I left her at the foot of his bed. The little beeps and the machines and the tubes all doing what they could. I walked through the doors and out of the hospital. I walked to the cab and into the airport. I walked onto the plane and away from our life. It made me a scoundrel. Truly. But I did it anyway. Hospitals are jealous lovers. They take all the oxygen out of all the rooms.
There was a Porsche that lived in her father’s garage, underneath a tarp. It was red. I could tell because one section of the tarp, just above the left rear wheel, hadn’t been pulled down all the way. We walked by it every time we went over there for dinner. The air in the garage was heavy and close. Wood dust and oil.
One evening as we shuffled sort of sideways between the car and the garage wall I asked her, “Does he ever drive it?” and she said, “No.” I asked her, “Did he ever drive it?” and she said, “Yes.”
I didn’t ask her about it again.
Everyone is light and able to float in the beginning. It is the accumulated weight of each love which pulls our bodies down. Sometimes, early on, we unclasp one and we are suddenly buoyant. The change in pressure effects our heads.
An invitation to be in the moment
This morning we decided on a spontaneous trip to Baker Beach with our two-year-old son.
Our city by the bay is done with Summer. That summertime fog that we wake up to is no more.
Homeward bound after a month in the USA
One day-One Hour- One Minute- It will happen. It is inevitable. Except it already has.
Top 10 Things To Do In San Francisco
If you live in San Francisco, you know to avoid Eddy and Leavenworth Street... *stab*
Wrote this the day after the attacks in Paris but was reminded of it this morning when I read the news about the bombing in Turkey
In Search of Color