When planning where to go after the wedding, I let Richard know that he was not to tell anyone where we were going. I wasn't too worried that someone might try to follow us or track us down, but several people invited were people to whom I and others had done things to (short-sheeting the bed, for example) and I wasn't willing to take any chances. So when asked, Richard told people we were going to Fresno. Yes, lovely scenic Fresno, whose only claim to fame seems to be the existence of a raisin museum.
We didn't go to Fresno. We went to Napa instead because who, after all, really wants to go to Fresno for their honeymoon.
Silly me. To think what we missed by not going to Fresno after all! Imagine my chagrin when I opened the newspaper this afternoon to see the headlines "Raisin Growers Launch Revolt!", followed closely by the starting words "A group of rebellious raisin growers..."
Revolt? Rebellion? Strife amongst those who provide America with cute little boxes of shriveled up grapes? Seems there's more brewing in Fresno than we'd thought!
My mind was instantly filled with images. I pictured those life-size raisins that used to show up in California Raisin commercials, boogieing along to 'Heard it Through the Grapevine', attired this time not with sunglasses and microphones, but with camoflauge pants and shoulder straps of machine gun ammunition that wouldn't be bullets, but instead, strings of prunes. 'Heard it Through the Grapevine' would be playing in the background still, but deeper, and somehow more ominous. In the distance, the sound of gunfire would be heard, and occasionally the squelching bellow as some poor post-grape gave up its life, all in the name of freedom. To think, we chose Napa over this - this hot bed of brewing, seething rebellion! The mind simply reels.
Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately), realism won out. No giant person-sized dried fruits were creeping around on cartoon-shoed tip-toe, rat-a-tat-tatting their dried fruit cannons. The revolt in question has to do with price wars and, while highly critical to the raisin farmers (although technically they'd be grape farmers because raisins don't really *grow*, they *shrink* when exposed to heat, but where was I?), nowhere near as colorful and exciting as I was happily imagining.
"Raisin Revolt..." the back page continued. "Tease!" I muttered back at it. Ah well.