Sunday, September 26, 2010

My Heart Is In H.B.

I belong here.

Whenever I come here, I feel like I'm home. Known. I know myself best here.

Just like the smell of freshly brewed coffee when I walk into my parents house, the smell of the long and soft green grass on the north side of the HB pier welcomes me home. It's as if the scent of the grass is saying,
"Hey Heidi! Good to see you again. Sit! Soak it in. Relax! Welcome home."

So I do.

And here I am.

A blown wish-flower stem lays next to me - the seeds already scattered by my big blow with all the breath I could muster.

Perhaps that why I feel like I belong here. So many wishes have been blown here by me during the course of my life. I am sure some of those wishes have taken root in this grass.
Perhaps I've recycled my wishes and have blown the same wishes I have helped to grow here. Blowing and Planting. Blowing and Planting. My wishes keep growing here in HB.

As I lay in this wish-sprinkled grass, I see an unoccupied picnic table to my far left. But in my mind's eye, there is much activity at that table.

In my mind's eye, My Grandma Clarice is spreading out a plastic, red-and-white checkered table cloth. It catches in the wind and my nine-year-old self runs to catch the corners and help her lay it down.

We all carry down the food and most of us are wearing over-sized Michigan sweatshirts. My mom holds my newly-born sister tightly bundled in a blanket. I switch between being a mature daughter helping with the dishes to being a pony-tailed girl who wants to roll down the hills with my six-year-old sister.

After a couple hours, it starts to get windy. My grandpa warns that we shouldn't be out when it is cold and damp. My mom rallies us up and my dad loads the car. I soak every last bit of the wind that I can before I get in the car and stare out the window at the ocean

I blink....and I'm back to reality.

As I'm laying on this ground where I've planted my wishes, I realize that my sometimes-wish of going back in time can only happen in the fond remembrances of my mind.

But the gentle swirling breeze around me and the rhythmic roar of the ocean before me reminds me that my future lies in forward motion. The whisper seems to say to me,

"It is good to know where you've come from. Be thankful for your roots, embrace your foundation, smile at your memories.

But live in the now.

And, without rushing, anticipate your future with joy.

And in this moment, laying on a bed of grass and childhood wishes,

Be Glad."

This post was first written in my journal, on a beautiful Sunday early-evening, in Huntington Beach, CA

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