Back from the other side of the Pacific

Back from Santa Cruz on Saturday, and still jet lagged now...which is how I've come to be writing a post before 8am. Just a short note for now, and little something from the trip.

The cloud formation in the picture above was from an imposing front that was passing through, which had brought with it rain and chill those 2 days. I was a lucky witness to its edge passing through at sunset, which produced yellow skies, a double rainbow and unstable, boiling clouds like these. Think I must have taken almost 30 photos in the 20 minutes I was outside, beneath this behemoth. Was pretty awesome, especially since I've only seen clouds that look remotely like these when I saw pictures of tornado-producing systems, but tornadoes extremely rarely occur in California.

Will post the rest of my photos when I have time. And it WILL take some time, as I took more than 400 photos!

[Update: I've since learned that these are mammatus clouds.]

I've decided to write little stories about people I meet every day, or at least the possible stories.

Red

The young woman behind the counter looked up from her cash register and laughed as the customer in front of her wondered aloud if she was buying too many red things for her boyfriend. "He looks great in red, you see," the customer explained. The cashier grinned and proceeded to fold the red sweater and stuff it into a yawning plastic bag. "Thank you for shopping here and see you again," she chirped as the customer walked away from the counter.

Allison hadn't laughed because the customer's boyfriend looked great in red. What stirred her mirth was the memory of herself, not too long ago, having once bought too many red gifts for the one she loved. Oh yes, the personage of her affections looked divine in any item of red, be it red shirts or red shoes. Allison once had her life saturated with sights and thoughts of red. After all, red was the colour of passion, and of love. And Allison certainly loved with a passion. Thoughts of her love consumed her waking moments. She woke each morning never remembering her dark, troubled dreams in the night, and she liked to think that her dreams were of her one true love. She went out each day looking forward to seeing her love resplendent in red.

But she also learnt one thing - that red, not green, was the colour of jealousy. She knew the hot, pulsing redness that enveloped her mind and the world around her upon the realisation that the one she loved would look in every other place for love except with her. She found that red was the only colour she saw behind her eyelids whenever she shut her eyes to drive out the sight of the one she loved caught in tender, intimate moments with another.

Red was also the colour of rage, and of blood. Allison learnt this all too well in the times when jealousy turned to anger, and she could hardly bear the heat that seared inside her. She also learnt this each time she slowly and lovingly etched the name of the one she loved onto the pale skin of her wrist. She found that the trick was to draw blood each time she carved over cuts that had healed - each new scab would make the beloved letters of that cherished name stand out thicker and clearer.

Allison remembered the Saturday she arrived home to find a pile of returned gifts sitting at the foot of her front door. She felt her heart grow hot as she stood looking down at the haphazard stack of objects in shades of scarlet, burgundy, cherry, wine, rose, coral, russet, vermillion, sanguine and rust. Among the gifts, every item in dizzying shades of red, were woven bracelets, hand-drawn cards, soft toys, heart-shaped boxes, scented candles, cloth roses, pretty slippers, dainty little panties, and one lock of strawberry blonde hair bound with a crimson ribbon. The sting of rejection spread its poison over her rapidly until she felt her entire body on fire. She knew all the gifts had been returned by one person - the woman she loved and desired for her own. One item stood out from the rest; it was not a returned gift. It was a simple sheet of white paper and it stood out pale and sober among the tumble of red madness. Allison picked it up and read the three lines written on it. "You sicken me. Stop sending me things. I'm not like you, you lesbian shit."

Vehement scarlet flooded her senses as her rage loosed in a stream of lunatic screams. She lunged at the pile of returned gifts and dug her fingers into them, ripping some, hurling others, pounding at whatever remained. She hardly noticed the arms that came to encircle her and restrain her thrashing limbs. The following chain of events never stayed in her memory, and all she could now recall was coming to her senses and realising that she was in the living room of her home, her arms and legs held down by her father, her mother and her brother who were grimacing with the effort. As she stopped struggling, she saw the expression on her mother's face change from distress to horror and disgust as she slowly moved her hand away from her daughter's left wrist where the long sleeve had hiked up during the struggle, staring at the bulging, pink lines that marred the skin there.

A shake on her shoulder broke her from her reverie. "Closing time, Ally. Stop dreaming," muttered the store manager before walking away.

Allison tucked a stray lock of her strawberry blonde hair behind her ear and, with a heavy sigh, closed the counter for the night.

Unseasonable warmth

I guess the weather here in Northern California (and maybe even the rest of the US) has decided to be nice. It's been unusually warm these two weeks, with lots and lots of sunshine, and not-too-cold evenings. It's been warmer than when I came in late summer! I wonder if I'll get a right-side tan from sitting on the passenger side of the car for long hours...

Finally got a chance to see Big Sur, or at least the northern part of it. Did a short drive (about 45 minutes) down to Big Sur from Monterey where we went to see the truly amazing aquarium (yes, again). The view from one of the land's-end points is really breathtaking, and standing almost on the edge of the sheer, towering cliff was rather dizzying. I spent a lot of the drive with my camera out the window and trying to catch the best of the scenery. The curving, winding coastline with its huge cliffs, sheer drops, crashing waves and historic bridge crossings made for exquisite views, even with the sun utterly merciless on that hot, hot day.

