Desert Vista

Some girlfriends and I were fortunate enough to be invited to spend the weekend at our friend Cari's house in Palm Desert. What a gift. We arrived this afternoon and sat by the pool, talking and eating and drinking until dark. The late afternoon view of the mountains was so dramatic and lovely it was hard to look away.

endless blue above
snow on a distant mountain
and cacti in bloom


Flashback

I have to thank

the pretty blond woman

waiting next to me

at the car wash,

her hair un-ironically

unapologetically

feathered

and sprayed into place,

for taking me back

to a hot summer day

of Marco Polo

in a shimmering aqua pool

in the suburbs.

Of swimming races

and underwater tea parties.

Of lying face down, shivering,

in a wet swimsuit on the warm cement

with the sun on my back.

Of the scent of chlorine

and bubble gum lip gloss.

Of roller skating and ding-dong ditching.

Of the hot pink curling iron

that never quite managed

to bring my long straight hair

to wavy, feathered perfection.

Mystery

Running on the beach

at Thalia Street today I

see a surfer exiting

the water. Knee-deep

in the shallows, with the sun

reflecting off his

soaked seal-black wetsuit, he makes

the sign of the cross—

Father, Son, Holy Spirit

—three times, then tucks his

board under his arm and leaves.

Mother's Day

I think it was Anne Lamott who said there are really only two kinds of prayers: “Help me! Help me! Help me!” and “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” Thanks to my wonderful husband and sweet sons, I had a perfect Mother’s Day, and it’s definitely a triple-thank you-prayer kind of day.

Breakfast in bed with

flowers on the tray. Homemade

Mother’s Day cards and

strong coffee. The Sunday Times.

A win at tennis.

Someone strumming Led Zeppelin

on the back court in

between sets. Brunch at Sapphire.

Bellinis. Molten

chocolate something-or-other.

A nap.The peaceful hum of

home and family.

Teen Spirit

So.

The words just won’t come

and I’m stuck.

As if to plug an amp

into my bleak mood

and serenade my irritation

my son starts messing around

on his guitar

and the chords turn into

"Smells Like Teen Spirit"

and it sounds pretty good.

I have to smile.

This anthem makes me remember

the disaffected youth I sometimes felt like

but never really was

and as I sit staring at my computer,

mute and frustrated,

my kids’ clothes gently thumping

in the dryer behind me,

it somehow feels right

to borrow a few lines:

I feel stupid and contagious

Here we are now, entertain us