I spent the weekend with bunch of brilliant folk, adults and children, just talking out in West Marin. Today my father called, a fairly distant relative passed away before the weekend. On the train home tonight, I read Repetitive Strain Injury, A Computer User's Guide. And all the time, I've just been thinking thinking thinking…for weeks now, except until recently, things weren't so clear.
I love West Marin, and if I could afford it, I'd gladly buy a little house with some land somewhere out there this second, away from the City, with hills in the distance, close enough to smell the ocean and watch the fog blanket the cows and the coast. I think I'd hike over the rolling landscape just to see what's on the other side. I'd buy a little boat, maybe a sailboat, and putter around on the water, maybe a canoe would work better. I'd sleep late, or maybe I'd awake early to the sounds of birds chirping outside my window. I'd bake a pie every week, at least one, most often apple, just because.
Some days, I'd drive over the bigger hill and visit with friends. Maybe someday our children would play with each other, out there in the long grass behind the houses, or alongside the gardens we'd tend with love. We'd sit and enjoy a glass of wine, and we'd say, "Remember when it all seemed so important? When web things seemed like life or death, or the end of the world?"
"My, how far we've come," we'd say. And smile.