A gorilla in the bed on a pick-up truck passed by my car last night. Now that’s something to write about, I thought to myself. That’s zany. But the zany idea loses its za as I sip a soy latte at the Barking Dog Roasters in Sonoma. I seem to have spent years rushing towards dreams that have spilt before I arrived to greet them. Everything seems like a good idea until it comes to the execution. What’s a gorilla doing in the bed of a truck? Maybe the truck was stolen from Jams, the neighborhood clown, and he will now be alone. Every night was the same: Jams shared a cup earl grey tea with Gorilla as he took off his clown face. They exchanged ideas about politics and recycling. Jams always said the same thing, “I am not sure about you, but I think it’s a good idea we become less oil dependent. I’m gonna go bio-diesel with our truck. What do you say?” And Jams looked at Gorilla sitting on the stool next to his dressing table and waited for an answer. Flustered by Gorilla’s lack of empathy, he stared at the untouched mug of earl grey tea and said, “You never finish your tea.” Every night was the same until last night. Maybe it was all Gorilla’s plan to escape the sad clown’s nightly ramblings and the tea he despised. After all, everyone knows gorillas don’t drink tea. Maybe Jams the Clown thought it was a good idea to have tea with Gorilla every night and talk about energy efficiency but it literally drove him away. I saw it last night.
But that’s not the point. Mustard is the point. It’s everywhere here in wine country and brings with it the promise of Spring. Its brilliant yellow color kisses the valley’s countless sleeping vines, tickling our senses and inspiring us all to wax our bikini lines and consider our Spring wardrobe. They call it crop cover. I call it sexy.
