There you sit in the twilight of a winter eve, hugging a cup of hot cocoa with your hands, staring out the window at the drifting snowflakes.  
    
You’re thinking about a lot of things…past, present, and future.  But mostly, you’re dreaming of Christmas Past.  Ah—-to be back in the Days of Yore.   Those good ol’ days.  Before the stock market tanked.  Before banks and corporations began going down like dominoes. 

Before the dire announcements about a Global Economic Crisis “unlike any since the Great Depression of ‘29.”     
You ponder these matters.   
    
Steam rises from the cup of hot cocoa…a warmth steals over you. You start to relax and unwind.  Your thoughts skitter back in time.  How can the magic of Christmas be restored?    
           
Inevitable thoughts arise.       

My first outing  with Michael was a date extraordinaire.   I’ve never had one like it…..
 
We met at Trinidad Beach on the California coast…a long stretch of cliffs and caverns.  Crashing surf.    I gazed about me, transfixed.  It was so glorious…so heaven-on-earth…The most romantic spot I’d ever seen…
 
Better yet—-I was with the most romantic man on earth.
 
Michael O’Neal was everything a gal could want…A handsome hunk of a man…broad-shouldered and fit and strong…(like a blond Michael Landon—but with shorter curls.)

Instinctively, he sensed that my heart was fragile—-that it had been shattered a dozen times, at least.  He told me not to worry.  He only wanted an hour of my time.  Just an hour for a picnic at the beach. 
 
So I obliged him.

 

While the rest of the world seems to be falling apart—economically and otherwise—I myself have been living in a world of wonder…a Pacific paradise, of sorts.

How did it all happen?  Well, I’m not even sure, myself.

It started last spring.  I came to Northern California seeking a soulmate, only to discover that my internet-romance left much to be desired.  I tried to fit into the wacky world of my city-bred suitor, but it just didn’t work.  

Remember my apartment balcony garden?  And the Great Soil Heist?  And the piles of beachcombing treasures I accumulated? What a mess that was! 

I prepared to leave this wonderful paradise in NorCal…But then the good Lord intervened, and I met a country gentleman—a prince of a man whom I’d met once before when he was traveling in the Midwest.

The other day I sat staring into the Missouri River, seeing the odd turbulence that boiled up unexpectedly within its depths…Bubbles and turmoil.  Strange eruptions arising from unseen sources.

I watched them warily. They were like the troubles brewing beneath the surface in America.

Our government officials have warned us for years of a coming crisis—a pandemic, or natural calamity, or massive terrorist strike or even an economic collapse.  But we haven’t prepared. We can’t conceive of such a catastrophe.

Our idea of a crisis is losing an e-mail in cyberspace somewhere, or running out of pretzels during a Superbowl game. A massive EMP strike that melts down the wiring of every computer and electronic device in our homes, stores, gas stations and workplace …?

Autumn…. it’s a whimsical season.
 
In the fall, we linger over small things…pausing to watch an ant scurrying along with a crumb for his winter supply…  An inch-worm working his way along a blade of grass. 
 
We look to the heavens, seeing  the haunting glow of a harvest moon.  We behold the wonders of our universe rising before us…The galloping of Pegasus across the dark heavens…The swirling dust of galaxies lingering in the autumn sky.
 
Daydreams and fanciful notions waft through our minds—spiraling ’round and ’round like the leaves drifting down a country lane.
 
Colorful memories.  Relics of summertime…Dirt between our toes, and the tickle of sunshine across the nose.
 
The sparkle of a dewy spring morn… The antics of squirrels and robins.  A family of quail erupting from the brush, then settling nearby with fretful calls:  “Where are we?” They cry, “Where are we?”  

 There we were—my ninety-year old Granny and I, sitting in front of the small-town Grocery, waiting for my mom and my daughter to finish shopping.  Grandma was chattering away in the back seat, but I knew she wasn’t talking to me.

     “You feel cold?” she said.  “I don’t want you to cry.”  Granny peered at her doll for a moment, then reached down to scrub the spaghetti sauce from the doll’s face—leftovers from dinner. 

