03.19.15  Here we are, safely back home.   We’ve been in the California sunshine for nearly a week where it is blooming with color.  The lavender wisteria drapes over pergolas, orange poppies fill front lawns, pink magnolias linger overhead, and jasmine fills the air with its sweet scent.  The grandkids and I would take long sniffs out the window of Norah’s bedroom each night before going to sleep.  We flew home in the wee hours of the morning to a cold steady rain, and the view from our dock looked like this most of the day yesterday.

I love coming home to rain.  I need to be inside when I return, to take my time unpacking, start the laundry, move through the mail, check the email and phone messages.  I like hot soup by the fire and an early bedtime.  I’m relieved to be sequestered in my safe zone after venturing away from home, no matter what adventure or misadventure I’ve returned from.  It was in the rainy months of Spring I traveled to Denver for chemotherapy.  As we drove up the road to make the long journey each time, the rain on the windshield and tears on my checks flowed together and filled the car with profound sadness and dread.  Days later, we frantically rushed me home to bed.  I spent that cold raw Spring watching the rain fall from the roof out my bedroom window.

The Spring Equinox is tomorrow and our weather forecast changes between rain one day, sun the next, rain again…on and on, as it does here In March and April, May and June.  We’ve decided to skip the schizophrenia of it all for a bit and spend a month in Santa Fe, a place in our history we both love.  It means I have to leave home.  But, to quote Joanne Harris in “Chocolat”:

“March, with February blowing out of the back door and spring waiting at the front…a good month for change.”


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