It's been very interesting to me, who finds odd things interesting, to see where things are from. I'm so used to California having such a variety of things right on our doorstep, with the occasional winter tomatoes and grapes from Chile. But I've had oranges from Egypt. Pears from Holland. Grapes from Brazil. Bell peppers from Israel. And those salad greens from the farmers market last weekend? Quite possibly from the side of the road. Who puts horseradish leaves in salad greens?
And then there's the people. Today at the golf course was a group of eight men, and before they opened their mouths I was quite sure they were American. Was it their haircuts? Their clothing? Stan already knew who they were and they were, likely West Coast given that the sounded just like us. And then the group of three, not American by the clothes and the hair, and I made a guess of Scandinavian origin. Sure enough, when eavesdropping on them their conversation sounded quite like the Swedish Chef from The Muppets. Made me wonder, do I stick out like a sore thumb? I'm tall for this neck of the woods and I'm sure my jeans and white tennies (trainers) are a dead give away for being an American. And my skin makes it a sure bet I'm from California. The women here, no matter their age, have the loveliest skin on their faces and hands. Not sure I'd trade mine, I've earned every wrinkle, but I can certainly envy and admire theirs. It's just where we came from.