Echoes

Los Angeles, California

We left Carmel yesterday, after a few days of intermittent packing (to avoid that last day marathon thing). We always try to visit some favorite restaurants in the last week, and to have drinks at favorite watering holes. We did a bang-up job of this including a dinner at a local fave Mundaka, an operation manned by our favorite local proprietor, Gabe Georis. For years we rented a house across the street from Gabe's parents -- this during the time that Gabe and his brother were growing up. The house looked a lot like the restaurant Casanova, which the family owns.

Driving away from our home-away-from-home is hard, but, after five and a-half weeks it was time to return to LA. Not that there was much I was missing there besides my mom, my friends, and my salsa community. Didn't miss my house, much. Didn't miss my community where everyone is pretty cranky and aggressive. Didn't miss Ventura Boulevard which is ugly and congested.The Valley was never like that, but it has changed a lot.

We will return to Carmel in less than eleven months, and have some other travel plans loosely coming together for the coming seasons. In the meantime, I will spend forty days observing Lent commencing shortly. There will be a full baseball season, one in which I hope the Dodgers do better than last year (they should, with that payroll). We will do some work and some updating on our home. Some gardening. And we'll enjoy our pool during the summer months. All good things, though you never know what is around the corner.

Meanwhile, life for the people here in Carmel will go on, but Carmel will cease to exist for us, much like the village of Brigadoon. Except in this case, our village comes to life once a year, thankfully, rather than once each century. On Sundays, parishioners will attend Mass at the Mission, and men, mostly, will play golf at Pebble Beach. The Bench will fill up on both sunny and not-so-sunny days, and people will drink wine and Bloody Marys by the fire pits. The bagpiper will play down the sun each night at the Inn at Spanish Bay. Happy hours will continue at The Rio Grill, and a ton of artichokes will be fire-roasted and sent out from the kitchen. Tourists will walk around the Plaza, and up and down Ocean Avenue, over sidewalks raised and cracked by tree roots, past the shops with the water bowls set outside for dogs. Surfers will surf at Carmel Beach then change out of their wetsuits behind the screen of their open car (or truck) doors. Sunsets will come and go, some brilliant, some not so.

The house that we rent will hold other occupants. Christine will come to oversee any necessary repairs and do the weekly cleaning. We will be a memory, just part of the cycle of each year. The owners will come in and out between other renters. Will any of these people hear our echoes? We spent New Year's Eve here with Todd and Christopher, and Christopher's parents, Marge and Jerry. Will they hear the echoes of that evening, or of the afternoon when Carole and Todd came by to pick up something that Christopher needed for Christmas dinner, and we cracked open the BIG bottle of Christmas Anchor Steam ale? Will they hear Lydia, Debra, and I who, while sitting in our accustomed spots on the sofas by the fireplace talking and laughing, complained just the tiniest bit about our respective husbands' foibles? Will they hear the residual echoes of my iPod playing samba and Bach and American songbook standards and some contemporary hits, always, always mixed with as much salsa and now bachata as I can sneak in? We leave our echoes behind, but they ride down Highway 101 with us as well. Back to Los Angeles, where the memories of the weeks we spent in our favorite place will be warmly recalled throughout the year; right up until we drive back into town next December. We'll drive down Ocean Avenue, just after midnight, where the Christmas tree will be blazing, and we will joyfully know that we have weeks ahead of us to spend with each other and with special friends in this magical place that we love. Le sigh. And, thank you for reading my blog.