Week 9
Also 10.
Because whoops. I ran away last week. And it was glorious.
I wasn’t sure if we should leave, given the way of the Corona these days. But we ran away to the countryside of wine vines and closed tasting rooms so it seemed like a safe bet. I packed up the bathing suits and the dog bed and the school supplies and off we went, up the 101 and into the magical valley of Santa Ynez.
I can’t count the number of times I’ve been up there, just inland of Santa Barbara, up and around a mountain pass, for those not in the know. It has always brought me such peace to take the 154 exit and begin the curvy ascent towards picturesque bliss. Once upon a long time ago, I got married up in that land and I remember wondering after I got divorced if the place would feel the same or if it had been poisoned by memories past. It took but just one trip to be reminded that although the valley is the holder of all those memories, the land is so vast it leaves you begging to give it more. So give it more I have done.
Having been sheltering in place for ten weeks, I had almost forgotten what it felt like to pack a suitcase (exhilarating), fill the car with gas (exciting because it was so cheap) ((well, cheap for California)), and yell at the kids to make sure they don’t forget shoes. (Because they quite literally never wear shoes anymore.) I was filled with joy simply at the prospect of driving on the open road for two hours that it mattered none if there was traffic. (There wasn’t.)
I have to say it was a strange feeling to be away from home in the middle of what’s supposed to be a school week. While it was a huge relief to have a change of scenery, especially such a comforting, beautiful one, it was also a stark reminder of the times. Each morning as the kids logged on to school, I’d think-oh yeah; they’re supposed to be at school right now. Oh yeah; they’re supposed to be playing a baseball game tonight. Oh yeah; this still sucks. We’re all supposed to be doing so many other things. And instead, this strange time has brought me to this vast land, holder of memories past and present, on a Monday afternoon on a week in which we had so many other plans, so many other memories we were supposed to be creating. I fluctuated between gratitude and anger; frustration and contentment. Even now, hot tears fill my eyes as I mourn all the things that were missed, that will be missed, that may always be missed.
I came home to a city that is desperate to trickle back into normalcy. With the beaches finally open, we’ve already been a handful of times. We flock there because it lets us feel that sense of normalcy. We flock there because it comforts us. We flock there so we can sit six feet apart and share a cocktail and a laugh and forget for just a little bit about all that we are missing. Our vast beach, holder of memories, always waiting to help soften our fall; the tide pulling our eyes and our ears and our feet to it’s shore, clinging to the only thing that feels familiar in this unfamiliar experience.
We have a few more weeks of school left and then I suppose it’s summer. Whatever that means. I, like so many, had to cancel a pretty special trip I’ve been saving for for a pretty long time so summer suddenly seems pretty wide open. Hours upon days upon weeks upon months of wide open time. But who knows? Maybe we’ll pack up our suitcases, gas up the car, grab our shoes and drive down a new road to some vast land somewhere that is simply waiting for us so it can hold our memories.
Maybe…just maybe…we’ll get to run away again.
And once again, it shall be glorious.
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