One Hundred Hours of Solitude

Carmel-by-the-Sea, California

Billy caught a plane at Monterey Airport this morning, and returned home to Los Angeles for ten days. I am probably not the only person in the universe who feels that every time someone I love boards a plane, I may never see them again. I particularly don't like saying goodbye at an airport on September 11th. And I am certain that on that front I am not the only one who feels so.

Eleven years ago, I was getting ready to go to a pilates session when I switched on the radio in our master bathroom. It was tuned to 89.3 KPCC, one of our local NPR stations which is based at Pasadena City College. Like everyone else who turned on the TV or radio that morning, I knew almost instantly that something wasn't right. I called out to Billy who was in the kitchen, inquiring whether he was watching the TV in the kitchen. He was not. Turn it on, I called out. Something's going on.

Within minutes we each knew something had happened in NYC. And within the next few minutes I emailed my friend, Max, who had begun a new job uptown in Manhattan just the day before. Max, Check in, was what I wrote. How many people emailed, texted, and left voice mails like that on that day? Max emailed me back that he was safe. Then, I sent similar emails to all of our friends who travel for business. Where were they? Were they safe? They all were.

I never did pilates that day, though I did drive there. In most crises in my life I have initially operated under the delusion that if I act like everything is ok, everything will be ok. Though this has never proved true, I still seem to fall under the spell of that failed magic -- that staying on track will turn back the hands of time and reverse the damage. I have a strong belief that this will work. This never works.

I was probably acting under a similar impulse after I left Monterey airport today. I went about normal business for the next two hours until I got Billy's call that he had landed safely: I drove back to Carmel, stopping at Bruno's for a Monterey Herald; I returned to our home-for-the-month, and made myself my second mug of Scottish Breakfast tea; I read the paper. Then I walked into town and went to Carmel Belle for breakfast. Erin, who works there, greeted me and I told her that Billy had just left. We'll take care of you, she said, and I believed her. Billy called. I celebrated his safety with one more cup of tea, a poached egg, and two huge slices of toast with butter and a lot of very good blackberry preserves. I ate it all. I deserved it.

I have about one hundred hours of solitude ahead of me until my two fristers, Lydia and Debra (known here as LOL and DG - see blogpost Sisterhood of the Traveling Scarves, available here and now!) arrive on Friday. Being on my own is a mixed blessing -- the most challenging part being that you have to be open to what it feels like. At times it feels lonely; at other times I feel absorbingly self-centric in my own little Carmel universe -- like when I indulged in the toast this morning. Days are productive and fun. Nights are, well, dark. The house creaks, then is deafeningly silent. I still sleep only on my own side of the bed. When I wake up in the morning, I just have to make the bed on my side. It's weird and a bit ghostly.

But this time alone allows me the luxury of undisturbed reflection; time to ponder some personal issues. It provides the focus that I usually lack in my hurried life in Los Angeles. As my pace slows, my mind clears. Then time moves much the way it is supposed to, and so does life; neither getting away from me as they often do when I am at home. Here, I shop daily for the ingredients that will comprise my dinner. I walk to the beach and into town, and I write a lot: in my journal; emails to my fristers and Max; here on my blog. I breathe. Tomorrow, I will begin to make plans for the upcoming weekend with Las Chicas. But before their arrival on Friday -- one hundred hours of solitude, mas o menos, commencing on this day of remembrance for us all. Thank you for reading my blog. Pray, love, remember . . . Shakespeare.

Three Thousand Hits

Carmel-by-the-Sea, California

Here we are, back in Carmel. While September is not a usual time for us to go to Carmel, at least not in a decade or so, the past few years have been so different and complicated in so many ways, that we find ourselves not traveling afar as we have in the past. So this year, we are once again spending extended time in one of our favorite places. And that's ok. While we listen with some envy to stories about our friends' travels; while I eye the Silversea and Radisson cruise line brochures that come to our home with a small sense of yearning; while I long, long to feel the way I do while we have spent time at The Kona Village; it's just not our time to do that. It's our time to stay fairly close to our Los Angeles home, close to my mom, close to our business. And so here we are.

It does feel like home to me, even though we're not in the same house we rented for so many years. It's our second stay here at this house, and it is a really nice one. I've gotten used to being on the opposite side of town from where we have always rented; I've gotten used to the odd fact that this house doesn't seem to have a name (no street addresses or mail delivery in town so all houses are named, or so I thought); I've gotten used to the push-button fireplace which altered my opinion that those things are cheezy. It looks very much like a real fire-in-the-fireplace. And if we need what Billy calls a true Carmel smell, there is a wood-burning fireplace in the living room.

This house has an outside patio with a table surrounded by flowers and trees. It has a barbecue. But the weather has been foggy and cool since we got here on Sept 1st. I remarked that Carmel doesn't know it's September yet, as the foggy days of summer seem to have lingered on. But the house is warm and cozy, and the town is Carmel. And so we begin our process of winding down and getting recharged up for the rest of the year.

Lest I lose you all (all one or two of you reading this), I should try to refrain from listing the reasons why the past couple of years have been hard. Last year, at this time, we were rehabbing our rental property after it was trashed by a tenant. Billy was doing all the grunt work and heavy lifting, as he has done two other times in the past three years during which time we have twice moved my mom. Then there was that pesky economic thing which reigned terror on all small business owners, which is what we are. But life is more stable now. It's just that we're both a little older and a little more spent.

I commented to many people, and probably wrote it in a previous post (available here in limited quantities), that I got through this past year with the help of salsa dance, an unseasonable taste for Guinness beer, and baseball. That's Dodgers baseball. The Dodgers helped me along by coming out strong at the beginning of the season, after the heinous McCourts sold them to a consortium which included Magic Johnson. Our boys in blue played with verve and joy through April and May. Then there were injuries. They dropped a lead which I will recall (without checking) was about nine games. They were barely at the top of their division going into the All-Star break. After much back and forth, they had regained that slim lead, and then. And then. The Giants smoked us through a three-game series last month. Now we are 4.5 games back of the Giants, and Billy and I are heading to San Francisco today to watch tomorrow's game at AT&T Park. Looking forward to it. Nervous. Excited. Go Dodgers (like win, before I have a heart attack)!

Meanwhile, my blog is nearing another pinnacle, and once again, it is occurring while I am in Carmel, where it began. I will pass 3000 hits this weekend, which should make me feel a little bit like a blogger all star. I just looked at the Dodgers' stats and, they have a combined 1167 hits this season as of Sept 4th. And I want to guess that I've seen about 1100 of them, either on television or at Dodger Stadium. Looking forward to a few more over the weekend, before we return to Carmel and I settle in to write a boatload (a McCovey Cove reference, get it?) of blog posts. In the meantime, in-between time, ain't we had fun? Ok, maybe fun is too strong a word. But I do thank you for joining me on my writing journey by reading my blog -- especially if you've looked at it more than once. I implore you to leave a message on any post that speaks to you. And I hope you will enjoy the next three thousand. I haven't said it all yet. You must trust me about this.

I do need to repeat the comment that I'm not sure if there are three thousand of you who have each read my blog once, or one of you who has hit on it three thousand times (you know who you are, LOL. For the rest of you: see post entitled The Monogram available here at newly reduced prices). Regardless, I thank you, one or all. And for the love of heaven, GO DODGERS!!!