I now live in the state of California. It will be a year come October since my move here from Alaska, yet my license plate still bears my (old) state. Why I haven't changed it? I have been procrastinating not to mention the sentimentality it holds. I have yet to be pulled over by a CHiP or a passing/waiting cop-in-car that I have to explain or lie that I've just been here for a month having driven all the way from Alaska and vacationing with relatives. Regardless, I should really register for a CA plate soon as my first anniversary is approaching.
I now realize I should've been diligent and assiduous about journaling the many episodes and adventures, whether climactic or dull, ever since my arrival here. Although there were the often memorable occurences significant to the day to day transpirations, my state of being had been perfunctory many a time. This transition wasn't an easy one yet the overwhelming support from close-at-hand relatives came convenient and rewarding. Shifting from a room in one of these relatives' home to a 2-bedroom 2nd floor apartment I now share with my daughter Paula is one of the attainments I've since begot. The oftentimes driving flukes contributory to my half-baked sense of direction burned my fuel as well as my tires. Still I've taken routes and roads now learned and familiar. I also would've not been able to survive financially without the benefit of jobs, and a variety they were to me: from a cashier at a department store, to a bridal consultant, a part time tutor, and now an asst. activity director in a skilled nursing home. California sure is, hell... fast!
It is also HOT - climate-wise. Just today I was cursing at the dry heat as I drove back home from work. Without the use of my crippled car airconditioner, I damned the 5'oclock evening heat. I swore I've never realized in a long, long, time (exactly 4 years ever since my landing in Alaska) that the sun could be this fierce. My American friends would laugh at this retort reminding me that I originated from a tropical land. But I guess I have LTM (long term memory) loss that all I could remember was cold, fresh, snowy Alaska, and questioning myself why, oh, why I seem to be now pitted here in scorching California.
Yet tonight, I walked out to the backyard to smoke my cigarette; my feet bare they touched the warm grass. My senses stirred. Looking up I saw the stars. They blinked at me. I perceived a flying star and realized it was a transitting airliner. Smiling now to and at myself, I was sanguine. Around me was a garden with roses in bloom: red, white, peach. A fig tree seemed complacent behind the bench. And despite the bordering fence and the sight of surrounding associated structures, my hidden and distinctive remark was of life's sweet rewards.
There are many of those sweeteners. New things, places, people. Old things, places, people. On the phone with a 'historical' friend came fulfilling as that one corner in my heart was again acknowledged.
He'll never leave that place. We were happy to chat briefly, no strings attached except that of a rooted, viney friendship. One other telephonic conversation enlivened me as this very significant 'one' whose bio I once and still share called me,
ornery yet thoughtful just the same to have sensed I needed even the simplicity of a quick phone call. At work today, a demented resident cum patient who habitually nags and seem perpetually snappish raises her hand to reach out, touch me and hold my hand. Touched, she did my heart.
The heat of California, the missed and sentimentality of my once-home whose warm beauty would never cease even the coldest of hearts, a distant friend who has left the rocks, and an erratic yet whimsical significant one.... my bare feet still touch the gravel of life. As the backyard of limitless space offer me symmetry and ornaments, I smile and thus remind myself that life can still be awe-inspiring.
