"A Bonding California Experience"

Currently playing in town is a “touring company” production of the hit Broadway musical Come from Away, concerning the interaction of strangers in Gander, Newfoundland after 38 international flights were unexpectedly diverted there following the 9/11 terrorist attack, the stranded passengers and crew having to remain there, until officially permitted to return home.  As a result of that shared experience, there emerged numerous stories of people, connecting deeply and meaningfully during their stay.

I am reminded of that fusing “Moment of Connection” because of similar meaningful encounter that took place on my neighborhood street last Friday.  

What brought us bondingly together?

The day before, in Los Angeles,

It rained.

Stop it! 

This was an unusual occurrence.  Not as momentous, perhaps, as thousands of travelers receiving generous refuge in Gander Newfoundland, proving to the world, as if more evidence were required, that Canadians are the nicest people on the North American continent, (tied with the Mexicans, and we shall say no more about that.)

You know the song “It Never Rains In Southern California”? (1972)  Well, it traditionally never does, from around April till November.  What the songwriters meant was that it never rains in Southern California in the springtime, summer and a lot of the fall.  Unfortunately, that literal accuracy does not musically scan, so they made it sound like it doesn’t rain here the whole year, which was meteorologically incorrect.

Then!

More recently, however, it’s right.  In recent years, with a few sprinkling exceptions, it does not rain here at all.  (Hence, the ravaging brushfires due to the consequent dryness.)  That ’70’s pop song was not only catchy; it was prescient.  

It now never rains in Southern California.

Until last Thursday, when it did.

Marginally Racist Musical Interlude:

“Didn’t it rain!

Didn’t it rain!

Didn’t it rain,

Oh Lordy!

Didn’t it rain.”

Sorry.  It just seemed to fit.

I’m talking “Torrential Downpour.”  With powerful winds.  True Story:  Despite the pelting conditions, I went out for my regular “Thursday Morning Walk” to Groundwork for my “Venice Blend” pour-over.  However, when I got to the nearest intersection, running perpendicular to the ocean, the gale-level gusts turned my umbrella inside-out and I had to go home.  So it must have been treacherous because you know how brave I am.

Anyway…

The next morning, things returned comfortably to normal – blue-sky sunshine, zephyrous breezes, no socks-soaking, curbside accumulations of water because drainage is “Low Priority” because it never rains in Southern California.

Except that it did the day before.  A lot.  Drenched dogs were going, “I’ll pee inside!”

That next day, it was “Southern California” again.  And the people in my immediate neighborhood took notice, celebrating the departed deluge with… well, let me tell you what happened.

I am walking down Fourth Street to Rose Avenue, heading for Groundwork after yesterday’s unavoidable “rain-out”, and everyone I passed – even normally stone-faced Asian women who habitually don’t do so – was suddenly saying “Good morning” to me. 

Normally, some people venture “Good mornings” to me.  But this was an entirely new ballgame.  The entire neighborhood, without exception, was saying “Good morning” to me, including the grumbly old man raking his sidewalk who never relents for passing pedestrians but this time he did.

Adding a nodding “Good morning” to the accompanying “Step-away.”

For the duration of my walk, I sensed a genuine outpouring of happiness and relief.  It was as if the plague of locusts had receded and our imperiled wheat crops had been miraculously spared.  Like, after a prolonged siege, the marauding Huns had been vanquished from the battered gates of our city.  We were the surrounded wagon train, watching the Indians stop riding in a circle and galloping back to their teepees.

It was like that, only with rainwater.  The crisis had passed, ushering the cleansing catharsis of joyful celebration!

People on my street, once reluctant to make eye contact – vigilant mothers, shepherding their children to pre-school, even the children themselves who’d been admonished repeatedly not to talk to strangers – dropped their guards, sharing the unguarded exuberance of liberated hostages.  We were “this close” to exchanging e-mail addresses, vowing determinedly to keep it touch.

All because one day, it rained.

And the next day,

It stopped.

I know this “good vibe” interlude won’t last.  But for the exceptional moment, at least,

It felt like being in a musical.