pre-nostalgia

As usual, knowing I will only be here a relatively short time longer is making me take even more note of things that I may not see for a long time after leaving. The ocean of course, I will miss the saline tingle in my nostrils and the dark umber of the enormous pelicans resting on rocks, the ice-plants hanging off the cliffs, the plastic-looking pink kelp, the brilliant-ink-swirl of the toxic smog sunsets, so intense. The lean vacant girls with silly sunglasses and the wild tanned southern California kids with their unkempt hair and year-round freckles. Deli sandwiches with thick avocado chunks, sparkling water, local wine in plastic cups, the smell of hot sunscreen being baked into the skin by this unrelenting West Coast sun. The orchid trees in September with the wicked-thorny, touch-me-not trunks and branches. I will miss the simultaneous repulsion and thrill of Hollywood at night, the feelings of possibility and defeat that well up with the first shot of tequila (and the first toast to St. Christopher Cornell). The smell of the foul fake perfumey air freshener in Hollywood bar bathrooms where I have met many a bff while waiting for the single stall, why do the bathrooms here only have one stall? Charming bartenders... oh the charming bartenders. The flower market early on chilly Saturday mornings with the big white buckets full of overconfident roses, shy wax flowers, glamourous ranunculus, joyous freesia, languorous orchids, demure calla lilies, bloated hydrangeas, elegant dahlias, immature sunflowers, bright daffodils, perverted anthurium, aristocratic iris, silly Gerber daisies, maternal mums, regal gladiolas, accommodating stock, delicate bluebells........HOW I WILL MISS THE CHILLY WAREHOUSES full of the smell of green and all the colour....the dirty freight elevator, the handsome young flower sellers... I will miss seeing lovely small lemons on a new tree, the way the red on the skin of blood oranges tends toward the bottom of the fruit as if it weighs more and gravity draws it low. A hopeful new-planted avocado tree. The song of the little bird with the twig-coloured faux-hawk, so light and trilly-sweet. The darting hummingbirds which remind me of do-re-me-fa-so-la-to….as they rise and fall “sew- a needle pulling thread…” through the air. The copper throats of the little brownies, the deep crimson throats of the greenies… So many things to miss, but, I know too that they will all be replaced with beloved items of god’s handiwork wherever else I roam. The suspicious crows looming…. the succulents and the perfect round leaves of the strange eucalyptus, Japanese magnolia against the dark sky, the vanilla-lily-heavy-custard scent of waxy-leaved magnolia….all of the fruit trees blooming in February, so early… Yesterday, walking, I saw a pick laying beside a shovel in freshly turned damp earth, whoever had been employing the tools had clearly gone off for lunch and left them looking spent in the soil, it was so sensual, seemed so erotic and gorgeous to me. Okay… this is all for now…