Monday, May 25, 2015
Last Monday morning, early, I boarded an airplane to Los Angeles. I began reading as soon as I got settled in my seat. The next thing I knew, we had landed, and my book was precariously wedged between my legs. It was a muggy, gray morning in LA, and I took some comfort in that, because I was going to be indoors the entirety of my visit. After spending an hour driving twelve miles, I arrived at Pink Lotus, the practice of an old friend, to do some research for my book. By the end of the day, when I began the drive back to the airport, the skies had cleared, and as I stood waiting for the shuttle between the rental car facility and the airport, I closed my eyes and lifted my face to the warmth of the setting sun. After spending the day with a surgeon-triathlete-mother of triplet six-year-old boys, I needed another nap on the way home.
Speaking of humidity, I felt a trace of it all weekend, here, with a promising touch of warmth. And last night, there was this sunset that came out of nowhere, after we had gone to the beach and come home under heavy gray skies. The boys went upstairs to brush their teeth, and as I took Nelly on one last, short walk, fiery light filtered through the trees and onto the street and illuminated the water beside the road.
Tradition, from Fiddler on the Roof, and had been rehearsing, garage-band style, for weeks before the boy’s mom found out their plans. I love those guys.
As I type this, I’ve got a crisp in the oven partially made with the first tender stalks of rhubarb from our yard. I can’t ever grow enough to keep up with our demand, but still. It’s something.