Begin Again

  After sixteen days of travel, I thought my dogs and I would be happy–relieved–to be home. But as I unloaded the Subaru, filling the washing machine, packing away camping gear, hanging rain-soaked tarps and my tent awning to dry (in the garage; it’s raining here), I felt more glum than glad. Maybe Dashiell felt the same. After a quick tour of the house and yard, he jumped back into the car and refused to get out. For him (and me?) these tight quarters had become home. Don’t get me wrong: I love my house in Bend, and I appreciate the comforts and conveniences I am so privileged to have here. Indoor plumbing? Heck yeah. But if there’s one thing the freedom of retirement has shown me so far, it’s that “home” is not just a particular physical space; it’s also an ideological anchor. The Trump-loving citizens of Lakeview, Oregon, where I stopped at a Safeway long enough to hear a young, unmasked worker urge an elderly masked shopper to avoid the dangerous Covid vaccine lest it ruin his ...

  Welp, once again life happened while I was making other plans, and my agenda ended up in the recycle bin. In the three days I planned to stay in Los Angeles with Colin and Leigha, I watched the weather prediction for Joshua Tree with concern, fearing that the 80º+ temperatures there would be too much for the dogs (mostly Chip) and not very comfortable for me. I don’t mind camping in the car during cold weather, but, at a certain point, heat is a deal-breaker. Finally, I decided we would give it a try, with the option to cut and run if it was just too hot. Then the UTI that had been threatening erupted with a vengeance, forcing me to stay closer to, well, bathrooms and giving me the chance to try out my brand new Medicare insurance! Oy. Anyway, the change in plans gave me more time in LA, which allowed me to indulge in one of my interests: death. Apparently, not everyone thinks about death as much as I do, which is weird, but to each his own. I find mortality one of the most compe...

  Why do I always feel like I have to defend California? I’m pretty sure it’s doing just fine without my two cents of support, I haven’t lived there in over 30 years, and nobody cares what I think about it, anyway. But for some reason I find it impossible to resist confronting the easy platitudinous putdowns of this complex and remarkable state. And every time I return–usually to visit my son who came back here for college and never left–my sense of California loyalty is reinvigorated. We moved from North San Diego County to Bend, Oregon, in 1990 to provide our growing sons with opportunities we could not afford or find in Southern California: clean air, open spaces, woods to explore. Bend was small and quiet and beautiful, smoke curling from chimneys of homes near Drake Park as the January snow fell when we first visited in 1985. Along Riverside Drive, children bundled in bright parkas and toting Care Bears lunch pails thrust out their tongues to catch stray flakes. Every vulnerab...