Friday, March 11, 2011

vacation. home.

I know, I know. You hate me for posting yet more pics of palm trees on this omg-is-it-REALLY-still-winter Friday.

We were trying to figure out yesterday how long my parents have had their place down here in the desert; I have memories of being here way back into my teenage-hood so it's been a long time. I went to college about an hour from here so my memories of this place range from picking oranges from the trees with my sister and getting my first really good kiss by the tennis courts when I was sixteen to cramming for my college french final at the kitchen table to coming out here when I was strung out and exhausted from living in New York. The last time I was here, I spent hours on the back porch revising my first novel which my agent and I were planning to send out to publishers a few weeks after I returned. How long ago that seems now.

I love this part of the desert: there's something dreamy about it, something that makes you think things will turn out alright, even if you have all sorts of really solid reasons to think they might not. This place is a second home in the most literal sense; all manner of family members, friends and boyfriends have joined us here over the years and we've been here more than once when bad news from home came right out of nowhere like lightening in a clear blue sky. This place goes way further back in my life than the house my parents currently live in and so in some ways, there's no place that feels more like home to me. Being here I think about friends I've lost touch with, my grandparents who've left us and all the dreams I've had that have come and gone and come back again. Mostly it just makes me think of my family, all we've been through over the years and how strong the ties between us are.

Heavy thoughts for vacation, I know. Good thing the pool bar serves margaritas.

Where do you go when you need some perspective?

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