It was the beach again, with salty air breezes fluffing our psyches. And yet it didn't have the same ahhhhh as my few times breathing in the southern California ocean air. What is this visceral pull of memories and history?
Whatever it is, it's strong. When I lived in L.A. I couldn't get out of there fast enough. Now I cruise through town on a visit, seeing beloveds, smelling the salt air only briefly and I'm singing like a lark. Go figure!
The trip was a joy, an utter joy. One of my DEAREST friends flew down from SEATTLE! and we went to a taping of the Craig Ferguson show in Hollywood. I adore that mad Scot and we both had a ball. I reunited with other friends whom I had not seen in 25 years. I met up with the parents of a high school chum - and had not seen them in over 30 years. The life-and-death wake-up call with my entire being, not just my bone marrow and cancer and all that terrifying stuff but ALL of me.... well, I guess it lets me reach out more and be a bit more engaging. Do ya think? I think.
I visited the graves of my little brother David Jeremiah, who died in 1967, and my father David, who died in 1988. I brought sunflowers since they seem to reach to the sky. I paced, I cried, I talked to them and they seemed to talk back to me. It's my imagination and I'm thankful for it as I am thankful for them.
I'm back in northern Marin County, working at home, looking out my window to Mt. Burdell, watching the birds storm any of my three feeders. Glowering at the squirrels. Egging myself on to jog or Rebound since, I am loathe to admit, I can be a bit lazy. This trip was an absolute gift from God. I pray that as the giddy bubbles calm to whatever resembles normalcy, I continue to thank my Lord.