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It’s been awhile since I’ve written anything, creative or otherwise. I have just one more week left of school and while it has been an incredible experience and I have met some really great people, and made friends for life, I will be sooo glad to have my life back!
I guess it isn’t fair to say that, really, since it was my choice to do this program and I really loved it. But when spending every day of my life in the exact same way for ten long months it certainly felt like I had no control sometimes. Or rather had to maintain control at all times so I wouldn’t suffer utter failure. School, work, school, work, school, work. So now, one more week. Then I get my wisdom teeth pulled (yikes!) and a week after that I’ll be on my way to southern California! Look out! LOL. Yes, as most of you already know, I will be in Newport for about 6 weeks, staying with my sister, taking a class at OCC and enjoying all the summer festivites I missed out on in 2007, my first summer away from OC in five years.
Don’t get any crazy ideas, though. I won’t be down there for good. I will return to the Bay Area in August where I will be continuing my education. I’m really excited to be in the city more often. And I hope to be actually living there by this time next year.
So as you can tell, my life is pretty mapped out for the next couple of years. It is a refreshing piece of knowledge, to know where your life is going and to be really happy about it. I think that is also why I haven’t been writing much lately. It is so easy to write when miserable, not so easy when happy. Such is the life of a writer, eh? Just ask Hemingway, or Plath.
Sister! I can’t wait!
Cort, you up for Chipotle? I certainly hope so!
Orange County, here I come… 
Do you ever feel like time is moving so quickly, yet so slowly? In a whirlwind at a snail’s pace. I feel that. I’ve felt that for about a month. Moving home was such a rushed (rash?) decision. But it was something I had considered for the better part of a year. And when I finally finalized it, after I layed all my cards on the table and peeked at each one individually and repeatedly before sweeping them all onto the floor with a single brush of my arm, watched them flutter to the, well, linoleum , I made my decision without regard, uncharacteristically, to the minutiae I had so devastatingly exhausted in my cognition.
Basically, I stopped thinking. For once in my life. And just did.
The last time I did anything remotely comparable was when I moved to Newport. And I’m laughing at myself right now. I guess I’ll never learn the easy way. I’ve always, always done everything the hard way. But I’ve never regretted the hard way. I’m a firm believer in things happen for a reason. And even though I had to live down south for five years to figure out I needed to be here to get to where I eventually need to be, that’s just the way it had to be. Yes. I’m still laughing at myself. Because I know how ridiculous I sound.
No one really knows what they’re doing, right? At least I hope I’m not the only one…
It was a beautiful, warm fall day in Laguna Beach. I suppose all days in Laguna are beautiful, even the gloomy days. But this day in particular was exquisite, very still and uncharacteristically hot, for November at least. Mid 90s.
Carly, the Garde Manger Queen, and I were sitting on the patio at Koffee Klatch, an artsy internet cafe on PCH. We both had to be at work at Savoury’s in a few hours, but work was merely fodder for conversation at that moment as we sat in the sun, sipping tea, hers a hot chai, mine an iced apricot.
The door to an art gallery next to us opened suddenly, and an old woman appeared. She was smiling and stumbled in an almost drunken way, as she descended the four brick steps leading down from the gallery to the walk.
She perched on a rail with one hand, the other pressed to her chest as if she was winded. I asked if she was all right, even though she was still smiling. She waved her hand, like she was dismissing the idea that anything could possibly be wrong and waddled up to our table, smiling at us. She pulled a chair away from an empty table and plopped herself down, in between me and Carly. We glanced at one another, amused.
“You don’t mind if I join you for a moment, do you?”
I smiled at her. “Not at all.”
Her name was Faye. For the next hour she sat beside us, telling jokes, offering little anecdotes about her life. She had lived in Laguna Beach for sixty years. Her husband had passed away quite a long time ago, she said, and they never did have children. She had no other living relatives and not very many friends left living nearby. As she talked and laughed, (practically to herself, for it felt as if Carly and I were merely an audience at a one-woman show) I couldn’t fathom how lonely she must be, to sit with two young strangers, and pour her heart out. I smiled at her, and laughed with her, asking questions when it seemed polite and appropriate. Her 85th birthday was a few days away, November 19th. The anniversary of the Gettysburg Address she reminded us. She seemed to love that.
She wore large bifocals, perfectly circular, with a translucent red frame. She had very short hair, almost buzzed and her tight curls were greyish white. She wore a long sleeve gray shirt and was very plump, round like her bifocals. Just looking at her made me smile. Not in a mocking way. In an appreciative way. Faye was so full of life and energy, and still had so much to give. Yet no one to accept.
She reminded me of my grandfather, may he rest in peace. He was still alive at that time and it broke my heart to think of him all alone, like Faye, talking to strangers, to feel a connection with someone, to feel connected to anyone.
* * *
As Carly and I walked to Cress Beach later on, she mentioned how awkward she thought it was, listening to Faye. How it made her a little uncomfortable, because she couldn’t help but feel sorry for the poor, senile old woman. Even though Faye had repeatedly expressed how blessed and wonderful her life had been, we couldn’t help but pity her current situation.
Taking some time out of our day to amuse an old woman deserving of our respect was the least we could do.
* * *
Before we left The Klatch, Faye asked if Carly and I would visit her sometime. We politely answered yes, we’d love to, and she wrote her name, address and phone number in my journal. She asked for our contact information, so I ripped half a page and wrote our names, my P.O. Box address, and the phone number at Savoury’s, folded it in half and handed it to her.
We stood and I said it was a pleasure to talk with her. She smiled up at me and thanked us. She said she loved talking to young people because she felt as if she could almost absorb some of our energy and youth and she loved that feeling. She stood, a little wobbly and I asked if she would like me to walk her to her car.
She smiled and replied, “No, thank you, dear. And if I fall on those steps, let me lie awhile. I probably need to rest.”
* * *
On Thanksgiving, a few days later, I drove up to her house on St. Ann’s Drive, to deliver her a bottle of wine and a little holiday cheer before I went to work. She wasn’t home, so I left the wine and a little note on her porch. She had a beautiful view from her house, and I stood there for a moment, thinking, and hoping Faye was enjoying the holiday with friends.
A few weeks later I received a post card in the mail from her, thanking me for the wine. That was the last contact I had with her.
I’ll never forget Faye, her incredible spirit, her love for life and her crazy laughter.
She touched my life, for a very brief moment, but I know I am a better person for having met her.
