The rain stopped falling around one yesterday when Ana and I got in the 4-Runner and began driving up the 101 through Camarillo and Oxnard, past Ventura, just going to get out.  We've all been battling the cold cold winter here.  To hell with global warming.  It's cold.  Right now it's just cold.  It's cold here, but it's really cold everyplace.  But for a Southwest woman this is plenty cold.  Last year this time we were driving the family out to the Grand Canyon, but this year this time, we're driving north on the 101, along the coast.

We love getting off the road, though, and we pulled off at the town of La Conchita.  Howie, who lived there, was selling the best damn strawberries on the coast right there and we bought three baskets for six dollars and ten avocados for a dollar.  We were sucking on the succulence of these locally grown red ones and Howie told me that one day the people around here would be free to sell their homes but for now it was damn near impossible to get insurance. 

"Yeah."

I looked up above.  This is very cliff-like country, and a big portion fo the cliff had fallen silently at night, just like it is happening now in the Angeles Crest, but that night of January 10, 2005 people died and there they remain and their home is a shrine.  I walked up the street, past a bevy of blond haired kids playing football.  The gas station has a chain link fence.  Someone plans to one day open a restaurant there.  But for now if you want to eat in La Conchita you buy the berries from Howie or some lobster tail that he is offering too.  But for now I was walking past the kids and looking at the chain link fence and the crosses dotting the muddy soft hill.  Inscribed in stone was the Lord's prayer and a plastic notebook with photos and poetry.  This is a little shrine asking us to think more, to be more caring, patient, kind, smart, loving for the time we do have.