Hi Lulu,

You are my witness, you know, and I want to tell you about the Big Sur getaway.

You remember… the rocket scientist from India that I met at Esalen. I know I told you about our meeting.  The three hours talking in the hot springs, my fingers pruned beyond description.  Soaking in every word he spoke I was entranced in the steam and moonlight.  We stayed up all night – watched the sunrise colors in the sky – then parted ways and said goodbye.

Only I made my way back to Big Sur to meet him.

He had picked the sweetest cabin for us next to Castro Canyon creek and it became our haven for three nights and four days.  In the mornings we would wake and look out the little window – white framed panes and bevelled glass – right by the bed.  The cabin was nestled flush against the hillside beside a cedar tree, huge and lush and towering.  The morning sun would sprinkle in through the skylight and illumine the raw wood walls of our tiny room.  It was a little chilly but beneath the covers we were warm.

I would venture out of bed and plant my feet on the thick, deep red, oriental rug to start the electric tea kettle.  Cue up my favorite iTunes playlist and be DJ for the morning.

“Have you heard of Katie Gray?”
“No, hon, I don’t think I have.”
“Ok, listen to this one…”

We were half-dressed and making coffee, dropping chunks of orange chocolate in our mugs, adding spoonfuls of white spun honey and peeling the tangerines I had brought from my grandfather’s tree. The lavender I cut was sitting by the bedside table and every once in a while that beautiful, prince-like, Indian man with deep dark eyes and full lips would look at me with such adoration and kiss me on my smiling mouth.

Katie Gray’s sweet voice would weave through the room in song:  “From far away it’s amazing…”

There was no where to go those days in December on the Big Sur coastline and our most ambitious activity was simply dinner at the restaurant by the fire.  I was in awe at this dream-like-fantasy-made-real.  You know it’s been five years of raising Jeb without any man, no affection.  And then, there I was in a  womb-like cottage having a picnic on the bed with this kind and loving person. My heart cracking open into a state of euphoria and fear.

The reprieve in that cabin with him was a pause just long enough to make me feel again.  And who I was in that escape felt as real in my heart as anything I’ve known – like coming home.  Yet, it was all so far from the reality of rent and Bill Pay, Sears warranty agreements and kindergarten lunches.  Fear gripped me as I realized that I wasn’t ready to return.  Not to my 6 year old – can I feel that? Not to my work – is that OK? Not to my beautiful home on Kauai – am I crazy?

No, I just wanted to stay there in that cabin with the needlepointed pillow that hung on the rustic handle of our wooden cabin door, requesting, “privacy please”.

I wanted to escape there in the forest and rest inside the arms of this amazing human that asked, “sweetheart, are you ok?” when I couldn’t hide or stop the tears that fell in long and crashing drops without ceasing.  A bittersweet swelling overflowed from me.  The feeling of how that place, that time, that haven, that newfound love was feeding my soul.  I was drinking from a spring after years of walking through a desert and I knew my time at that fountain was limited.  I would be going back; to the broken window on my car, the checking account balance, my son’s resistance to clean up his room.  I would be alone again with the daily juggling at a pace fueled by adrenalin and at least two cups of coffee.

I wanted just to stay with him in that fluffy bed beside the creek and cedar sentry.  Dream with the ferns and starlight, breathing in the nape of his neck.  Write in thick ink the love story of he and I on the pages of the archived journals housed on the cabin bookshelf.  Maybe sketch a picture.  Join the chronicles of happy lovers.  Never end the story.

Of course, eventually, it was check out time.

We left the door ajar just like they asked – there never was a key.
And we tucked away the hanging pillow, hand-stitched for privacy…

So, Lulu- do you like my couplet at the end for dramatic effect?  You know my propensity for the melancholy.  I’m not exaggerating the intensity of the getaway or the parting.  It was emotional.

There is more to the story.  A part two, perhaps.  But no time now.  I’ve got to sign off here.

Jeb’s handing me a walkie talkie and requesting a spy mission in the front yard.

Much love, my friend.  I’ll keep you posted.