Don’t You Just Love LA In The Fall?

2 Oct


Now is about the time of year when blogs across the nation explode in a haze of “apple picking” and “cider” and “Pumpkin! Pumpkin! Pumpkin!”  It’s the season where sweaters are immortalized and boot photos are taken and Kathleen Kelly is quoted.

And while I get it, I truly do, I mean this is my birthday month for heavens sake, THE BEST MONTH OF THE YEAR WHAT ARE YOU GETTING ME?  I have to ask, is there anyone on this planet who does not think fall is the best of all seasons?

Pumpkin! Pumpkin! Pumpkin!

Reading these social media tributes to crisp weather has had me thinking a lot about fall. The thing about LA in the fall is that it’s quite like LA in the summer.  Or spring.  Or winter.  That’s the glorious, perfect magic of LA.  We have fall all year round, suckers.

Last week one of my friends from London came out to California for a brief visit. This friend is an Australian mountain man-type and after lunch he turned to the drab Santa Monica Mountains and said, “I don’t get the California thing.  Why are people so into it?”

I thought this was a joke at first.  Haha good one.  You hate pizza, too?  And Friends?  And The Beatles?

Ha ha hardy har.

When it became clear that he was serious, I pointed over my shoulder,  “The ocean that we just ate lunch on! And the weather!  The weather is like this all of the time!”

My friend didn’t get it, though, and all my impassioned hand gestures couldn’t convince him otherwise.  However, that moment of outrage, that “I must defend this place” feeling made me realize something about myself–I’ve truly become a California girl.

When I was younger I thought I was an East Coast girl through and through.  This may have been a product of growing up in a Utah suburb, but the East just seemed for me.  The East had boarding schools and old-timey houses and town hall meetings and Luke Danes.

The East was where it was at.

When I was a teenager, my brother Jeff predicted my future. He said I would be a professor in some East Coast metropolis and have a professor husband and wear a lot of turtlenecks. “YES,” I thought.  “This is surely my life’s path.”

Perhaps it still is.

Who knows.

For now, though, I’ll take the non-fall of California.

For now, I’ll revel in my hippy sweaters instead of harpooning coats and traffic instead of subways and Malibus instead of New Yorks.

For now I’m a California girl.

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