I have trouble separating myself from the moment that might otherwise produce an objective story, an image you could close your eyes to and imagine. Instead of focussing on the gentle rain that has since blown over, I am more drawn to the interactions that are completely un-universal, or maybe they are but I won't write about them. Not having a clear assignment also helps to keep things muddled in my head. I haven't been asked to look for one thread among many.
I am sitting in the dining room of my someday mother-in-law's apartment. Out the overstated sliding glass doors, a canyon rolls up to a docile and yellow-dry peak...or ridge? It has become obvious that I am not only unaccustomed to the visual landscape but to the terms best used to describe it. Foliage clings to what little is left of morning showers and the sun is wrestling pouty clouds. It catches bright in the droplets edging spear-shaped leaves and radiates within their tiny domes. Her roses, the one plant type I can identify, are delicately beaded in glassy strands. Somewhere beyond this natural peace, there is also the purr of Los Angeles traffic, which brings me to a meditation on the 405.
I suppose it's common knowledge that LA has notorious traffic, however, I had not considered that I would be driving in it until the rental car keys brought to life our silver seabring. My heart raced a little as a turned out of the parking lot onto Airport, then my stomach climbed into my chest cavity as I entered Century Blvd. in search of the lane for arriving flights. I had previously stranded my entourage at a sunny spot of LAX sidewalk dressed in rows of quintessential hibiscus blooms, which, at least were expectedly picturesque. Upon surveying our towers of luggage and the baby in tow in comparison to swelling lines crowding the rental shuttle loading zone, I opted to gather our car and come back for the others. I hadn't realized how many blocks of city could be claimed by an airport, and as terminals whirled by and the bus carried me further and further away from my party, a frantic breed of insecurity took root in my gut. After waiting and paying and deciding that the lady who insisted an upgrade to an SUV was necessary was in fact wrong, and waiting again to get reassigned to a mid-sized car lot and finally choosing the Chrysler with a roomy trunk, I found myself approaching the exit. As the orange and white arm stretched upward and my anxiety levels accordingly followed suit, my phone rang--Hey Sweetheart. Perfect timing.
[more later, as though this gripping saga will leave you desperate for further details]