Jim and I are visiting the west coast. Or the left coast. Whichever you prefer.
Because North is always up on the map.
Which is good, because other than that, there is no way I’d know “which way’s up”.
The last foray into the Wild West occurred approximately 9 months ago around the 3rd anniversary of my first-born’s birth. September has been sometime ago, and the previous sighting of the various family members and friends took place some 2 years prior upon our relocation to the right coast. Ahem.
After spending a week in the OC, visiting the Pacific, Disneyland, and Fisherman’s (for the renowned red chowder), we made our way to Hemet/San Jacinto to spend time with the other half of the family.
Snatching a few hours for myself, I escaped the others with Emberleigh, and set out on an adventure (cue “Cat in the Hat” theme song). First Target, since she loses a pair of earrings at some point on each venture west. (why don’t I pack extras?!) Then, from memory, I attempted to locate my friend’s house. Without GPS assistance. Really. Am I stupid? You should all know by now of my inability to navigate even the neatest of grids without clear directions. If not, I should blog more.
Against all odds, all reason, and all logic, I found her house. I felt my way there. I remembered an intersection that reminded me of her. Which was silly, since I’d also met her once at a park there. She does not, I repeat, does not, live at the park. From there, I sought out street names that sounded familiar, a dangerous employ, since my brain has the innate ability to make me believe I remember things that I have just now seen. From one turn to the other, I attempted to talk my blood pressure into lowering. At last, I glanced at a street sign bearing a name that indeed resonated as familiar.
Then, I proceeded to wrack my brain for the specific house number at which to locate her. And to look for the funnest, most creative front yard on the street. My poor, sad, dilapidated brain did not, for once, disappoint. I was floored. I’m convinced it’s the milled wheat. It is the bread of life. Not to be confused with the Bread of Life.
As I stood at her doorstep, ringing the doorbell, I received a Facebook message on my SmartPhone. The missive informed me that she would be arriving in approximately 15 minutes. And that the message had been sent about a 1/4 hour previous. Also, that I had indeed guessed properly which house is her dwelling.
We picked up where we had left off so many months prior, and even more time before that. Chatting about health, diet, kids, homeschool, life, love, marriage, and whatever else we’re both involved in.
She has never ceased to be an amazing friend. No matter that we don’t often speak between visits. I am always encouraged about life when I leave her presence. When talking with her about the events that have passed since we last spoke, I hear myself saying things I wasn’t aware that I had learned. I think the Lord uses our time together to remind me how much He’s changed me and helped me grow up. I can see more clearly that He’s been walking with me the whole time despite how confused or muddled I’ve been. It’s an almost effortless relationship in a time in my life where it seems everything else requires so much energy. And I think of Anne of Green Gables. You know, kindred spirits and all.
Besides, she has a cute house. And she sews. And decorates all cute and junk.
And I will miss her for another few months, give or take…
Thank you for being wonderful, friend. You know who you are. I love you.