Today I expected to wake in San Diego. I planned to hike Torrey Pines National Park with the Pacific Ocean to my west and the rest of life to my east.
Instead, life interrupted.
Instead I woke in our Fayetteville cottage to the chorus of birds chirping and chattering. I can’t imagine San Diego birds have anything on Fayetteville birds.
So there is no view of the ocean, but Mt. Sequoyah towers in the distance, the sun filters through the bare trees rising over the mountaintop cross.
Instead of lunch yesterday at a secluded oceanside romantic La Jolla cafe, we dined in Eufaula, Oklahoma.
At I Smell Bacon.
Next door to I Smell Gas.
Lake Eufaula was concealed just to the west over the treetops, a bit murky this time of year, the winter water churning and turning, preparing for spring, preparing new life.
I had a Chef Salad with turkey, cheddar, iceberg lettuce, one boiled egg and French dressing shot straight from a red ketchup bottle. Bland and boring, I could barely taste it. Somehow it filled a hollow space inside me.
John had bacon.
My father-in-law has pneumonia. He was agitated and disoriented and struggled late into the night trying to get out of bed, trying to pull various tubes from his body, trying to get something to eat. He would have loved I Smell Bacon.