There is a point at which everything becomes simple and there is no longer any question of choice, because all you have staked will be lost if you look back. Life’s point of no return.
Tuesday proved to be a day when breakfast, lunch and teatime converged on one another. A day when I was in my pajamas at 4 pm. A day spent writing, editing photos from the trip, and listening to music from my blog. I had thought I would get to the dry cleaners to pick up clothes I’d left there three weeks ago, but it didn’t happen. There were other neglected things and thoughts, but I guess it was a day of getting over whatever I was getting over.
It was great to have my simple little teapot again, although I didn’t find the tea cosy in my California storage area. It was nice to look at my food shelf and see the stock of cocoa and stash of teas that have taken up residence. It’s nice to again have my pretty bedspread to look at and I feel good at having left my flannel sheets with my son in Portland.
Every return to San Miguel brings with it the question of place and home. I’ve written previously of this, of how San Miguel often feels like home, yet people – specific people – are missing from here and without those people, nothing can truly seem like home.