Its 8:02 AM, 65 degrees, and the sun is rapidly to heating up the air. The paper says it should be around 98 today. I’m thinking, 98 and zero humidity—now that’s nice. The wind blows cool and the sun burns fiercely.
The flight from Dulles was uneventful, except for the two poo incidents, which I do not care to discuss. We spent the day in Berkeley, stomping through Matt’s old grounds. I have to say, Grace looked mighty cute dancing to a spontaneous rock/reggae fusion band playing in front of the infamous administration building steps.
We find ourselves in Redding, this area of Northern California has fabulous qualities that make me feel like hiking among cactus and desert sage. Its dry mountainous scape lies at the bottom of Mount Shasta --the “energy point” for new agers.
I’ve been cooking and cleaning up our hosts homes, first out of guestly duty but more than that. I think I’m trying to process the whole idea of being a nomad. For me, this may sound patriarchal, but the kitchen is my hearth. To be without kitchen, home, car, and bills is freeing but also scary. For the first time in my adult life I have no strings, we are a family of balloons tied together and anchored by nothing… interesting feel.
Next stop is our old college town of Chico…
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