Last week I did a few of my posts ahead of time so I could roam free in San Diego. A highlight was running into Trista, but there were others, too. Compared to LA, San Diego is calm and sleepy, and I love that about it. It doesn't feel possible that it's so close to all this craziness.
My friend Carol, whom I've known and loved for donkey years now, goes down to see her sister Camille for most of the summer holidays. She used to come back and tell me how wonderful her trips were. A few years ago I got fed up and cussed her out about never inviting me. Carol has a brother and two sisters. One sister is her twin, the other is her youngest, Camille. She is reeeal stingy with both of them. Don't mess with Carol's sister time. She'll cut you. No lie. But I was willing to take the risk, because I adore Camille, and San Diego is great, and I was feeling all kinds of left out. So Carol now throws me a bone every year or so.
Carol's been going through a lot this year. We all have. So she decided that our 4th of July should be an artists' retreat, where we picnicked in Balboa park and worked on projects that allowed us to be creative, but not ambitious. That meant no writing for any of us. Carol sketched. Camille painted and read. I farted around with David Sedaris, stood barefoot in the grass, intensely stared at people in an effort to be present, and took pictures with my camera phone (I'd forgotten to get batteries for my Canon).