In the deserts of Africa, little vegetation grows. A harsh climate of arid conditions and sweltering temperatures makes survival nearly impossible for anything other than some scraggly shrubbery.

We want it all. We want it now. We have never been good at waiting. We like things quickly, and we realize that we are textbook examples of the American ideal of instant gratification and fast food satisfaction.  The glorious finale appeals to us so much more than the tedious process.  And yet the process cannot be eliminated, and growth takes time.  We’ve learned the hard way.

Bobblehead Night makes for one of the best nights on any sports team’s calendar. Is there anything cooler than receiving a doll whose over-sized and ever-smiling head bounces endlessly? We look at any bobblehead, laugh, and then in relief think, “Gosh, I’m glad my head isn’t that big. I couldn’t get out of bed in the morning, poke my head in the fridge, or find clothes with a suitable neckline.”

In the movie, “Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory” (the old one with the terrible special effects and a tragic absence of Johnny Depp), the lucky children who tour Willy Wonka’s candy factory visit various departments of the production facility. Confections abound, including, but certainly not limited to, gummy bears larger than bowling balls.

In this life, we save for a later date. We put the products of our time and our labor in some box for safekeeping. We call those boxes 401(k)s, pensions or Social Security. We put away the fruits of our efforts for a day when we’ll need them. They are our fortune, waiting for our arrival at that future date.

I stepped off the plane a few hours ago, arriving in the strangely sub-arctic temperatures of Baltimore after departing from a balmy Los Angeles afternoon. Subconsciously I willed the plane to pivot 180 degrees and return to the Pacific Coast: to the beaches, ocean breezes, air that smelled of flowers, and trees teeming with ripe avocados and robust oranges.

Some people remain in an esoteric world that has little take-away value. A few people I know have a gift of making the apparently complex understandable and livable. Jeremy being one of these, I called him.

You can’t make yourself grow. You cannot tell muscle, sinew and bone to expand. This power does not belong to you.

On either end of my block stand two church buildings, two small but elegant cathedrals. They have stood here for a long time, but now remain unvisited and empty.