One of the local blogs I read is produced by a woman who calls herself the Goddess of Pomona.
She’s not especially political, but her Pomona-centric posts are easy reading and illuminating. Her themes include Lincoln Park loiterers, gardening, children’s programs at the library, her husband’s fight against mice in their house, the La Brea Bakery bread situation at Stater Bros. and her young son, whom she calls Mr. Big. She sometimes notices the same things around town that I notice, and sometimes notices things that pass me by.
We’ve exchanged a few friendly notes but haven’t met, and I don’t know anything about her other than her writing.
Toward the end of Monday’s Pomona council meeting, the man next to me got my attention on behalf of the woman seated at the far end of the row. She met my gaze and swept her arm regally before her. I looked blankly. She swept her arm again. Suddenly things were clear.
It was the Goddess!
She was in jeans, not a toga, and she carried a purse and a bottle of water, not a basket of fruit. We chatted after the meeting. She wouldn’t give her name, even for conversation purposes, but that’s all right. I asked where Mr. Big was. Checking the clock, she said he was probably in bed.
Just think, a Goddess with a blog. If you live in Pomona, check it out sometime.