I've been rendered speechless. I'm sorry. I've tried and I've failed to write here. There are about 37 drafts waiting for edits. I don't know what happened.
But today it's hard to resist the charms of the beautiful day. Yves Klein blue skies. Swooping hawks. The bright green fronds of the pepper tree. Tiny yellow birds darting amongst the canyon oaks. A warm breeze. And it's the sixth of November. London is cold and grey and drizzly. It's impossible not to be grateful.
My oldest girlfriend in the world who lives in London texts me this morning, early, like at 5 when I'm barely awake with a picture of a sparkly golden dress. "Just bought this. So guilty" she says. We talk about feast or famine, acronyms, french sexual terms, roast chicken, bandy about some song lyrics (we can harmonize almost any Bowie song you want to throw our way -- and well), giggle, giggle some more, and decide we should have a radio show wherein we banter. I don't know what I'd do without her. I really don't know what I'd do.
I am grateful for serendipity, for spotted dogs, for the birdsong that greeted me this morning, for kind and good men, for girlfriends, for the fact that Thanksgiving is just around the corner and my baby girl will be home.
Thank you, dear readers, for being on this journey, and for your wise counsel and support and love. It's incredibly lovely. What a long, strange trip it's been.