The coffee I'm drinking is strong, and thick enough to substitute
for the light 30-weight motor oil I use in my motorcycle. A couple of cups
of Old Hair Raiser (its real name) will have you talking a hundred miles
an hour, and taking twice as many trips to the "little house out back."
As I sit on the sidewalk watching the people wander by or in and out of
the stores, I ponder on the quality that sets this small town apart from
the big city.
I look around me and see nothing but two-story buildings--but there are
two-story buildings in even the largest cities. I note a lack of chain stores
on the main thoroughfare, but it's not that. Is it the proximity of the
mountains immediately to the north? No, that's not it, either.
When I really stop to consider what the difference is, I find I keep coming
back to the people who live here. It's how they interact with each other.
They seem to be more open and honest here. Not that people in the city are
less HONEST, but they do seem to invest a lot more towards making a good
first impression and tailoring that impression to an image. I watch the
people of this town walk by, and darn, they sure look like Americans you
could see in any other town. Actually, they look more American than
a lot of the people I remember from the big burg.
"From the mountains." Phrases like from the sticks, ...the back
woods, ...the farm usually have been applied to people uninitiated in the
affairs of life or outside a society that demands performance above all.
A lifestyle not worthy of extensive examination. Not true! I tend to think
that Henry David Thoreau is not widely read in high-rises.
Yet business acumen is not unknown in this small town. For the first time
this year, the Monrovia Old Town Merchants Association
sponsored a two-part float for the Pasadena Tournament of Roses Parade entitled
Goin' To The Festival. The float portrayed a Cocker
Spaniel pulling a red wagon:
Know what do I miss here? Big trees. I mentioned this to a friend
down here, and he pointed to the nearest fir tree of any size, and said
"What do you think that is?" Without missing a beat, I snorted,
"A shrub." Well, it was only about 35 feet tall. I've seen philodendrons
taller than that. (And, I won't even tell you about the man-eating roses
in Portland Oregon.)
The weather is very pleasant (now). Good day for a ride on the bike... except
that the drivers around here scare the "p___" outta my pistons!
In the five weeks I've been here, I've seen five drivers go right
through red lights. I don't mean the "step on the gas and beat the
change from amber" kind of driving, I mean "What light?".
Like they weren't even driving in the vicinity of this planet.
...more later!
© 1996 URLy Sylke All Rights Reserved CREDITS
