Since I took a break from writing fiction, I’ve been compelled to blog again. The post below is something I wrote during the April meeting of my writing group. Each month we begin with a brief meditation, then a ten-minute response to a prompt. I’m sharing the result of my most recent effort because the topic is special to me, and because today is my husband’s birthday. You’ll see why that’s relevant when you read.
Note: I chose not to edit. Sometimes raw writing is best.
Prompt for April 21, 2017:
Describe your HAPPY PLACE the first time you were there…
We park at the top of a steep, narrow driveway against a curb of stones placed close together. The sun is hot, the sky blue. Clouds float overhead, moving across the canyon, drifting and lazy. Across from our vantage point sits what I grew up calling Snoopy Rock.
My earliest memories are of my famly winding through Kanan Dume on our way to Zuma Beach in an old Chevy my dad bought from my mother’s grandpa for $1.00.
But I am not a child today. I am an adult. A married woman with children of my own who are not with me as I pick my way across a wood-chipped path to the tasting room of Cielo Farms.
It’s called The Barn for a reason. Stone on the outside. Earthy floors within. The ceilings are vaulted and wood-beamed. Sunlight streams in from high windows. In the corners sit white leather couches above which loom giant portraits of Ringo Starr and Mick Jagger. Friendly young girls who couldn’t be much older than 21 pour us tastes of the day’s offerings.
Bill and I are members so I know already that I love the reds.
We take our plastic cups out to the high pub tables — also made of wood — at the edge of the property. I sip my cabernet and take a selfie of me with Snoopy rock in the background. Then one of Bill and me. He heads back inside The Barn to ask for our next taste from the young pourers.
The sun is hot, the sky blue. Clouds float overhead, moving across the canyon, drifting and lazy.
And I am happy.
Happy Birthday, WCG. Wherever you are is my happy place.