It Never Snows in LA: A day on the Santa Monica Pier in the dead of Winter

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Los Angeles is not for the those of you who crave variety in your weather patterns.  We tend to hold steady at about seventy and sunny in these parts, even in the deep dark days of winter.  Counter intuitively, the coolest season always seems to be early summer.  Just when you’re mentally gearing up to hit the beach, the temp will drop into the brisk upper sixties, practically bone chilling for us natives.  

 

It’s true people!  I lived in the San Francisco Bay area for three excruciatingly cold years.  I finally had to move back down to Los Angeles because I could not for the life of me figure out how to dress for the weather.  I kept hearing about “layering”  but to me that had everything to do with Jennifer Anniston’s hair (it being the 90’s and all) and I never succeeded in transitioning my complete understanding of her face framing fringe to a versatile and insulating wardrobe.

 

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That brings me to Santa Monica a few sunny weeks ago when Renee and I decided to bring my little guy out for some home town touristing.

 

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I am a sucker for the aesthetics of carnivals.  The sounds of the sea mixed with the occasional roar of the coaster zipping by overhead meshes with the toxically bright colored toys at the money sucking game stands.  Fried food smells waft by, mixing not unpleasantly with the faintly rotten smelling wood of the creaking pier beams beneath your feet.

 

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After working off our delicious corn dogs by watching some youngsters play aggressive beach volleyball (nearly broke a sweat whipping my head back and forth to follow the ball) we ambled up to the aquarium.

 

 

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By some miracle of early motherhood my great pal Lauren and her beautiful little girl were able to meet us at the Carousel.  The napping stars aligned for one brief moment and we found ourselves in the same fun place at the same time with two conscious and happy babies.  A rare feat to say the least.

 

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We celebrated our good luck with ice cream before everyone slipped into sugar induced reveries. 

 

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With the sound of plastic rings clinking off glass bottles fading away behind us, we parted ways at the end of the pier.  Each of us headed off to a different part of this concrete sprawl of a city.  Salty sea smelling kiddos with sticky fingers crashed out in their car seats, glad for the long drive home. 

 

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