"My great-aunt Alice, Miss Rumphius, is very old now. Her hair is very white. Every year there are more and more lupines. Now they call her the Lupine Lady. Sometimes my friends stand with me outside her gate, curious to see the old, old lady who planted the fields of lupines. When she invites us in, they come slowly. They think she is the oldest woman in the world. Often she tells us stories of faraway places.
"When I grow up," I tell her, "I too will go to faraway places and come home to live by the sea."
"That is all very well, little Alice," says my aunt, "but there is a third thing you must do."
"What is that?" I ask.
"You must do something to make the world more beautiful."
"All right," I say.
But I do no know yet what that will be.

Thursday, April 21, 2011

Saying goodbye

I am here again. Maybe for the last time. Arroyo Grande. The central coast. San Luis Obispo. Grover Beach. Longview. Whatever name you want to use to describe this lovely place. A place of retreat. A place of growing. A place of being young. A place where it will always feel like home. I watched grandparents grow old and die. I watched friends and family marry. I have watched life change. I have gained new perspectives, routines, loves, and paths. Now it seems that this place, with all its history is slipping out from between my fingers. I will leave it behind. A place that will always hold my heart and a place that doesn’t remember me, but I remember it. Like a lost love. The way you remember only the good and can’t let go even if they have moved on. I am writing this in one of my favorite haunts a few years ago (Andreni’s Café). The furniture hasn’t changed, the carpet is the same, the walls are red. And here I find myself again. Saying goodbye.
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