California Dreaming

It’s 8 degrees today, and I’m not going to complain about the cold. Take my word for it, it is.

Today I’m going to dream about California.

I’m going to dream about the wonderful food. All of the unique dishes and the fresh fruits and vegetables. I’m going to remember the velvety smoothness of the wines, with their hint of blackberry, raspberry, earth and tannin. I’m going to recall the “kid in a candy store” feeling of being overwhelmed by so many lovely choices.

I’m going to dream about long walks on the beach. I never care if it’s foggy or raining. I encourage the wind to greet me with its salty blast. I’m going to imagine the shells and sand dollars I’ll find to join the ones I have on my kitchen counter.

I’m going to dream about leaving the window open when I go to sleep at night. It will be many, many nights before I’ll feel comfortable enough to open the window here. Sure, I’ll hear the garbage collector when he comes by at 4 a.m., but I’ll also be able to feel mist.

I’m going to dream about the mariner-style houses, and the Spanish influenced architecture, the neat and tidy little yards, the unusual trees trimmed like popcorn balls. I’m going to think about the fact that there’s no grass, instead, there are stands of bamboo, enormous jade plants, rosemary and calla lilies.

I’m going to remember the majesty of the Golden Gate Bridge. I’m going to think about the stands of eucalyptus trees, and the giant redwoods at Muir Woods. I love the rolling brown hills that remind me of the commercials on “happy cows” and the cliffs along Highway 1.

Next week, I’m going to go there. It won’t be a dream then.

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8 Responses

  1. Yes.

    I’m going to comment on something other than this post. It is something that I was reminded of on arriving at your page. Last night, I had this conversation with my youngest.

    “Dad, have you heard of that Beethoven dude?”
    “Yes.”
    “I’ve got to meet him.”
    “Umm. He’s been dead for a while.”
    “Oh. You mean like the guy who wrote Moby Dick?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Bummer. Lots of cool people are dead.”

  2. That’s so true.

    If I could shake Chopin’s hand, I’d be in heaven. Of course, if I could shake Chopin’s hand, I’d probably be dead with him.

  3. You are coming to California? You chose a week when I won’t be in California? What’s up with that?

  4. I sort of mentioned it to you a month ago. But you were busy. Then I was busy.

  5. Can I come? I’ve never been there. Wait, that’s not true. I was in the San Francisco airport once for a couple of hours.

  6. That’s such a beautiful part of the country. Gaze at the Painted Ladies for me.

  7. I take mental vacations to Florida, in between my real trips. I’ve been home a month, and I’m starting to feel that gypsy urge again.

  8. Maybe we gypsies should go on a road trip.

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