Loud, smelly and turning left…

Plugged back into my existence in Seattle, the life I have resumed at home mingles with a very close memory of LA. The inexplicably awkward social interaction upon arriving, the unexpected memory of my heart twisted rising to the surface, slipping lock and step into patterns. Feed myself? Sleep in this bed? Oof, I should have written a blog post in LA.

Part I

I left for LA a little beat up from the night before. Family time, Ben to boot, followed by too much wine, too much laughter and too little sleep and too little (proper) packing. I felt a little buzzy, humming around, vibrating while practicing sitting still. Full of hope, anxious anticipation of the moment and of the days to come.

The only thing that stood between me and dear friends, a hospital orientation. Poke. Me. In. The. Eye. I contemplated, as I sat at a table with eager new employees, is the state of my mind and body reflected on my face? I attempted a neutral expression only out of pity and respect for our host. I couldn’t disentangle the source of my physical suffering… wine, sleep deprivation or complete disgust for the wasteful presentation.

Wasted time…

As the plane touches down the woman next to me prepares me for the quick stop. Burbank has a short runway. (I’m anticipating the warmth spreading across my body.) Oh and usually we can exit from the back, it will be stairs and we will have to walk outside… hospital orientation to SEA>BUR orientation.

The Bob Hope Airport is very, very little. I am traipsing toward the exit trapped behind a large group of slow moving folks. My northeast proclivity shining through as it always does in crowded spaces. Must walk faster, let’s move, let’s go!

I step outside and commence my four day sun soak, the Prius rounds the bend with two familiar faces. My body relaxes, I take a deep breath… I leave my pattern behind, open to experiencing a new pattern that belongs to someone else.

Part V

Arriving at the B. Hope’s Airport to fly home, I tune into the steady stream of 80s music overhead. Who selects the music for such an airport? It filters through the air as you step out onto the curb side, it accompanies you through security and hangs in the stale smoke filled air.

I opt to sit in the sun a while longer, contemplating a discussion about feeding egg shells to chickens. I attempt to reach old friends on the east coast. I wish I had my computer. I could be writing this very moment.

Headed back home I find myself humming again with anticipation rather than the expected dread of reality that I assumed would take hold. I attempt to read, I find myself lost in thoughts, I leap…

I have Coby to anticipate and a spectacular gathering of friends that will surely collect in her presence. I left LA feeling nourished and rejuvenated, so thankful for the people in my life who bring me peace of mind effortlessly.

Jumping from rock to rock. Mid-air until Friday before I leap for Philadelphia. I will make it across this stream eventually and hopefully the bank on other side will be as rich and sturdy as each rock in between.

(Parts II, III, and IV to come...)