What a Year, in Desert Time

I moved to the desert a year ago and now I’m preparing to move back to the ocean breezes of San Diego.  The first draft of my new book will be complete before the moving van arrives.  (L & D Van Lines.)  I’ve cried a lot, laughed a lot, written a lot and learned a lot.  I barely have any bio-family left in my life, except for my brother and his family — oh do they bring wonderment and stability to my life, in a way they probably don’t understand.  I briefly gained and then quickly lost a connection with my sister.  And I lost my mother.  She didn’t die, she just tore up her mother card and the pieces landed at my feet.  I reconnected with JF, long lost friend from my 70s LA days, and had the honor of meeting her daughter.  I witnessed from a distance P fall in love with and be loved back by P — and shared in the birth of her first grandchild.  And, I celebrated and toasted, along with sister friend-comrade Margaret and the whole gang, the engagement of her only daughter.  Most importantly, I got to know LHT again, got to know him differently and fuller, even after all these years.  Now we are engaged. 

Onward and upward, I say, as I tap and leap down a new path on life’s curvy trail.  I got love, I got music, and I can still dance. 

2 Responses to “What a Year, in Desert Time”

  1. Luke Says:

    Thank you for a wonderful message from the desert. I’ve talked to many of the people from the ocean breeze department and they are delighted. Also I have used the L & D Van lines before and I think you will find them reliable and affordable. Great news about the delivery of first draft, how do you find the time? You do have love and hope and a partner who is inspired by your heart.
    Onward and upward, I say!

  2. P Says:

    I’m so glad I had reason to open your blog today. I seem to dive in about once a month, and here I am again, right on time. Your writing in this space inspires me to no end and makes me wish for a site of my own to do just the same thing, although I remain apolitic, which is the realm of poets. My work is of the spirit. One must have a defined ego to be political. My ego is an amoeba.

    As one half of P & P, I’m sorry to say things aren’t going so well, and all because of politics. The other P has become involved with our local Democrats, and his attention to it is driving me insane. We’re on a quest for counseling (hey, if it works for the Sex in the City gals, it might work for us. I think P’s time would be better spent gardening. How on earth does one learn to be half of a whole when for fifty-one years one has been only a half? What does love have to do with anything?

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