If the phone doesn't ring, it's me

(Sorry for the lack of photos - can't get my card reader working...Grrr)

It’s 9:30 a.m. and roughly 70 degrees with no breeze. Life is good. I’m out here on the second terrace – yes, the home where I’m staying has terraces. Wow. The second terrace is a place of red, green and blue adirondack chairs, shy and fragile monarch butterflies, and Lucy the cat. I can hear a number of birds at any one time. These birds are the smart ones – the ones who live year around in this temperate coastal land. They sing and fly and swoop and glide, gracing the palm tree laden landscape.

Just a hint of autumn colors dot the deciduous trees below in the view that extends all the way to my beloved Pacific Ocean. I’m home. True, it may not be where I grew up, but something about simply being on the West Coast fills my bones with peace and contentment. A steady joy encounters my sagging soul and, if only for a few days, all is well. Here, I can relax, dream, and breathe deeply.

In my two calls home already, I’ve discovered all is not well. Hints of underlying resentment from my husband who couldn’t make the trip dot his words or lack thereof. News of TT refusing to do his homework and of panicked colleagues who couldn’t reach me while I was in flight come to me like crashing waves attempting to be a respite-drenching tsunami. I’m tempted to stop checking in.

Last night at LAX, two security guards gleefully chuckled as I spoke with my frustrated husband who had one ear on his cell phone with me and one ear on another call with someone who was desperately trying to reach me to tell me something that really was not desperate in the least. One of the guards accompanied me down to a shuttle bus for the regional terminal and was grinning ear to ear. He shook his head and said jokingly, “If I were you, I’d turn that phone off and stop calling home.” Thank you, God, for the wisdom from the airport security guard.

As I sit on the terrace taking in the familiar breathtaking views, the stresses of the already cold and winter-like Midwest, of awaited calls, of defiant children, and of frustrated husbands seem so very far away. It’s another world. Today’s oasis offers calm glimpses into the roots deep inside me – reminding me of my need for mighty waters, nature, and warm sunshine. It beckons me to write, ponder, and conclude without interruption. Bliss.