It's such a California thing!
By PAT WICK
© Another Day in the Country
This class is so California," says Jana laughing as she explains about her latest psychology assignment. "First we made a doll to resemble ourselves. Then we created a box to represent attributes that are visible on the outside and those things that are more private on the inside — after you lift the lid. And now here we are writing our personal myth."
A what?" asks our friend Tony, "she missed what?"
"No, it's a myth," I've raised my voice so he can hear, "A personal MYTH!"
"Huh, huh, huh," he laughs. He's lived in California. He knows!
We shake our heads and smile. It's just such a California thing!
In Mom's new house, we installed a Jacuzzi. We never had a Jacuzzi in California but here we have one in Kansas. Hot tub sitting seems like such a California thing to do. There's no overlooking the vineyards of the Napa Valley and it's not under the stars, but it is a whirlpool just the same.
Our buddy Tooltime Tim tried it out one night. He was hot and dirty from working all day and actually took a shower before he tried the tub. We'd added some bath salts to the water, "to enhance the experience," we thought. However, when he turned on the jets, our harmless bath salts turned into bubbles — millions of bubbles, threatening to overflow the tub.
"So how was it?" we wanted to know after the tub had been inaugurated — after all, he deserved this honor having spent so many midnight hours working on Mom's house.
"I could have done with the bubbles," he said with a wry grin. Bubbles must be a California thing, he figured!
I keep wondering what it is that makes one state fiercely practical and another part of the country slightly wacky? Yes, we do see purple hair on occasion in Kansas; but it's usually on some lady over 80. California folks seem bent on experimenting, trying something new, breaking the mold and from a Kansas perspective it all seems a little weird.
My daughter called the other day and said, "Mom, do you have a minute?"
Of course, I did — even if it was on a cell phone and I was going somewhere.
"I want to read you something," she said.
It was her personal myth. She'd finished it. She started to read and I started to cry. It was the most precious story full of delightful imagery and wonderful phrases that spun round and sang in your head.
"That's my girl," I kept saying to myself as she read, "my precious daughter who just yesterday was three years old and asking me to explain death and now she has written this wonderful story that deserves to be published."
It was just another day in the country — rather predictable, peaceful, quiet, and uneventful in Kansas except for the fact that my daughter called from another planet. Thanks be for California psychology professors who dream up unusual things like writing your personal myth — otherwise I would have missed one of the most precious experiences of my life!
