Myths and your story. Following your Bliss.

Seven years ago in 2010 before California, before north cubby holes and south green rooms and southwest desert sandstorms, I would stand on the deck waiting tables at the Yacht Club in Ocean Pines, wind blowing (like a million different Pusser’s winds, Naptown holllaaa wudup Chessie and back then) and it blew warm and westerly like Hawaii,…

The body it reminds you

Sister leans over, says I smell rain. As soon as it’s said, there it is, the dirt-metal scent.  God California, so full of wimps, at least west of the 5.  Everyone complaining about the heat.  It is only 85, there is a breeze coming up under the trees which happens when you live beside the…

If you’re lucky, it slows your flow. On Grace.

The thing you don’t know til you live here is the way palm tree leaves look when they bend in the wind.  The Santa Ana’s.  They’re real.  They come sailing down the canyon with whole lists of lusty springtime wants.  You hear them ranting and can barely breathe.  High white-sun days of Santa Ana wind…

California, you used to make me brave

I am thinking about you, California, you used to make me feel brave. I stopped on a side-road outside Santa Rosa to eat tacos.  There was a sale on RedBull which is all I drank.  It was after a weekend making love with a pot grower on a secret coast hidden by the North trees….

The 5 for freedom, PCH for peace

There is no homesick lost as the want for a good steak and cheese.  It is January, California-mild, the way the smell of grease sits in the back of the throat hits me for no reason as a body sense, makes me think, damn, back there they must be cold. There are no delis here,…

The road map you don’t know you’re following

I left Derynne’s this morning before her or the kids were up.  Everything in my blood was curling towards the sea, and it was painful driving in the direction of the blue balm on the horizon with that only-in-the-morning-is-it-this-color sheen.  Catalina was painted over in pink.  It was hard to leave because that’s where my…