Becoming Californian


Bit by bit, we and our possessions are becoming Californian. It feels very weird to carry a California driver’s license, and to know that Arnold Schwarzenegger is our governor. I thought it wouldn’t get any weirder than having Jesse Ventura when we lived in Minnesota.

Our cars both sport California plates. This is jarring to me every time I look at them.

The washing machine isn’t in the basement or a utility room, it’s in the garage. I feel weird every time I walk out there to put in a load. Minnesotans know that if you put plumbing in a garage, it will freeze. Californians do not know this.

Even Spicy the cat is adapting. He arrived here just after a cold Minnesota winter, bulked up with his extra layer of insulating fur. On these hot days (although it cools off at night, we’ve had several days in the 90s) he sheds copiously. Here is Gauss brushing Spicy’s winter coat. Spicy tears around the house, shedding cat hair wherever he goes. I am constantly vacuuming to try to keep ahead of it. This terrifies Spicy, so when I vacuum, he goes to the farthest room of the house and hides between the curtain and the window.

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