The stunning natural beauty of Southern California is no secret, providing compelling reasons for the ridiculous housing prices in the form of abundant sunshine, glistening beaches, mild temperatures, ocean breezes, and rugged mountains all together in one spectacular package. Likewise, the opposing natural forces are equally well known, i.e., terrifying earthquakes, dangerous mudslides, and raging wildfires, but there is one negative that comes to mind less readily if you do not live here: Santa Ana winds.
If the popular SoCal picture is driving down PCH with the top down, a gentle breeze caressing your face, then the Santa Ana wind experience is more like having your face used for a punching bag by someone wearing clothes irons instead of boxing gloves. Seriously, imagine howling, constant, hot, dry winds, with frequent hurricane-force gusts, and you’ll get the picture.
The Santa Anas heighten wildfire fears for good reason, and they are even thought to affect the mood of the entire region. In 1938, Raymond Chandler wrote the following passage in his novel, “Red Wind:” “There was a desert wind blowing that night. It was one of those hot dry Santa Anas that come down through the mountain passes and curl your hair and make your nerves jump and your skin itch. On nights like that every booze party ends in a fight. Meek little wives feel the edge of the carving and study their husbands’ necks. Anything can happen.”
The Santa Anas arrived last night and are howling as I write this afternoon.
We have been given the ridiculous opportunity to live in a tiny apartment directly on the Pacific Ocean for the past few months until we move on to campus, and it has been an awesome privilege to lie in bed at night and listen to the waves. It is truly amazing. Last night, however, we listened to the winds howl instead, and this morning I was out in the street surveying damage and retrieving the trash cans. With the sunrise, I noticed that the waves kept coming, but the powerful winds took a layer of ocean spray each time and lifted it to the sky like a LeBron James powder toss (see picture above, although it doesn’t do it justice).
Just another day in paradise.
As today unfolds, something I had forgotten about this crazy phenomenon returns to mind, and that is how beautiful it is afterward. The absurd winds seem to cleanse the sky of any hint of haze, and it looks like someone drew the horizon with a Sharpie. The winds come and go, and in the aftermath, it is more beautiful than ever.
I remember many a Bible lesson about the Greek word translated “Spirit” (that really means, “Wind”), and how you cannot see the wind as it blows, but you can surely feel it and notice its effect on things. That seems relevant to life in general as I look out my window this afternoon. The winds of life surely come and go, sometimes gentle and refreshing, sometimes harsh and destructive, but regardless, when they die down, something remains. Whether those winds cleanse us or wreck us, as surely as the Santa Anas visit Los Angeles, they surely clear out the haze and produce some clarity.
If you really want to know what is there down in the depths of your soul, like I often do, maybe Dylan nailed it when he said that the answer is blowing in the wind.
Christmas added several items to my sports movie collection, and the first new flick into the DVD player was The Hurricane, a 1999 movie featuring Denzel Washington as Rubin “Hurricane” Carter, a boxer and convict whose triple murder conviction was set aside after decades in prison due to the love and dedication of others. It was Rocky meets Shawshank Redemption meets To Kill a Mockingbird, which is quite the inspirational combination.
Starting to Look Up 