Surrounded by Fireflies

Life IZ Good. Sometimes, you just need to pivot to realize it, you know, the half full vs. half empty kind of thing. 

Drama happens. The toast gets burned. I lose a $100 bill. Skin cancer is detected. My blurry vision isn’t the scratched glasses, it’s cataracts. I’m still 30, more like 40 pounds overweight. An idiot crashed into my beloved Teddy The Subaru. People—sometimes strangers, sometimes family—say and do shitty things. (Anne Lamont recommends thinking about hurtful folks as having just been released from the ER. They be sick.)  My dear Monet’s health is declining. I’m craving sugar—again. After seven months of asking, the apartment manager still hasn’t replaced the water-slogged dishwasher.  And on and on and on. Like everyone, I have my fair share to kvetch about. 

But then there’s today’s blessed grey skies and 72-degree temps and the two fans I rescued from the storage unit and the cheerful turquoise patio cushions and mat that define the rickety balcony and the ripening avocados encircling a bouquet of flowers I picked up from Costco, the tart and spicy margaritas I made last night for me and the girls and the plumber’s quick fix of the clogged toilet and the fact that, as a renter, I didn’t have to pay for the plumbing problem.

 I’m surrounded by fireflies, a billion trillion dandelion sparks that bedazzles my days into an Impressionistic painting.   

Gratitude abounds. Monet is resting comfortably at my side so I decided to forgo going to the Barbie movie this afternoon with my daughter and grandson so that I can be present with my pup, with myself, to take stock, to breathe, prepare a healthy smoothie, and reflect upon what’s happened to me over the last year that’s brought me to this place, this moment of self-reflection. 

I watch Monet’s eyes flutter and wonder what she thinks. Is she remembering running along the beach at Cambria or cuddling with me on our floor mat last night or feeling snug and secure relaxing on the carpet now that I’ve removed the dated, gigantic furniture obstacles from the apartment, freeing up our temporary abode so we have more room to dance? Or is she in a mud bath feeling the pressure of her own weight against the chocolate coolness of peace? I am grateful, for her, for the fact that she doesn’t appear to be in pain, that I can provide a stable home and that we have this precious time to hang out, to talk or not talk. Together. Chilling out. Just being. Me and my buddy of the last 14 years. 

She has slowed down, getting drowsy, droopy. Today she didn’t gobble down her breakfast as she normally does. Her eyes roll back when she sleeps. I sense our time together is short. I paint a picture of her in my head, try to memorize her freckles, her pointed black ears, her rising and falling chest, the way she wags her tail every single time she sees me, her immense loyalty. When it is time for her to go, when it’s my time, I hope to have a calm, predictable send-off, close to the ocean, with good foods cooking, a glass or two of wine nearby, music, singing and, of course, dancing. I affirm to her, “You are loved, Monet. I love you.” And rub her shoulders and head and she knows it to be true. She knows so much more than I ever will. She gives her whole heart away to those she trusts and is suspicious and snarly to those who give pause. 

For the last eight months, we have been paused here at the Portofino Apartments in Redondo Beach. The apartment itself is 1970s-style yucky furniture motif. I finally broke down and purchased a carpet cleaner because the flooring is soooooo gross and the management wouldn’t schedule a cleaner. I’ve learned that, as a renter, you ask and ask and ask for things like a new dishwasher, which has been on the manager’s to-do list since January, or a painter to sand and refinish the paint-dripping kitchen cabinets, and your requests are often ignored. I certainly wasn’t that kind of a landlord when I rented out Moonstone Cottage by the Sea, but I guess I’m living in the “real world” of “who cares?” landlords. 

Our view, a literal stone’s throw away from the ocean, makes up for the building’s deficiencies. I doubt I will ever again have this view for this long. So, I’m soaking it up for the month of August then I’m off on my next adventure—camping along the coast to Oregon and maybe Washington and Canada. Weather and fire conditions permitting, I might drive East and enjoy the Fall colors, or plant myself along the Eastern Sierras like I did last year. Two months of putting my finger to the wind and seeing which way it blows. Kind of a nice life.

But for now, I’m in the moment, preparing for my daughter and two babies’ arrival, making space, stocking the cupboards, and appreciating this one and only precious life and all its complications.