babybeezer

What a summer it has been. I graduated from college, said goodbye to a family of classmates. We stayed up all night in the theater drinking cheap wine and crying and laughing and crying. I lived in Santa Cruz, had my first professional gig. Found a friend that I'd like to know till the day I die, and only had two shorts months to get to know her. Had love, beaches, sunshine, vegetarian feasts, browsing at borders, free movie tickets to all the independant films in town, made love like it was my last day on earth, fought and screamed like a banshee till my voice was hoarse and broke two hearts with one simple phrase: I can't do this anymore. Had a closing ceremony in the redwood trees, candles flickering throught the fog, arms raised in a moment of silence thinking about my place in the theater.

That night, standing amidst the entire company of Shakespeare Santa Cruz I stared at the tiny flickering point of light I held in my hand and cast my thoughts to the world of live theater, and I had a moment of clarity. A moment when I realized how right this was. How much I belong in the theater. I could feel in my bones that I had made the right decision. My life clicked into focus in that candle lit redwood grove.

I drove my happy, exhausted, heart broken self home to Marin. Greeted by a shock of pain, a family member in danger. My heart was already broken in two. When I came home it was quartered. Beautiful weather, breathtaking views, sumptous food, and a feast of tears. Crying so hard I forgot to stop and breathe. Worrying all the time, worrying, worrying, worrying. I saw my Lila. Took the ferry in and spent a night with my sweet. She cut my hair. I made her desserts almost too sweet to eat. My heart felt lighter with the weight of my hair gone, swept into a pile on the floor. All the sunbrightened pieces in a mound the color of straw. My hair is darker than I remembered. A week in Michigan in a cabin on a lake with my father. That little wooden shack and surrounding forest are home to a thousand childhood memories. The ghost of myself as a little girl haunts every corner of the house. I don't know if it was the water, or the humidity, or the sailboat, or the jogs down a quiet country lane, but I felt more like myself when I got back.

Back to San Francisco. Back to the fog. Back to my home. A visit from my Santa Cruz butt budy. We went to all my favorite places. We watched the waves break on Rodeo beach while lightning struck the water in the San Francisco Bay. We sat atop a mountain peak and saw nothing but a sea of fog. Buildings and towns and bridges and highways replaced by cold white swirls and silence. Back to the arms of the one I love. Back to sweet kisses and my hand in yours, my head on your chest, smelling your smell. Back to making love and feeling alive and whole and serene. Back to shy smiles and laughter.

Now I'm packing up all that I own. Wednesday morning I begin the next chapter of this little Beezer life of mine. Summer is over. And what a summer it was.