
tree.  You should see all the blossoms, and the smell . . . "  Sounds of bliss.

"What did you want?" she asked.

"I'm stuck in the traffic."

"Oh. Well. Bring home some fresh cilantro," she said. "I think I'll do 
Spanish tonight for dinner."

I should be so lucky to get home by dinner.

"Don't fume so," she said.

"I wasn't fuming. I didn't say a word."

She laughed. "I know you' re fuming. Drive carefully."

T'is the season. Some folks have blizzards, we have traffic. I think I'll pop 
open my laptop and write something to Banyan.






NancyLee