CA

I am still in California. And acting like a Californian. At least the stereotypical kind you think of when someone mentions San Diego when you are in the middle of a blizzard. This week I ran five miles along the bay (twice). I walked six miles though the sands of Mission Beach half listening to my ipod, half to the sloppy waves crashing on the footprint-pocked shore. I watched the sun sink below the horizon while surfers and tourists and locals stood (or floated) transfixed by the magnificent oranges and reds. I bought flowers for no reason to put on my dining room table so every morning when I get up I see the water outside my window and then the flowers within. I hiked to the top of a steep dry chaparral covered hill and looked down hundreds of feet to the houses and reservoirs and smog (lingering smoke?) of San Diego. I biked 25 miles through several different neighborhoods with modern steel and stucco architecture side by side with beautiful old Craftsman houses, braving potholes and speeding cars and bike lanes ending without warning. I saw an amazing play by a local company that surprised and upset me in the best way that theater can. I ate fresh sushi and fresh salads and scraped my leftovers into a newly purchased kitchen composter which I will use to feed my herbal garden. I do sun salutations every morning and drink Napa Valley wine in the evenings. I am reveling in the bean and cheese burritos at all night Mexican food stands.
I am enjoying jeans and a t-shirt in November.

This week I have also sat in traffic or driven too fast on the endless freeways and searched almost fruitlessly through the culture section of the newspaper for something to do on a Wednesday night and wondered where all the people living on the spit of land between the bay and ocean will go when their (my) SUVs and non-solar paneled houses contribute to the rising sea level. I get restless late at night when there's nothing open and the city is asleep and I am not.
I miss wearing a scarf and a fluffy jacket in November.

When friends ask me how long I am staying, because I always leave, they say, I shrug my shoulders and say it hasn't been decided. Not that I haven't decided, or J hasn't decided, or our job hasn't decided it for me. Maybe California or Maine or New York hasn't decided. Maybe the next step hasn't been decided by whatever force figures those things out. Maybe Thanksgiving or Christmas will decide.
Maybe I just need to enjoy all this walking and burritos and biking and sushi and friends.
Because not that the public transportation here is great or even frequent, but I could always get hit by a bus tomorrow, right?
Might as well enjoy California today.