Rebel Girl's Domestic Corner

The change in season is upon us and Rebel Girl was seized by the spirit, perhaps carried in those winds that arrived last night. And some of you might have thought all she cares about is poetry and politics!

So, she and the little guy began preparations for El Dia de Los Muertos, the Day of the Dead, which does look an awful like Halloween at their home.

This year there are many folks (too many!) to remember but they won't be putting out the photos and the food until November 1st.

They had fun unpacking the sugar skulls and calaveras and cutting papel picado and making the flowers.

Then food: something Greek: Chickpea Soup From Sifnos (ρεβιθόσουπα) (recipe courtesy of the marvelous blog, Kalofagas) and homemade bread.

Yiassou!

Yamas!

To life.

Persistent Malevolent Winds

The Santa Ana winds are back, as of about 2:30 am.

You know what that means.

More Joan Didion.

Here she is:

"I recall being told, when I first moved to Los Angeles and was living on an isolated beach, that the Indians would throw themselves into the sea when the bad wind blew. I could see why. The Pacific turned ominously glossy during a Santa Ana period, and one woke in the night troubled not only by the peacocks screaming in the olive trees but by the eerie absence of surf. The heat was surreal. The sky had a yellow cast, the kind of light sometimes called "earthquake weather." My only neighbor would not come out of her house for days, and there were no lights at night, and her husband roamed the place with a machete. One day he would tell me that he had heard a trespasser, the next a rattlesnake.


"On nights like that," Raymond Chandler once wrote about the Santa Ana, "every booze party ends in a fight. Meek little wives feel the edge of the carving knife and study their husbands' necks. Anything can happen." That was the kind of wind it was. I did not know then that there was any basis for the effect it had on all of us, but it turns out to be another of those cases in which science bears out folk wisdom. The Santa Ana, which is named for one of the canyons it rushes through, is foehn wind, like the foehn of Austria and Switzerland and the hamsin of Israel. There are a number of persistent malevolent winds, perhaps the best know of which are the mistral of France and the Mediterranean sirocco, but a foehn wind has distinct characteristics: it occurs on the leeward slope of a mountain range and, although the air begins as a cold mass, it is warmed as it comes down the mountain and appears finally as a hot dry wind. Whenever and wherever foehn blows, doctors hear about headaches and nausea and allergies, about "nervousness," about "depression." In Los Angeles some teachers do not attempt to conduct formal classes during a Santa Ana, because the children become unmanageable. In Switzerland the suicide rate goes up during the foehn, and in the courts of some Swiss cantons the wind is considered a mitigating circumstance for crime. Surgeons are said to watch the wind, because blood does not clot normally during a foehn. A few years ago an Israeli physicist discovered that not only during such winds, but for the ten or twelve hours which precede them, the air carries an unusually high ratio of positive to negative ions. No one seems to know exactly why that should be; some talk about friction and others suggest solar disturbances. In any case the positive ions are there, and what an excess of positive ions does, in the simplest terms, is make people unhappy. One cannot get much more mechanistic than that."

Nothing is on fire, but the little voice in my head keeps chattering: not yet, not yet.

(Images by Carlos Almaraz)