One morning in May, I took Bella for a walk in our neighborhood (it feels strange using that word to describe where I live, which doesn't at all resemble the Traditional 'Neighborhood' in which I grew up). As we left the driveway she was distracted by something in the bushes near the neighbor's shack. I stopped, and she sat down in the dirt next to me, and three coyotes emerged. First a tiny one, then two larger ones. They stopped and regarded us warily, backing away in a different direction than they'd intended to follow. When a soft *pop* was heard from a distance, they all flinched simultaneously: clearly they have learned to fear gunshots.
Our neighbor rounded the corner and the trio fled into the brush.
On our walks, we encounter so many forms of life: lizards, rabbits, mice, coyotes, bobcats, and recently, a snake. I heard it slither off into a bush as we passed and peered into the bush to no avail. No sign of it except for the stringy track it had left in the dirt.
I still have yet to encounter a rattlesnake. And, yes, I want to.
******
Today I fly back to Sacramento. I have a meeting tomorrow, but tonight I get to spend some time with one of my very dearest friends,
Deborah Rhea. My plane leaves in a few hours at an airport that is located two hours away, and I haven't packed yet; in fact, I'm still sitting around in my pajamas. Crap.
Returning to Sacramento is always, always gut-wrenching. I absolutely despise having to go back to Sacramento - not because it's a horrible place, but because of what I went through, personally, when I lived there (a divorce, a horribly complicated post-divorce relationship, and more...).
I survived residing in Sacramento for six years largely because I met Deborah. A mutual friend introduced us, because I was about to embark on a solo trip to Spain and spend several weeks traveling through Basque country, and Deborah had resided in the Basque region for many years.
The night before I left for Spain, I called Deborah. "Come over, mi amiga guapa," she said. I've got wine and cheese and I'll draw you a map.
I walked several blocks north to the home where Deborah lived and we drank copious amounts of red wine, talked about life, love, travel, and yes, Spain. Deborah swept everything off the dining room table with a flourish and laid down a giant piece of butcher paper and began to draw. "Here is the train station. Here is the bridge. Here is how you get to the hostale in San Sebastian where I stayed. Here is the town where I lived. If you drive this way, stop in at the only bar in town and tell them that Deborah, de Los Estados Unidos, says hello...."
That night, when I returned to my humble little apartment to two very empty suitcases and with a head full of wine, I threw a bunch of clothes in at random and slept like a baby. That first night in London, when I opened the first suitcase, I had to laugh. '15 black shirts and one pair of jeans. Brilliant, self, brilliant. Let's hope the second suitcase was packed a bit more thoughtfully.' Alas, due to the quantity of pre-packing wine, it was not. I did, however, remember Deborah's map.
After I returned from Spain, I spent many, many, many nights with Deborah, drinking wine, telling stories, taking photographs, picking up favorite books from her bookshelves and reading aloud to one another, listening to music, and dancing. I've never met anyone quite like her, and she will forever be one of my favorite people on the planet, and one my dearest friends.
Happy birthday, Deborah, mi amiga guapa! Besos y abrazos.
Deborah Rhea + me: 2007
