12/24/19: Christmas Eve

Today, Christmas Eve, marks Herman and my eighth anniversary living in our Palm Springs home. This begs a moment of reflection, a moment of looking back. But to be honest, these eight years flew by at warp speed, so much so that looking back is difficult, other than to smile and sigh contentedly. It seems only a few winters ago we showed up here with a truck full of wall art and a car crammed with camping gear. That camping gear became our only furnishings for the first two weeks in this house because the movers didn’t deliver all our home furnishings until January 7^th. I guess they didn’t want to work near the holidays.  That was fine by us. It gave us two weeks to paint walls, wax floors, and clean every nook and cranny before we filled the house with our junk. And we were so happy to be here that we didn’t mind camping in an empty house. It was a new adventure, and it felt like we were starting out with nothing—no possessions, no history, nothing weighing us down or slowing our steps—but each other and the love we shared. 

So many things changed for us after our move to Palm Springs. I sometimes think that my life began that day we moved into this house with our air mattress and sleeping bags. It felt like everything that came before was a preparation, a time in a womb to teach and prepare me for this birth into my happy years. And I think the biggest change for me as been the steady decline of my striving to become a popular writer. It could be this house, this city, or simply old age, but I’ve become comfortable with who I am and what I’ve accomplished in my sixty-six years of striving. I’ve come to the truth that I don’t need to publish more books or make more money or become better known. I don’t need to entertain people with my stories. I don’t need to do anything other than be a loving husband and a caring human being. That’s enough. That idea is what I carry into our ninth year in this house. What I’ve done, what I am, is enough.