Bread

This morning I walked to Henry’s from our house to pick up a loaf of bread.  The sky was bright blue with thick, puffy white and gray clouds and the wind made my cheeks rosy.  As I walked along the main street with stones for the road and brick buildings, it had another feel that East County does not usually have.  The door to one of the restaurants opened up as I walked by and I could smell baking food, sugar, and soft hint of beer.  Suddenly I was in another town.  I was 18 walking down the streets of Sonoma in late winter.

I was only there for a weekend, but it was a fun weekend.  I was being showed around town by a guy.  A guy that I had pretty much known all of my life, I think I started having a crush on him around age 9. Friends of the family’s son, you know the drill.  During that trip it came out that we must have been in an unofficial arranged marriage because both sets of parents supported our budding relationship-despite the age difference.  We never did establish a relationship, beyond friendship.

For that weekend (and a little while after) I thought he was the bees knees.  He took me around to tea shops, all natural grocery stores, and even a few friend’s houses.  My favorite part was when we drove to Sebastopol listening to Pink Floyd and Bob Marely, we stopped at a bakery that made this very yummy bread.  At this point I had not seen anything like it in San Diego, so everything seem so different, raw, and Earthy.  Damn hippie chick, right?

As I walked home today with my Orowheat bread in my reusable grocery sack, I realized I am getting a little closer everyday to being back at that state of mind.   Even with a hiccup today of getting an update on waht’s going on at my old company. I still feel the stress knot in my belly.  But a few days of not thinking about it and I will be fine.

I need to visit NorCal again soon, John and I haven’t been there since we got married-almost 3 years ago.

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