Have we forgotten you warm haven? Turned to others more sober and chic? Lest you think it, we call attention now to your charm, oh wonder by the sea, oh proud land on which an awestruck world trains its gaze, its hope and its envy. And while a warbled oath to your glory might do little to convince you, it's thus we sing your graces.
A typical summer day in Long Beach. In this sun-kissed land, we the people place our faith in that timeless oath of glad souls each cloudless day: thou shalt be tanned.
Home is where the heart is. Rejoice and be glad for the afternoon siesta after a long morning at the beach.
What better way than sport to stress the body and test the soul. Perhaps no finer education to encourage us to know the depths and limits of our being. In this land of temperate beauty, we happy Californians have an embarrassing array of choice the whole year long.
Space and time they tell us have been vanquished by technology. And yet we moderns so routinely lament the disconnect that haunts our busy lives. Living in Southern California seems only to heighten our exposure to this potential malaise. All the more reason to take pride in the friendships we've built there. For they have been the cornerstone of a life of rich purpose.
And yet more hours of relaxation in the beanbag. It is difficult to build a home in the modern world, but without doubt the most noble occupation we know. A life of study, work and daily communion with the arts has been the fruit of our efforts.
Joyous days: eve of our wedding. Surprise dinner party with friends to announce our imminent union. Two days later, 33 friends and family members joined us at the Norwalk Justice of the Peace for our exchange of vows.
And with such family to root one, we have gone forth in the cultivation of such hopes and dreams that only the most truly blessed might ever entertain. To know such a bounty gives strength to us here, so far from those we love.
Home ThoughtsThe sea rocks have a green moss.
The pine rocks have red berries.
I have memories of you.
Speak to me of how you miss me.
Tell me the hours go long and slow.
Speak to me of the drag on your heart,
The iron drag of the long days.
I know hours empty as a beggar's tin cup on a rainy day,
empty as a soldier's sleeve with an arm lost.
Speak to me...
--Carl Sandburg
Our homeland and our muse, may you ever call to us your children, wandering afar in foreign lands. For your song calls us to the long and difficult path home.
1 comment:
come on, come on! you have turned the corner, you frenchies, sending siren songs to la belle californie, like a mermaid to a far away ship. i've wondered these past weeks and months where oh where you have been, but now i know, you are living votre vie en france, without apology. that is just as is should be. matty, are you dreaming in french now? ruthy, are our faces and the sounds of our voices becoming a faint memory. oh say it ain't so. promise you'll return at some point......
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