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cyranoIt's not seeing friends again. It's not driving the stretch of 101 that I took to work pretty much every day for five years. It's not familiar places, old haunts, or food.
It's a banged up saucepan sitting the dishwasher--scraped, beaten, clinging to life, having survived the trip down I-5 with me to California in the first place, as one of my few possessions that made into the back of the pickup truck on that wet El Nino-enthralled arrival day because I knew that cooking my own food was going to be key to survival in this new place.
That's what first says to me "This is the life you left behind."
It's a banged up saucepan sitting the dishwasher--scraped, beaten, clinging to life, having survived the trip down I-5 with me to California in the first place, as one of my few possessions that made into the back of the pickup truck on that wet El Nino-enthralled arrival day because I knew that cooking my own food was going to be key to survival in this new place.
That's what first says to me "This is the life you left behind."