So you know

San Diego was lovely. Just lovely.

We did a million and one things like see Terminator, watch some of the Detroit Red Wings play the Chicago Blackhawks, see some incredible old fashioned country music in a church with stained glass windows peopled with gentlemen in cowboy hats and boots.

We strolled along the beach at Coronado, watched TWO plays in one day (The Glass Menagerie and Agatha Christie's Spider's Web), and ate truffles with an ocean view at sunset.

We got sun crisped watching the circus at Balboa Park, ate delicious Indian food at some sort of magical international food festival, we sipped at root beer floats in the afternoon heat, we threaded, connected at the fingertips, through two Mingeis, took in Body Worlds, witnessed an IMAX film on the oceans, and had the most dreamy and romantic dinner at the Prado, after which we twirled and danced our way back to the car. We sang along with Marty Robbins, Buck Owens and the best of them. We watched A Scanner Darkly and Lady in the Water and read Cinderella Skeleton outloud.

We met very nearly all of John's friends and yours truly even managed to polish off the last three balls in a game of pool, to be followed by navigating my skee ball right into the 100 pocket. We drank teas and coffees and ate breakfast burritos on John's front porch.

And of course seeing John was the best.

Even if we'd spent the entire weekend on the floor of his library peering up at the wall of books, it would have been the best time.

Except for the part when I have to get on an airplane again. That I don't like one bit.

I mean, I have to list out the things we did because I don't have the words for what it's like to see John.

I wish I could bring him to Oakland to show him the best of the little life I have here.

And I want to go back to Escondido. Even if he has to work all day, the thought of pulling weeds or reading in his library or playing banjo on his porch sounds just marvelous to me. To be there when he left and still there when he came back.