"In utter loneliness a writer tries to explain the inexplicable." -Steinbeck
I have to confess. I'm writing this second post from bed, and it's pretty fantastic. I'm also eating a mixture of healthy, restorative snacks (of the peanut butter and produce variety) along with some straight up cheetos. And that's how I plan on making my recovery from our trip. Just so you know.
We got home from California two nights ago, arrived on a morning after a nicely brutal red-eye and then some, and have been treading the line of relaxation and insanity ever since. The beauty of working retail allows us to let work trickle back into our lives gently (given the boundaries we've worked hard to establish). Despite all the moaning I've done to John about working the few hours I have this week, we're pretty lucky in those respects.
I also meant to include a precursor as to my brief absence after getting this thing up and running. We went to LA for a week. Now that we've cleared those things up, let's get back to it, shall we?
I want to say as we begin that I promise not to photo dump on you as intensely as I am about to here. I can promise you jet-setting off to pretty lands isn't and likely won't be my weekly ritual. Also, that means you need to prepare yourself for some mundane stuff after this. I know, it's rough. But I'm trying to be real, remember? (Gosh, how many precursors was that really??)
I'm not exactly sure how to smatter these photos onto you, and I think it's because I'm still not exactly sure what they mean to me. This trip was big for us, but the words are still coming to me. I'm not sure what I expected to feel or to smell or to taste in LA, or in California in general, but I think whatever my expectations, my experiences were completely different. It may have slightly had to do with our less than elegant immersion into the pacific time zone, but each day I seemed to wind up in the middle of a bustling, colorful (in every sense), confident crowd. I watched the crowd in slow motion, rotating and expanding and rising and falling around me. My body felt the depth of exhaustion at the end of each day, reflecting on that crowd. Involuntarily I think I was trying to try that crowd on, and whether it didn't fit quite right or I just felt so much pressure to make it fit, I found myself lost.
Here is what I know. The day we drove up the Pacific Coast Highway was something we'll remember forever. That night we slept all four of us unbearably on an air mattress made for two, next to a Redwood in a campsite a couple of miles from the Big Sur cliffs, who once hosted a number of poets, writers and old souls. I think I smiled through the entire night. The central coast delivered the best sourdough I've ever had, a damn good latte, ridiculous breakfast views (I'm never going to stop dreaming of that morning) and a great wealth of memories (slap-happy card games and hippy park rangers). We felt independent and a little bit brave, and that really felt good. We paid a man (a friend of our friends, we aren't that daring) 40 bucks to tattoo trees on our arms a couple of hours before we got on our flight home. And we got to spend six full days catching up with and learning from friends we had not enjoyed at great length for several years.
I'm bothered by my lack of words for what we experienced, and I'm tempted to apologize about it. But I think my urge to apologize illogically for myself may be an essential issue in the first place. I'm sorting through it. Until I have an answer for you, enjoy these photos. They range from hilarious to I don't deserve the credit for the beauty seen here. Thanks for reading my second post. I hope to have a solid thought for you next time.