Silas informs me that California is entering the worst drought in recorded history. I wouldn’t know this otherwise (except for the fact that it hasn’t rained since that one time in November) because I don’t watch the news, or listen to it, or read it. You see, if something is really important, other people tell you about it. And they probably enjoy telling you about it, because you’re about the only person who didn’t already hear it on the news. That gives them a certain thrill and feeling of importance.
When we stopped on the border of Oregon and California, they asked us if we had any fruit or live animals. Maybe they should have asked us if we were cursed and were likely to cause the worst drought in recorded history. But they didn’t ask. Anyway, apparently Oregon is low on percipitation as well now, so maybe it isn’t our fault.
Maybe now it would be okay to give up on our lawn and post a little sign that says “This lawn gave its life in support of water conservation.” And it would be noble and grand. And I wouldn’t have to mow it.
As the external world dries up and withers, however, my inner world seems to be quite fertile and thriving. I keep having ideas. Ideas for stories. Ideas for all sorts of things. Ideas for improving the world, and the lives of my children, and various things like that. Today I was having ideas for creating a nice author’s website for myself. Because if you have a really great website, you must be a really great writer, right?
On a whim, I tried googling myself to see what would come up. That’s always a good way to bring oneself down to earth. For me, at least. There are 52 Rhonda Langleys in the U.S. and Canada. Yes, that’s right. 52. Maybe there are more in other places of the world. Langley is a Bristish name, after all. Maybe Silas and I should have hyphenated. There probably aren’t any other Rhonda Warkentin-Langleys. Oh well.