[Insert Politically Correct Winter Holiday Greeting Here.]

It’s eight thirty, Christmas Day here in sunny California, and the Santa Ana winds of change are blowing.

Hard.

Perhaps I haven’t been given a choice.
These winds are blowing me even further west than this cultural disaster of Santa Clarita, and, by this time next year, I’ll hopefully be feeling the sand under my always-bare feet in the lovely land of Santa Barbara.

That is, if my father moves out of his truck and actually gets a place.

Until then, you can track my progress in this wonderfully convenient blog.

I hope you do, because this is my life as a lump of clay, shaped and formed by God and the wind and whatever else comes along.

Please, sit, make yourself at home, and come back any time you please.

=]