All right, I kind of hate recapping. Don’t you? It’s fine and dandy to blog about the day, what just happened, or what you think might happen tomorrow, but filling in the blanks (Saturday we did ex, and then Sunday we did why, Monday was zee) is plain ole boring.
So I’ll be quick. The Indigo Girls rocked the house, in a big way. Amy’s voice has always been strong, but raw. That was part of her allure. But her voice is insanely great now, and their harmonies are something else. Oh, I get so happy listening to them, especially outside, on the water, under swaying palm trees and a shooting star or two.
I’ve never lived in San Diego, but sometimes I feel as if I have. I was sitting with my friend T and her wife, and in the row directly behind us were L and her wife. I read in T and L’s wedding seven years ago. I’ll give you a second to work that out. Okay. Uh-huh. And now, everyone is either friends or at least cordial (I made the whole trip with an ex of mine), so it was the typical everyone knows/has dated everyone else kind of night in southern California (and I live in the north).
It was a relaxing weekend. T and E live in my dream home. Really. I wonder sometimes if E doesn’t mind my co-opting her house so much. It’s what I’ve used for my main character’s home in my novel, and I can nap on her couch in the front window and dream my character’s dreams. It’s nestled in Hillcrest, an old craftsman, and it’s painted the best shade of orange. They’re involved right now in redoing the guest bathroom – placing the tub up in an arched window and laying tiles in art deco patterns on the floors and walls. There are little nooks all over the house, clean and organized and lovely. I wander around when I’m there, just dreaming. Kind of annoying, I’m sure.
We napped a lot. We ate a lot (oh, San Diegan Mexican food). Then we boarded a plane (hopped an earlier flight – it was the first time I’ve ever walked into an airport and right onto a departing airplane), and I sat next to a young guy whose fear rolled off his body in palpable waves. He held a tiny prayer card in his hand, crossed himself repeatedly, and whispered the prayer for the first twenty minutes of the flight. I relaxed. He was doing all the work for me.
I’m usually really good about keeping myself to myself on flights—I hate that whole polite chitchat thing—but at one of his more elongated gasps, I had to ask, “So are you a little nervous?” We had a lovely talk. He’s 23, in total complete love with his girlfriend of four years (he wrote her a love letter in between prayers), is buying a house (good for you, kid), and was all smiles once we started talking. We talked all the way down, and he barely noticed the landing. I actually really hate to fly, and it’s only alleviated by someone being MORE scared than I am. If I have to (or choose to) calm someone else, I’m fine. I remember all the statistics (you’re more likely to die by being kicked to death by a donkey than in an airplane crash) and I don’t mind the bumps.
But I’m glad to be home. Bethany’s on the couch watching really crap TV (From Justin to Kelly or something just as awful) and I’m doing laundry. Back to work tonight. I love having a job that pays the bills and allows me to write, but that I don’t have to take home or prepare for. I just show up. Man, I never even give work a second thought when I’m not there. I just realized how lucky I am to have that….
Back to knitting Cromarty. I’m a happy gal.
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