Friday, April 1, 2011


If I had the time today, I know what I'd like to do.

I would drive to Santa Monica. It's a gorgeous warm day here, like summer, but the sky is blue and clear and promising. To head my car into that blue and just drive...

Once there I'd pass on the glitz and hustle of Third Street Promenade. Instead, I'd head to the older, quieter part of Santa Monica. I'd browse for a new summer hat, maybe something in straw, with a bright pink ribbon. Or turquoise. Maybe a supple grey felt. Or a tiny black cloche with a jet bauble best worn in the thirties or on the screen.

I'd go next door to the Novel Cafe. With a latte steaming on a rickety wooden table, I grab a handful of battered books and browse through them. Muse through them. I'd bring a notebook and a smooth-inked pen and dream across the page.

Then I'd find myself below the pier. The view in the header photo is the Southern Santa Monica Beach and I would stroll there, feet cooled by the curl of the waves until I would sink down into the sun-warmed sand and simply watch the motion and the stillness of it all.

And, if I had still more time, I'd check into a crisp, beachfront hotel and take a small room just for me. White walls and shutters and linen on a just right bed with a desk that faces the balcony and opens onto the view of the ocean just outside, and simply sit and write and dream some more. And breathe life into some new stories in a peaceful, gentle way.

That's how I'd spend my time if it was only mine to spend, today.

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