23 January, 2012

The Beach House

On the other side of this house is the Sonoma Coast. The current owner has a kayak to paddle around the Russian River which opens out into the Pacific ocean. The house is just a little more fancy than a cardboard box., but it has amazing views from the floor to ceiling windows. And it was bathed in sunshine the day I looked at it. Half a million dollars and it's yours, or mine, or whoever gets there first. Yes, I want to live at the ocean. Yes I want to take my grandkids and their peanut butter and jelly sandwiches down to the beach and build sand castles and make a little bonfire for toasting marshmallows and eating s'mores while Georgia, the dog, runs after the seagulls. I want set up my laptop and write amazing stories about growing up poor in Sibley county. And eating pastries from the local bakery. Crispies and peanut rolls, doughnuts that melt in your mouth, and my Grandma's caramel pecan rolls. She made them from the water left after she boiled the potatoes. Leave it to the Irish to use everything in the kitchen. No waste. I'm reluctant to take on the financial burden of something like this property, my heart is already there with the sand and sun, but my brain keeps shouting "do the math sister!" So no one way plane ticket for me yet. My kids are still unstable enough that I want to hang around a little closer, just in case they need something. I can always say no, but the truth is that I want to help them when I can. Its tough out there and it isn't getting any easier yet. Which brings me to the subject of "butt-dialing", you know what I mean: you shove your phone in your back pocket with out locking the number pad, slide into your car, you are behind the steering wheel, sort of sitting leaning on your phone and you accidentally dial whoever is up on your favorites list. And you don't even realize it has happened until the person calls you back and says, "Hey, you called me!" And even though you didn't consciously call her, you had been thinking about her, and you are very happy to hear her voice because you find inspiration in her work, her perspective. That's the ideal butt-dial experience: sitting in a Minnesota snowstorm, waiting for the car engine to warm up enough to put it in gear without damage. And your whole day is ever so much better as you pull away from the frozen curb into the tire troughs of the cars that have passed before you on their way to work.  I wonder if we would live on the same California coast one day. Except she would be in Southern California while I would be on the Sonoma shore. Maybe we would meet somewhere south of Monterey, Steinbeck country, for tea and almond croissants.

1 comment:

Denise Emanuel Clemen said...


Call me anytime--intentionally or not.

Mr. Ex butt-dials me occasionally. Do you think I'm on his favorites list?