This Place in Solvang May Solve All Your Problems
And the ones it can't... probably don't matter anyway
It's June 15, which means California is "open" today. This means in the state where I live, there will no longer be any capacity requirements at bars, restaurants, retail stores, places of worship, and gyms.
The color-coded tier system that graded counties per concentration of those infected with COVID also goes away.
Mask mandates are mostly lifted though folks may still be required to strap up on planes and public transit; indoor concerts, movie theaters, outdoor sporting events, and museums may be limited or scaled back on an individual basis.
And schools may still carry particular district restrictions but are slated to go back to in-person in the fall. CalOSHA is set on June 17 to decide.
California, as a state, has thus far done "the best" (the best = the best job hoarding, I guess) in the distribution of the vaccine.
Some 311 million doses have been punched into arms, and 145 million residents are fully vaccinated, for allot 45% of the population fully vaccinated. That trails only New York's 50% and Pennsylvania's 47%. In addition, more than 59% of the state’s residents have received one dose—and California should easily hit the federal goal of 70% fully vaccinated by the July 4 deadline.
So why do I feel so unsure? Why does it feel like one of these?
I don't need to go the route of pandemic-era PTSD. Everyone, now, has trauma. Not that we all didn't before. But now have a shared vocabulary around it. I ran into a guy I used to work with in the store parking lot last weekend. He didn't recognize me. I'd realized after our conversation that my body had changed, and my hair and beard had grown out since we last met. I probably looked more like a corpse popping out of the pool in Poltergeist than the guy who wore business casual and a badge around his neck.
After the awkward belated recognition, we exchanged pleasantries, asked if the other was okay, shared twenty-second recaps (he got laid off right after me and spent the last 14 months or so helping educate his two kids.)
…And we promised to go grab a drink when the dust settled. Whether that happens is anyone's guess.
His kids were right there, so we didn't get too much into anything. I wished him well and did this thing that annoys me about myself. I stopped and said, "Seriously, I hope things are okay." This means maybe everything up to that point was disingenuous, I don't know. He waved and said. "Yeah, man, I get it." And adjusted his youngest's mask and went off into the store. And that was it.
So what now? We're not even halfway to the goal, and the Delta variant is creeping. Yet, the magic wand gets waved in Sacramento to stave off a pesky and $400 million taxpayer canard of a recall sponsored by your local NextDoor wing nut and their bloodlust for anti-Semitic internet conspiracy theories and racist tropes... and playing Gentle Ben on campaign ads, I guess.
California, it should be noted, is not just the diversity of Los Angeles and the tech bro late-capitalism suicide squad of SF. It's good ol' fashioned bible thumpers along the 99 voting against their own interests in the Central Valley.
It's Qanon wellness moms driving their leased Range Rovers through Laguna and Newport and Huntington Beach(es) refusing to be refused service wherever they roam. It's the positively segregated state of San Diego, whites relying on brown slave labor to buoy their stucco and Spanish-tiled lifestyles, making sure the pool drain doesn't back up, and that the hedge stays within HOA-mandated height limits.
Oh yes, you think your state's fucked: California has bad guys coming at us from every angle, from Megachurch goons to white supremacists yelling at Costco employees, to fascist-leaning Silicon Valley C-suite bros preaching enlightenment and laying off people like it’s their job (it is)—but we also happen to have a (slightly) bigger aggregate who gives a fuck, or at least has to in order to keep from being destroyed.
But as our state gets ready to flip around the Open/Abierta sign this morning, the residents of the 163,696 square miles of paradise found (and for the most part destroyed) prepare to go back to whatever is left of normal—with a mix of trepidation, sadness, and expectation.
It's okay to pause, look around, and check in on whomever you still recognize, this time sans mask. Take a few more minutes, and maybe don't ask if they're okay or how they’re feeling. Maybe just say you’re there to listen, any time.
790 Carriage Dr Solvang, CA 93463
I guess I'm a pandemic-era purist when it comes to real estate at this point. Regardless of what’s “open” I still want to be somewhere that is safe and detached. A place that interfaces with nature but doesn't encroach upon it. Somewhere that feels mighty okay just as a spot to be, where you can envision a cat perched on a window sill looking out on its potential prey or a dog asleep in a ray of sun. An extra room to hide away. Some place that hasn't been ravaged by so many temporary-marriage-saving kitchen remodels.
Do such places exist? Sure, maybe. But who am I to even pretend at this point that finding even a temporary safe harbor there solves any problems of the world, much less my own.
Still, we're all voyeurs now, and it's fun to watch. Maybe it's all we've got.
The only "bad" thing about Solvang is they've leaned into the whole Sideways mystique now for a decade-and-a-half plus. Like, did NOBODY WATCH THAT MOVIE(???)
A pair of spoiled white guys, one a sex addict, the other an alcoholic with suicidal ideation, go traipsing through a pristine valley for a weekend in an attempt to ruin the lives of all who come into their crosshairs.
It reeks of privilege, but that's the point, no? And it bottomed out the merlot market. Oh well.
…So this house is in the heart of that country. Coastal fog and decent rainfall used to turn the brown-wheat-hued hills green for months at a time. Now you're lucky if it turns at all. But there's a quiet sensibility to these communities, which are still mostly ag-based. And the blood wave of bro remote workers and their charges seems to have missed this spot this time around.
So go on, buy your little (on sale!) acre slice of paradise in the form of a 1949 converted farmhouse. Soak in the hot tub. Lie out by the pool. Eat every meal outside. Enforce your mask mandate, or don't. Either way—you're good. In this home, you'll never have to go out and face the public again.