you just can't take me anywhere

My mother used to say that. "I just can't take you kids anywhere." I realized two things yesterday. One, I really have never grown up, and two, she was right.

My sophisticated neighbor Denise took me to lunch at the Four Seasons for my birthday. I arrived before her and I was awestruck with the gardens. I couldn't help myself. I crawled around in the flower beds snapping photos with my iPhone. The gardeners looked on, dumbstruck that a guest would do such a thing. It didn't deter me. I've been called a señora blanca loca before.

We sat on the terrace overlooking the golf course and the bay. I sipped my diet coke in the shade of the yellow and white striped umbrella and hummed a little to myself. Denise was pleased that she could please me.

"Aren't we so lucky?" I asked with eyes closed to the sunshine.

"You mean to be eating lunch here?" Denise responded.

"To live here. To live in this amazing place? I mean look around you. This is paradise."

Denise looked around as if to consider the idea. Obviously she has spent more time in paradise than I have. She is accustomed to the good life.

On the other hand, paradise isn't just sprawling gardens and fancy silverware. It's having a soft place to fall. It's friends that laugh at your jokes. It's pink baby cheeks and family cuddles on a Sunday morning.

I don't think I'll ever get over that fact that I live at the beach. Every time I turn onto the coast highway I loose my breath. I think I will forever be crawling through gardens and yelling for people to come see the starfish in the tide pools. Hopefully, my paradise will always include people, like Denise and my friends and family, who humor me in my childish behavior.

coulda, shoulda, didn't

Tamarack Mosaic
Originally uploaded by secondsister

I really should have stayed home and cranked out some jewelry orders today. I could have planted more hollyhocks behind the rose and cut back the ground cover. I really should have gotten some wash done. But I didn't. What the hell.

Ode to Laundry

Oh laundry, how I hate you.

I hate your stale smell.

I hate the way you crawl, seething up the wall.

I hate the way you lurk in dark corners and behind doors, waiting always waiting.

I hate the way the very sight of you makes me feel.

You take away my peace.

You rob me of my contentment.

Someday, I will conquer. I will tame you like the wild beast that you are.

Someday.