The doll grinned back at Grandma with a goofy, buck-toothed smile.  His name is Mortimer Snerd and he’s really a ventriloquist’s dummy….But Granny doesn’t know the difference.  To her, he’s just her little baby

      She held him up to the car window to let him see the big red Ford driving by.  Grandma smiled.  “Look at that big red cow.”  Her gaze wandered on, taking in the scene about her.  “You’d be so much happier climbing out there in that green grass, wouldn’t you?” she said.

      I followed her tired gaze.  There was no grass in sight.  Just signs and windows and cracked sidewalks. 

      Smoke billowed from the mountains as I drove down 299 on my way out of California. It looked like Hell on earth.

      Wildfire season was here, but I was escaping the smoky inferno by heading East to the Midwest. I needed to do some regrouping, as well.

      I’d been living in California for two months—-trying to fit my country-girl lifestyle into a city-girl environment.  It hadn’t worked very well.  Claustrophobia had set in almost immediately.

      Day after day, I found myself fleeing to the beach and the coastland.  I filled the car with driftwood and rocks and shells—much to the dismay of my city-bred fiance`.

Northern California is a lovely place—no doubt about it…Towering Redwoods…an incredible coastline…historical towns. There’s really no place like it on earth. Most of the natives are friendly—even overly-helpful.

But some of the folks? Oh my! They are really wacky.

It’s a true culture-clash, here in NorCal. Folks with purple hair, nose-rings, tongue-studs, dred-locks and full-body tattoos versus the Mercedes/Beamer crowd who sport bumper stickers that say:

“Frugal is such an ugly word”. And “I love Big Brother…” and “Forget Peace…War is the Answer”.

I’m telling you, it’s downright scary.

When I first arrived here, my fiance, Steven, took me touring Old Town Eureka. The people there were startling, but the buildings were even worse. Inside the historical shops were signs that said: “Earthquake Warning—these old buildings are NOT reinforced and could collapse. Enter at your own risk!”

Oh yeah. Welcome to California.

 

Last month, I loaded up my little Saturn and headed west all alone—like some kind of pioneer woman.  Well, I wasn’t exactly alone.  
 
I had the Angel of the Lord with me, and three stuffed monkeys.  
 
I’m not sure where my Guardian Angel rode during that long trip, but the monkeys sat in the window along with a sign that read: “California or Bust”.  (One glance at the car assured everyone what the “Bust”part meant.  Before I left home, I’d managed to bust both “plastic” fenders on my Saturn. I bandaged the fender-cracks with duct tape before setting out on my journey.) 
 
I took off in the late afternoon on April 8th, heading into the setting sun.  I was going to see the California Man…..the one who had proposed to me during the spring blizzard several months ago.  I was leaving behind everyone and everything dear to me and was heading into unfamiliar territory….

She swims in the aquarium boldly now…this nondescript little Bluegill who came to me in an unexpected way. Darting amongst the larger fish, she swims unafraid—as undaunted as the name that I gave her…..I call her—-

But wait! I’m getting ahead of my story, folks. We have to start back at the beginning…Back to the spring of ‘07–a rather trying time for me, I must say.

Can someone just sprinkle me with Pixie Dust…? I need a bit of magic in my Love Life. After five years of widowhood, it would be wonderful to have a soul mate for Valentine’s Day!

Actually, my quest for a nice Christian fellow began a year ago. I woke up one morning and said to my kids: “That’s it! I’m going to find my soul mate on one of those Christian internet sites.”

Although the kids had misgivings, they decided to be helpful. They showed their old-fashioned mom how to bumble her way through cyberspace…The setting up of an email in-box. The writing of a profile. The installation of photos on the dating website.

Without my computer-savvy kids, I couldn’t have done it.

It was an answer to prayer…it really was. I applied for a job at the Flower Cart in Falls City, and a week later, I had it.

I couldn’t believe my good fortune. How many years have I wanted to work at a Florist’s Shop! It was a dream come true–to work amongst the “little people” with upturned faces…daisies, roses, pixie carnations and the lovely Gerbera’s…Gerber Babies, as I call them. They’re like fragile children and I’ve loved them from the first moment I saw them looking up at me.

I talk to the flowers when there’s no one around. I don’t know what folks must think of me when they find me whispering to the Pixies and Chocolate Kiss roses…but no one has said anything. Not yet.