A Foggy Fairy Tale

I drove from Ventura to LA with an eight foot surfboard blocking all views from my rear view mirror and right side. Extremely safe. The heat was exceptional (okay, for Southern California), because our sweet city is burning again :(. The mushroom cloud of smoke rising from the Los Angeles forest covers the horizon off the bluff. Very looming.
I saw people for the first time in six months and felt like we had never parted, though at the same time, I smiled bigger than I can remember smiling in a long time. There were some necessary hiccups. But the best part of the night had nothing to do with happiness or smiles...there were many tears, and much joy.
Vega came over, and after too much whining about how badly we were going to fail, we (okay, she and Molly) made an almost perfect Spanish tortilla. After showing it off to everyone who came through the door (not one complaint), we settled down snug on our carpet couch to watch Evita with Madonna and Antonio Banderas. Sure, it's festive music, and has an extremely delicious male lead, but overall, what a sad movie. What a realistic, sad movie, which makes you think, sometimes too hard. So as the final credits crept in after Eva Peron's coffin faded out, we three sat in silence, staring at the laptop, each in her own silent, scary world. There was no way I was going to bed on such a note, so heavy-legged and dirty from moving boxes and flipping potatoes all day, we trekked out to the bluff and sat and stared in silence at the Los Angeles lights below. We each fought our own demons, but I, at least, felt extremely comforted by their presence. There's nothing better and worse than hugs and tears.
I needed a night like that. I lacked them abroad. Most of those nights consisted of FUNFUNFUN, but I am ready for the real world. With a little fun on the side, for sure :).
Thank you to my girls for that foggyfairytale first night back.

Two Days in London? Really?

I'm ginger. Blue-eyed. Fascinated by literature, the Britons, the Celts, greenery, Irish/Scottish/Welsh/British accents. I like wearing rain coats. I'm very sarcastic. And I love anything internatonal. In short (dare I presume?), I'm a Londoner at heart.
How the heck did I expect to spend two days here and not get attached?
The second I stepped out of the Tube from Heathrow airport, a metro attendant with a face like mine winked at me and inquired, "You alright there, love?" With his perfect accent. I almost died. It only got better.
London in a 10 minute description, since I'm leaving for LAX in a half hour:
It smells good everywhere, like flowers and water and wind. Unlike most other capital cities, which have a couple gardens to make themselves feel better, the greenery and gardens are the life of London, and they dominate the landscape beyond it. The British accent has the capability of sounding pleasant in any situation. A couple bums were screaming at each other in Piccadilly Circus and I stopped to listen at how refined they sounded. Also, this city is the capital of the language I love the most, where I can find literary history seeping from the cobblesontes. I LOVE IT HERE. Here's how much. You know how I loved Spain? After visiting here two days, I think, if I could do it over...
...oh, that's unfair. My first day here I walked through everything, almost. The Tower of London, the Tower Bridge, the Globe Theatre, the Thames, Parliament and Westminster Abbey, St. Paul's Cathedral (didn't see any old women feeding birds; Mary Poppins was mistaken), Southwark Cathedral, St. James' Park. That night I ate dinner at my hostel's restaurant with four Aussies. London is LOADED with them. I got up the next day and met Marie-Helene, an Erasmus friend, at Buckingham Palace. We took a sentimental walk through Kensington, Hyde Park, Piccaddilly Circus, and the National Gallery. That night I went out with two adorable Aussie girls again, for drinks, and a sweet bon voyage from Europe.
I'm leaving.
It's true that it's time, that I will ecstatically step into LAX and embrace SoCal with a WHOOP. But I have made this promise to myself, so that I can handle leaving London:
I will be back, and for a long time too!