Sunday, Sunday -- California Style

I thought I'd offer two views from my day.

High noon, well not exactly. It's actually one o'clock. So the sun is straight-up and bright. It was warm today with a mild wind blowing just enough to make us believe that we could reach out and touch forever. It certainly was not winter here in Southern California.

The other shot is the soft side of the day when the work is done, the rush is over, and all outdoor play is ceasing. A contemplative moment when the sun is singing its goodbye. As much as I love the night, I always feel a twinge of sadness to see the sun going again. Every day is so important. I know I'll never get it back again.

Especially on Sunday I'm sad to see it go. Because . . . because Monday brings so much . . . responsibility, obligation, and unknown. Monday, Monday is not always "so good to me." Mondays remind me of Maxine Kumin's poem, "Our Ground Time Here will be Brief" (it is also the title of one of her books). She writes:

Blue landing lights make
nail holes in the dark.
A fine snow falls. We sit
on the tarmac taking on
the mail, quick freight,
trays of laboratory mice,
coffee and Danish for
the passengers.

Wherever we're going
is Monday morning.
Wherever we're coming from
is Mother's lap.
On the cloud-pack above, strewn
as loosely as parsnip
or celery seeds, lie
the souls of the unborn:

my children's children's
children and their father.
We gather speed for the last run
and lift off into the weather.


Monday mornings bring uncertainty. So today we're thankful for the weather that's allowed us to feel like "forever" belongs to us because we could see forever. What a view! That's just part of the reason we call this place the "Edge of Forever."

So there you have it -- the day from my view -- not California Dreamin' but California living.

Good night from the West Coast of America.

Rosie, aka
Carol (and Mr. Fun)