I would've spent more time outside the car just enjoying being there, but travelling with a toddler comes with a price, and little Sean was obviously unhappy at being cooped up for the long drive - the drive was made long by ridiculous roadworks that made our car ride over an hour longer than it should have been, and Santa Cruz is 40 minutes away from Monterey as it is. But at least I finally did the drive down, which was something I'd wanted to do for a long time. Well, my sis did the driving, anyway - I just sat there snap-happy and gawking out the window.

Today we went to West Cliff...again. The seals were out in full force, whooping away while clamouring on and off their favourite little Seal Rock just slightly off the coast. The surf was so-so, but that didn't stop a sprinkling of surfers from taking advantage of the glorious weather (then again, awful weather doesn't seem to deter them either). Walked maybe half a mile down the beautiful cliffside (which is contantly eroding - seven years ago when I first visited it, the coastline was at least 30 metres out from where it currently stands). After that, drove down to see the monarch butterflies at the Natural Bridges State Park. It wasn't a fantastic turnout today, compared with other times when they covered the trees with their lovely orange wings. Still, it's nice to just look up at them and wonder at their extraordinary lives.

Saw another fireball during the drive back from Gilroy the other night. That meteor was pretty amazing, lasting a few seconds and so brilliant that I initially thought it was an aircraft in the sky. At first, it barely registered in the corner of my peripheral vision as a bright spot like an aircraft coming in our direction. Then, after shining for a couple of seconds, it suddenly did a super-speed nose dive and vanished in a flash, causing a stir of excitement in the car and exclamations of, "Did you see that?!!" I love California.

Meteor madness

I saw a meteor from the plane the other night (it was probably a Leonid, maybe a Taurid), which is rare since the shades had to be drawn on every night flight I'd previously taken. I was gawking at the starry display from above the clouds when I saw the fleeting silver streak, ending in a quick, bright fireball (it's not as dramatic as it sounds; it's a way of describing the type of meteor). Another moment of perfection and awe, sealed behind my eyes for a long time to come.

Hope this year's Leonid shower will be a decent show, though estimates predict only a moderate display at best. The peak is forecasted for around 10am EST on this coming Thursday (17th Nov), which would be 8am for me here and way after sunrise. Moreover, the moon will be full and outshine many of the meteors during the dark hours, and the peak ZHR probably won't be much more than 15. Anyway, I don't hold much hope that Tom will be able to bring us out to the hillside or a darker spot along the coast, considering that someone will have to stay home with little Sean.

2001 really takes the cake as the best Leonid show ever for me and for many other viewers, breathtakingly spectacular during the peak with several meteors streaking across the sky at any given time, some ending in magnificent fireballs that left long-lingering trails. I was really lucky to be out at a dark spot facing the ocean at the time; it had been horribly cold and I was sick (the whole time, I clutched a flask of Throat Coat to ease my cough), but it was still one of my most unforgettable experiences. Having to pee during that trip wasn't much fun, though - there was no public commode anywhere near so I had to do it in the dark on the grass just off the road. It's no fun having to take off my pants in the cold, to be careful I didn't splash on my shoes, and to make sure I didn't step on the spot where my sister had gone before I did. And to hope no other car came by right at that moment and shine its headlights on my pale, freezing butt.

Stars

It is cold tonight where I am in Santa Cruz, CA. And although the fog didn't roll in tonight, a gossamer layer of clouds is slowly gathering more substance and obscures more of the night sky by the minute. It didn't rain today, though, so the chill isn't as bad as last night.

I miss the stars. I saw them the first night I arrived back here, but, as usual, only first night lucky - every other night has been either foggy or rainy. Otherwise, when it is clear, the night sky here is embroidered with a shimmering canopy of stars. It's certainly not free from light pollution here, but it's a great deal better than in Singapore where you'd be lucky to spot anything fainter than 2nd magnitude. In the hills of California is where I caught my first, breathtaking sight of the Milky Way like silver mesh stretched out across the sky of black velvet.

I've had a long love affair with the stars. Their luminous beauty drew me to them and, like a truly attractive lover, it is their depths, complexity, being and character that made me fall in love with them. I love to know how, like us, they're formed out of minuscule almost-nothingness, thrown into being by either the gentle persuasion of gravity or the violent collision of colossal forces, sometimes both. I love to know how nebulae, their nurseries, can both glow in dazzling colours and throw black curtains over the light of those behind them.

Many nights I spent lying on hammocks or with my head tilted back over a chair or simply raising my face to the heavens while standing up, just gazing up at those seemingly perfect points of light, knowing them to be imperfect, and loving them for it. In my days of deep darkness and despair, I raised my eyes upward on clear nights, and my soul lifted in joy both serene and passionate at the same time, peaceful and bursting with celebration at once. Armed with maps and my trusty 10x50 binoculars, I learned how only one kind of love can be one-sided and yet be nurturing, fulfilling and all-encompassing.

If stars could sing, I can almost hear the music they would conjure. I imagine them in serene chorus, alto and mezzo-soprano voices joined in wordless aural beauty, their long-sustaining chords ever-changing and never-dying. Not some strange, celestial ringing as some artists have conceived, but each heavenly body having its own distinct voice and its own emotion, blending seamlessly with those of its sisters.