What I Did Last Summer

Last summer I moved half way across the country, from the flat, huge-skied, sun-baked prairies, to the more humid and manageable climate of the coast.

This was a pleasant and welcome event in my life, and my ancient Chevy, Victor (because yes he has a name, shut up) handled the 1500 mile trip over flat plains and sharp, steep mountains, with ease, probably thrilled at the dizzying prospect of no longer having to start when it's minus 30 something out, or broil in the hot, prairie, summer sun.

So one day in July I tossed some choice driving playlists on my old iPod, loaded up my car, and hit the road.

I discovered long ago that playlists are key, to making any long trip palatable, particularly if said playlists include endless opportunities to sing like your life depends on it, loudly and with gusto. And particularly if you're driving 1500 plus miles alone in the car, as I was - well alone except for my plants, all of whom, I have on trusted authority, appreciate my melodious screechings. And, let me tell you, there was one particularly enthusiastic rendering of "I Will Survive" that will keep them happy for a long, long time.

Moving to our current city was like being picked up and plopped down on another planet.  After the flat, apocalyptic winter that characterized our last home - the five months every year of icy blanched landscapes and wearing all the sweaters in my drawer simultaneously, had rendered me almost completely devoid of visual stimulation. Finding myself here, near the ocean, surrounded by mild winters and sunny summers, outdoor cafes and markets, beautiful landscapes and blue skies, was a bit like I imagined a totally color blind person might feel if suddenly presented with the ability to see full spectrum color.

Or a Donald Trump supporter if he suddenly tripped and hit his head on a rock and woke up seeing sense.