In Southern California, October is Fire Season. It comes between School Season and Holiday Season, making it the barbecue sauce between two dry pieces of bread from which all your family dollars have been sucked. You can’t even afford a leaf of iceberg lettuce to cheer it up. Basically, the last three months of the year are like a saltine sprinkled with soot.
The multiple fires over the last couple of weeks have me on edge because I’ve got various children lying in their paths and when they bother to respond to my frantic texts, it’s to say, “Chill out mom. I’m fine.”
“Look out the window and tell me what you see!”
“A bunch of ash falling. No big deal.”
“According to the internet, you are in the evacuation zone. Pack your little bags and come stay with me until it’s over.”
“Mom. When pigs fly. Oh hey! Then it would rain bacon, right?”
This is no help at all. I started packing to evacuate on their behalf.
This is why families evolve from Halloween into Oktoberfest. The highlight of the month shifts from Butterfingers bars to beer. We went from sticking candy corn on our front teeth (you know who your are) to watching The Blob while rooting through a bag of mini-Snickers. Those things fly right under the diet radar.
I wandered from the bathroom to the basement, looking for what I will take with me when I go. In the process, I found these. Oh, the good ol’ days when I could make pigs fly.
They are cute little anarchists.