Yesterday I was down at the beach that I grew up playing on with my five year old niece. There is a small playground by the beach, and the same merry-go-round that was there when I was a little girl is still there, and still working well. I pushed my niece around and around, and had a few rides myself. (I’m one of those people who still loves to swing and spin and stand on my head and all of that.)
Normally when I’m on the island, it’s bittersweet. I love being here, but I’m always sad that I don’t live in the Pacific Northwest anymore. Sure, if I’m on the island for a while, I miss my friends, and the smelly old dog, but I never miss California. This time is different. I really can’t believe I’m going to write this next sentence, but. . .
I feel kinda homesick for Southern California.
Last night I was walking down the road, the sun was starting to set over the mountains, the ferry was coming in from the Penninsula, the air was cool and crisp, everything was just perfect. I thought to myself, “I miss my bed.” My bed? I have never missed my bed before. I stood there in the road (we have no traffic here) and just thought about the fact that I miss my bed. Then I realized I missed my house. My house? I never think of it as “my” house. I figure any house that your husband’s ex-wife has lived in will never really count as “your” house. Well, I guess my heart disagreed. OK. I missed my bed and my house. Then I kind of even felt myself missing the little corner of the earth where my house and my bed are located. I generally consider SoCal a sad excuse for membership on planet earth, kind of like the Gobi Desert with good tacos and burgers. One could say that I have been somewhat scornful of SoCal. I did not know I was capable of missing Southern California.
And even though I’m with my family-of-origin family, I miss my family in SoCal: my husband, my step-kids and my BFF. I don’t know, maybe this is how other people feel when they have kids the “normal” way and they visit their parents sans enfants. I feel this incredible, almost tangible connection to these people with whom I share no blood, but to whom I’ve chosen to make make my life. I guess God wasn’t kidding when he talks about the “cleaving” thing in Genesis. It’s the reconstitution of family.
Now I’ve got to go help my mother move into one house and my sister move out of another. To say that the three of us have three separate ideas about how to do this would be understating the issue. If you’re the prayin’ type, pray for us!