We Are All Waiting for Somewhere
Peace, quiet, open air, and sanctuary
How often do you call up memories of sacred places in your past?
The special places that meant something dear to you. Something ineffable, beyond place and time, that forever resides in the corners of your mind. Waiting patiently to live again in your recollection.
As the years advance and time nudges toward the winter of my life, I am drawn to the feelings I experienced in those cherished places.
Carmel, California comes to mind. My parents and I vacationed there.
We frequented the Mediterranean Market on Ocean Street. Huge salami hung from the ceiling, and my father would buy cold cuts and sodas for us to lunch on the beach. Then we’d visit the nearby bakery to purchase sandwich rolls and cookies for dessert.
Dad would spread out his large, green, wool army blanket and we’d recline in beach chairs, listening to the rhythmic music of the surf as we lunched and watched silly chipmunks dart out of the nearby brush and ask us for scraps.
The cool ocean breeze caressed our faces and lulled us into naps as the laughter of families and children echoed from the surf’s edge.
It was magic.
