I am at my mother’s house in Santa Barbara. On my step-father’s computer. Sitting at his desk. It’s a Swedish antique with a shredding leather top, embossed with letterpress wedding invitation-type flourishes. The desk, of course, not the computer.
I can see the ocean out the window, across a narrow strip of lawn, over the hedge at the end of the property, past a palm tree. The ocean lying flat and gray blue out in the distance. Fog and the Santa Catalina islands beyond.
My kids are sleeping over in the guest house. My sister’s older kids are sleeping upstairs. My sister and her husband and her toddler are already awake watching a cartoon movie about talking backhoes. Privilege has little impact on some things.
Later today I will go with my son and watch my sister’s older boy play soccer. Seven little boys on his U-9 soccer team. They will run all over the field and kick balls and bump into each other. My nephew has blonde hair that falls below his shoulders. I am sure that when he plays he puts it in a ponytail. Another lovely ponytail incarnation, little boys playing sports in California. I can’t wait to see all those knobbly boy knees and to stand next to my son and tease him and remind him of how much he hated it when I cheered him from the sidelines. One of the remembered joys of motherhood, the part when you cheer and when your not-yet-teenaged son scowls at you from the field.
Have a wonderful weekend.
*Ooops. It’s the Channel Islands. Santa Cruz Island to be exact. We have a lot of Santas in California…