This long absence was due to a fall, a broken wrist (in three places), and surgery. But I must say that the best part of the past several weeks was the weekend that I traveled to San Diego to see my niece, Megan, my cousin, Janet and my dear friend Evalyn. It so lovely seeing three strong, courageous women whom I admire and love, and to immerse myself in the familiar sights, smells, sounds and tastes of America's Finest City. I feasted on authentic Mexican cuisine, dipped my toes into the Pacific and strolled the trails of Sunset Cliffs Park admiring a sky so blue that I forgot the hue existed. I drove the 8, the 5, the 163, and the 15, understanding as only a Southern Californian can why we insist on placing an article before each freeway moniker. Megan and I pampered ourselves, drank skinny Margaritas and watched the sunset in La Jolla, and she patiently listened to me prattle on about my memories of growing up in this garden of Eden. We deciphered the directions of a "easy to assemble" desk and inhaled thick, sweet guacamole made from Fallbrook avocados, grown plump and silky on gnarled trees.
In Rancho Penasquitos I brunched with my cousin at a restaurant that served killer bloody Marys, and together we eked out every bit of coffee that we could from our harried server. We knew we were sending him into obvious frustration because we refused to eat and run, but could manage only weak apologies as we ordered up our desserts. Afterward, I met up with Evalyn, who reminded me why I loved living there so many years ago - reminded me, too, how we always felt like sisters and still do. I fell in love with a boxer mix named Sasha, and dreamed of returning home each day to a small apartment that smelled of kelp and sunshine and fresh air. The clock ticked, and time was up. And forgetting my vow to return with seashells, I flew home to cold, reluctant, incomprehensible Indiana, and made Rob promise that I would not live here for the rest of my life.
