Destination Unknown

This was written a few days ago, on Thursday, April 21st.  Due to spotty WiFi at the hotel and piles of laundry upon my return home, I am just getting around to posting it... BTW, I also published this on my other, "random thoughts" blog at www.poprocksandgoblins.blogspot.com.  Somehow, it seemed to fit both areas of my life harmoniously...

I have been traveling a lot this year, more than in any other year of my life.  Every 4 to 6 weeks, it seems, I’m in another fabulous place wondering, “Well, how did I get here?”

This time, I’m in Palm Springs again.  It’s just past 7 am and the kids are still sleeping.  It’s just the girls and me in the room – a deluxe patio room on the 1^st floor of the very centrally located Hotel Zoso – although we met up with friends for this short getaway.  The morning air in the desert is so alluring that, even though I could probably feign exhaustion or vacation and sleep another few minutes, I’m sitting on the covered patio and gaping at the majestic palm trees, soft pink mountain mounds rising up behind them. 

I’ve mentioned it before, but it bears repeating that I grew up near Palm Springs.  Not as close as I’d like to believe, but about 60 miles up Hwy 60, in 29 Palms.  The interesting part is that, as hard as it is for me to visit the desert of my youth in 29 Palms – the dusty trail my brother and I walked to get to school, the hard plastic table-with-attached-bench at Foster’s Freeze that seemed to hold so much promise to a 7-year-old with serious ice cream lust, the cactus “garden” in our front yard, the fact that my childhood home became a meth house eventually – I love Palm Springs.  My car will travel the hours and distance until we arrive in Palm Springs, then stop and hover for a few days, then turn around and go back home, to MY home, the home of my choosing.

I’m digressing, however.  The occasion of this journey is one of a leap of faith.  Sure, it’s Spring Break and most people try to find at least one little getaway during the week, even if it’s to a nearby park or beach, something to take them out of the ordinary and into vacation mode.  Curiously, I hadn’t planned on any such trip for the week.  With all of the trips I’ve been taking, I guess I was just going to wait and see what happened, maybe let my kids sleep in every day, catch up on a little writing, organize a closet or two.  Here’s what happened instead…

On the very first day of school, I saw Marlowe sitting near another little girl, probably just two feet apart, and both of them were just watching the other kids play.  They were each smiling, quiet, observant.  It wasn’t sad, like they were being excluded or anything like that, but sort of sweet.  They had a nice, comfortable “being together” that I really loved.  And that girl, Bella, has become a very sweet friend of Marlowe’s. 

Okay, so you’re still with me… About a month ago, Bella’s mom and I were talking on the phone and she mentioned that she really wanted to go away during Spring Break, that she and another friend were hoping to just take their kids – no husbands – on a short trip.  A breath later, thinking aloud, she said, “Would you want to bring your girls along?  I know Bella would love having a friend there.”

Now, I don’t know Bella’s mom very well, but you know how you get a good sense about someone immediately?  Much like how I knew Bella would be a great friend for Marlowe, I just knew her mom would be a sweet, easy-to-get-along-with travel companion. I found myself saying yes, not with a question mark or a long pause, but with conviction and excitement.

Still, yesterday, as the girls and I drove from the overcast, chilly northern bits of Los Angeles to the windy Hwy 111 that leads from Interstate 10 to Palm Canyon Drive, I had a few moments of wondering, “What the heck am I doing?” 

I had to remind myself that I did the same thing – exactly – as I boarded the plane to Rome in February, and wound up having one of the best times of my entire life.  I thought about the Anais Nin quote (I’m paraphrasing here) about how the day came when it took more energy for the flower to remain tightly curled up in a bud than to bloom.  I decided to let myself bloom.  And I pointed my car and my kids toward the desert, MY desert, the desert of my choosing. 

(Postscript: By the way, it was a blast.  There was a friend for Bella’s twin brother, Bella & Marlowe were in friend heaven, and Emme & Serena enjoyed time together without a little sister tagging along every moment.  I don’t know about all of them, but this leap of faith seems to be going along fine…)

PS I love you

When I was really little, probably Marlowe's age (5 or 6), my family went to Colorado. Regardless of why we went -- my dad loves to fish and my mom loves John Denver, each of which seem like plausible reasons for them to embark on a road trip from the Southern California desert to the Rocky Mountains with two young kids -- I can't remember much about the trip except for one anecdote:

We were at a restaurant or store or a hybrid of the two (like a Cracker Barrel or something similar) and an old fella looked at me and said, "PS, I love you, too." Freaked me out, of course. Not only was I 5, but I was somewhat shy. I was afraid of clowns in parades, for God's sake. Anyway, I didn't say anything and I honestly didn't get what he was talking about until my mom pointed to my t-shirt, which was emblazoned with a cartoon sun and declared "P.S. I love you."

It took me years to realize that the shirt meant Palm Springs, which is about 60 miles from the little town where I spent about 11 of my formative years (29 Palms). These days, it takes a high school reunion (only every decade or so) or a neophyte Los Angeleno friend to coax me to trek all the way to 29 Palms - I didn't love living there as a kid and I was thrilled when we moved far, far away to an island and then to Europe -- BUT I would buy another of those shirts in a heartbeat because I adore Palm Springs.

Even today, when it's in the 80s at 7 a.m. and threatens to be 115 degrees by midday, I love it. The clear skies, the lazy pool days (with just-the-right-temp pool water), the freezing A/C blast when you open the door to your hotel or condo... it's unbeatable. I love the way my kids look when they're asleep in the morning, tanned from the day before and incredibly relaxed from late-night moonlit walks or movie nights. I love it when my skin is flushed from a late afternoon pool & magazine session. I love the long poolside or balcony chats about nothing and everything, sometimes involving iced tea and other times involving an iced rum libation. I love the lulling hum of the cicadas. I love the bright full moon as we walk to our room from our friends', with a constantly changing combo of their kids and our kids in tow. I love that the kids can roam freely (together, always) around the grounds. I love that it's 8:30 in the morning and my sun tea is nearly brewed, even in the shade. I love the Estate Sale Consignment Store and the Parker Hotel... each of which are a mere few steps from our condo complex. I love my good friend Michael, who moved to Palm Springs a few years ago and makes my tug toward this desert oasis feel stronger than ever.

In short, Palm Springs loves me. And, like that groggy old dude in Colorado, I croak back in a hoarse whisper, "PS, I love you, too."