California and Thanksgiving

This is JOY. Because I'm on a bike. On the beach.

This is JOY. Because he's on Pebble Beach. With an imaginary golf club.


"I remember that the Gabilan Mountains to the east of the valley were light gay mountains full of sun and loveliness and a kind of invitation, so that you wanted to climb into their warm foothills almost as you want to climb into the lap of a beloved mother. They were beckoning mountains with a brown grass love. . . From both sides of the valley little streams lipped out of the hill canyons and fell into the bed of the Salinas River. . ." - John Steinbeck


We were welcomed with open arms like we were family, given a bed, food, a car . . . time to think, sit, practice, pray, and run and run and run without limits - just space and the rhythm of feet hitting warm pavement. Freedom filled my lungs as I experienced life without a baby for the first time since she was born. At first longing and worry, then the taste of independence caught my breath. It was days of sun; fantastically long and beautiful runs with never ending hills and good music in my ears; fantastic company where new relationships were born and old ones nurtured; great food, much love, gratitude . . . gratitude overwhelmed me. We returned to find Brooklynn had developed a strong relationship with her cousins and grandma, she seemed bigger, happy, and delighted to have had a week at the farm with her grandma.
A Thanksgiving full of reasons for thanksgiving.