Exactly one year later, Serena and I awoke under desert skies as brand new residents. Surrounded by boxes, we were taken by the tranquility of our newly adopted home and hopeful that the change from the din of Los Angeles would prove to be a correct decision. Palm Springs. The Rainbow Casket. Gayberry. We were here.
At the one year mark, I must say that it has treated us both well. Serena peers out the glass door much of the day, and has developed a fondness for desert life. She is particularly fascinated by the Lizard channel.
I'm relaxed and reinvigorated by the pace of the desert. The social life here is more spontaneous than in LA, perhaps because of the lack of traffic. One is not exhausted and ready to drop by the time they get home, so there is still some energy remaining to meet people out for a drink or a bite. And there is only a minor penalty for distance, which is the leading cause of shut-ins on the west side. I can even drive all the way to Palm Desert in twenty minutes, even thought it's still too far or civilized people to attempt.
In the desert, forty-something isn't automatically equated with the dinosaurs, so being relative chicken and all I've even been asked out on dates. Specifically I've dated two different people in the last year, with unspectacular but non-menacing outcomes. Okay, I must be honest. One was quite promising from afar, but one examined close up had me scrambling for the witness protection program. (Memo to staff: better vetting.) The other was a nice guy with a kind smile, whose hobbies were gardening, and using the internet as his personal petting zoo. No big loss, and I'm still willing to entertain the notion should a more promising candidate amble by, so there we are.
And coolest of all, I'm keeping myself more or less afloat with this here writing thing. Paying gigs do interfere with ones blogging time, but I'm happy with what I'm doing and so far am keeping the wolf away from the door. Technically, he's three doors down.
But I think he's busy prowling on the internet.
