Back in Sacramento

Sure, a coffee shop in this city is not that different from one in any other city. But being back in Northern California reminds me how unique the atmosphere here is. And I mean atmosphere both physically and metaphysically. It’s hopping from wireless hotspot to wireless hotspot near Cesar Chavez Plaza, I can taste the moisture that lingers on each breeze. The air is alive here after a light rain fell in the city overnight. It’s not exactly a feeling of “homecoming” to be back here, not that we expected that, but it is certainly a very familiar place. At the wide and gushing confluence of the Sacramento and American Rivers, Sacramento is a moist oasis compared to the trickling Platte and high desert we left in Denver. The air is still clear and the mountains nearby, and there is the same summer heat, but it feels less intense than the rays that sear you at 5,280 feet. The faces of the people downtown reflect all the waves of cultures that have come here before now and been invited to take root. Overall, it’s peaceful here.

Yesterday, I took note of the bamboo shoots at our friends’ house that surround their koi pond and reach 20 feet to the sky with their delicate open hands at each growing segment of smooth green stalk. I meditated there for a tiny moment (a micro-meditation).  “It’s all still here”, I thought, meaning all that we left four years ago. It’s nice to reflect on the permanency of things. People here are still doing what they do, talking like they talk, moving through life the way they move. When we feel out of our element and far from home, we can find comfort in the reliability that others have, even while it isn’t ours right now. When there is so much in transition and so many loose ends, it helps somehow to know that a routine lifestyle is possible to achieve again… someday… hopefully soon. When there are just not enough “crises” at work to keep our minds temporarily distracted from the present truth—to keep us oblivious to the weight and significance of each moment we spend here—watching the day-to-day lives of those around us taking place is a kind of solace.

We are in the temporal doldrums of a heretofore unnavigated sea, adrift in a sense, and watching each day as it unfolds in its own unique way. Last night ended with me playing the part of the “carpet monster” fending off multiple pillow attacks coordinated by a 2 and 4 year old. I was finally vanquished in a combined assault that left me fatally blinded by a flashlight and laying in the groaning throws of demise. I loved every minute of giggling chaos, and fell asleep smiling as the victors snoozed in their jammies. It was an awesome end to an otherwise unproductive day at work. I guess the important stuff got taken care of.

At the end of today, we’ll have the good fortune of spending the evening with Marty and two of the "three blonditos" (Kayla and Paige), who are making their way over from Fairfield for the night. My hope is that there will be something like this to remember from each day we are here, and even if it doesn’t yet come in the form of a call (“the call”), there will be special moments we get to spend with our friends and family as we wait in this semi-final stretch. I’ll hold onto those special moments together with close friends and occasional family as we wait in our proverbial makeshift flotilla, lashed together with the hope that we’ve weaved over the last several months, with hardly a breeze in our sails. Not exactly castaways, but still praying for tradewinds to blow and currents to take us to the right destination, as we move languidly over this unknown ocean.