Home and not so far away

The state of my work table, and all the totes I someday need to deal with, as I told my daughter this weekend I would attempt to use all my fabric before, well....

I'm back after a lovely weekend spent with family in the San Francisco Bay Area. Events were celebrated, the weather was marvelous, in that it wasn't hot, ha ha. And of course hanging out with beloveds is PHENOMENAL, also altering, in that my granddaughters aren't tiny, my own daughter not a girl, and my son-in-law the master of half-caff almond milk lattes, among his other genial attributes. I am blessed for such a grand collection of humans in my realm, and while we all wish to live closer to another, we're in the same state, and we get together as often as possible.

Driving home yesterday, I breathed deeply after crossing the Richmond-San Rafael Bridge, because in achieving that feat without any traffic incidents meant I was halfway home, though not halfway in actual distance. Still many miles to go, some of them through the North Bay, and not until clearing Santa Rosa was I truly out of city traffic, and still not quite half way to my destination. Yet it was a delineation, which in writing about it feels like a marker of my age, of living in a small town, of how odd was my Silicon Valley existence compared to my Humboldt County life. And even though I slept HARD last night, I'm still feeling a little hungover, the big-city experience like one too many margaritas thoroughly enjoyed at the time, then lingering.

Not that I regret the travel, the visit, not even the distance. I can still handle city driving, WOO HOO! I can manage lengthy treks; over six hours, ahem. I can still run on morning caffeine and not require a mid-day top-up, HAH! That half-caff latte, plus an early cup of regular tea, kept me going until nine p.m. last night. I got to see Jupiter, but not Venus or Mercury, hidden by our northwestern treeline. I came home to the same sunny skies as in the other Bay Area (LOL), but woke to a Humboldt marine layer that remains in charge. And now it's coming on ten a.m., Metamucil ingested, a decent sized cup of regular tea cooling. And many thoughts about how after only a long weekend, I'm not slap-dash ready to be back in my usual routine.

Age, it's gotta be age, I tell myself. My Present Me self, as I feel Future Me nearby, shaking her head, while Past Me rolls her eyes HARD. I do this kinda stuff in my freakin' sleep, she mutters, a growl accompanying.

You are a LOT younger than us, Future Me huffs.

I say nothing, recalling how many drives I made from Silicon Valley to visit my parents before they passed, visiting my youngest daughter when my first grandchild was tiny, visiting my eldest daughter before they moved to the SF Bay Area and were a stone's throw from our house. I'm not including travel when we lived in the UK and flew to America every couple of years, trekking across the nation to see all the beloveds. I'm merely talking about travel accomplished behind the wheel of a car. Which still makes Past Me glower, Future Me clucking in support of Present Me's inability to just get with the program.

Whose program, I suddenly wonder. Which I pose to Past Me, catching her attention.

Um, uh....

I can only do what I can do RIGHT NOW, I add, which is to write this post, trying to wrap my head around getting my feet under me. My sixty-year-old feet, I state somewhat proudly.

She grunts, nods, then stalks off. Meanwhile I think I hear Future Me whisper You go girl as she too ambles away. I think she's saying that to Present Me, but she's already gone, and well, there you have a slice of my inner life.

Which still includes me wondering why being home after a brief getaway seems so jarring. Is it age, I wonder. Does this indicate that further jaunts away will prove slightly debilitating? Jeez Louse, I'm sixty, not a hundred! I know I'm kinda set in my ways, but....

Don't worry about it, Future Me calls. It is what it is and you can't change it anyways.

Huh, I muse.

There's no way Past Us can grasp what aging does to a person, she adds.

True, I sigh.

Or the accompanying wisdom, Future Me snorts.

I smile.

Drink your tea before it gets cool, she admonishes.

I do so, grasping the warm cup on this marine layer Humboldt morning. Have a good week everyone.