Palm Springs

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Tink and I were in Palm Springs for a girls’ weekend at the end of June, and it was wonderful, but I haven’t yet had a chance to write much about it.

We had decided to do it because we’d long been trying to have a girls’ weekend, but life, and time, and our conflicting bi-coastal schedules had not allowed for it.  But when the window appeared, briefly, at the end of June, we jumped right through, and booked a room at The Parker in Palm Springs.

That was almost too easy, Tink had laughed.

In some ways, it was, but in other ways, it had been a lot of hard tries.  Tink has been one of my best friends since I was a freshman at UCLA, and we had survived a lot of bad heartache, and a few bad boyfriends, and at least one wedding a piece (it looks like her marriage will stick, as she and Nate have been together well over a decade now; my first round at the rodeo obviously didn’t go so well).

Anyway, we made it to the desert and back.

And we basked in the sun like two lizards on rocks, and marvelled at how we could be thinner, and fitter, and prettier in our thirties than in our teens or our twenties.  And we wondered how so much time could have gone by, and how there could still be so much left ahead.

As we sat in the California evening on our first night in the desert, I just wanted to bottle it all up — the heat, and the sand, and the moments we had together that weekend.  Because everything was changing — I could feel it.  We had taken the trip because we knew we were on the cusp of change.

Soon enough, there would be babies, and maybe I would even get remarried.  There was so much to look forward to.  We talked about the seriousness of our careers, and the permanence of the decisions we were making.

But just yesterday, we were college freshmen with hideous haircuts, at the beginning of the beginning.  The speed with which things had happened took my breath away.

 

 

On our first night in the hotel, we were heading back to our room after dinner, and we heard the couple across the hall going at it, loud enough to be heard in the corridor.  We laughed, and rolled our eyes, and didn’t think much of it.  We had reached the age where it was unremarkably funny.  It was a non-event.  (At least…for us.)  We were no longer of the “run away snickering” age, and we hadn’t yet reached the “wistful envy” phase.

We were simply in the thick of living.  In retrospect, it seemed so weird to be in the thick middle part of living, and not quite so much in the mean striving bit any more.

 

 

 

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