I hate to say this and possibly offend truly-good friends made in Utah. But I will say it anyway and trust that they know my heart well enough: I am so happy to be out of that state, living and working in California.
The last two years now feel like a void in my life. Almost everything about Utah is harsh. Climate, high altitude, theocracy that poses as state government... add in lack of trees, lawns, shrubs, and flowers in most neighborhoods (including ours), and little of Utah cheers the soul or provides solace when a body hits the inevitable bump in the road.
No pretenses about California. Even with the overwhelming beauty of this place, with flowers peeking out of nooks and crannies, and waves crashing on pristine beaches, I know it is not paradise. Traffic, high rent, crime, state government on the verge of bankruptcy, these too are California. Even were I to strike it rich, landing somehow on the A-List, it would not make me or my family immune from LA freeways and daily headaches associated with the second largest city in these United States.
And yet I love the sunshine, the roar of the ocean, flowers casually draped on random walls. When the body is warmed and nourished, one's spirit may also revel in the abundance of Nature, an abundance that draws out stories and renews laughter.
My dear Joanie and Sid, abandoned in Utah for lack of breathing room, beckon me once again to tell their story. Last I wrote about them (The Generation), I could not imagine them in love. Here, I cannot imagine them otherwise.
Hansi and Frog, Ursula Grimm, Fritz and Lotte, Butterfly Lace, those other manuscripts buried under Utah's dust, now stand a chance of completion. I can "hear" the stories more clearly. Once again, I know the sound that red makes.
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