February 3rd: Cruising north on the PCH

When I left Utah this afternoon I was pretty happy.  My grandson Bucky, a three and a half year old pre-schooler, had successfully ridden solo on the bus home from school and I was there to greet him.   I was given a gift of art he created earlier this morning (I think it was a pink snowflake…or a flamingo…I’m not sure)   We celebrated with PB&J sandwiches and juice and then I got to the airport in plenty of time to catch my flight to LA.   I thought it would be tough to beat the smile he brought to my face when he recognized me standing on the curb, waiting for him to arrive.  He called out to the bus driver, enthusiastically, “It’s my Tappaw!!!” My day was made.

But three hours and 45 degrees later I was landing at LAX and the sun was shining.  John Batdorf picked me up at the airport and said the 405 was packed and so we decided to take the Pacific Coast Highway up to Topanga and cross over into the San Fernando Valley (where we’d spend a few days rehearsing for our Saturday night webcast from KulaksWoodshed).  When we got to Santa Monica and the ocean came into view my heart skipped a beat, as it always does when I feel the power and the majesty of the sea.  It was GORGEOUS and it was February 3rd and it was 71 degrees and I asked myself why I left this part of paradise I called home for nearly eight of the last twelve years.

I knew the answer.  There were lots of reasons for our return to Utah.  The songwriter bailout never arrived.  Our parents, Lynne’s AND mine,  were battling the realities of being in their eighties and having some serious health issues.  They needed more than once a month visits.  Not to mention that Bucky  has no other grandparents to give his snowflake flamingos to and his brand new baby sister Sadie has no other fifty somethings to spit up on.   We’re home, and we’re where we’re supposed to be and there is MORE than enough joy to sustain a man on a mission to be happy.

But oh, there’s a reason too many people live near the ocean in Southern California. I know the state’s bankrupt (some would say morally as well as financially, though I’ve never believed those who’ve claimed that if Malibu doesn’t slide into the ocean some day God’s going to have to apologize to Sodom and Gomorrah)   It’s just so heavenly today.  It must have something to do with the ions coming off the waves or the mountains meeting the sea or the palm trees and the sand or the fresh fish at Malibu Seafood…..or the…..or the….or  the….or all of it.   I celebrated moments of pure bliss coming down the California Incline from Santa Monica by rolling down the window, breathing deep, and cruising north on the PCH.