Catching the California Wave

Sunday Night’s Dream

“Venti Iced Double Espresso Vanilla Latte,” my strained voice cracks into a faceless menu.

No time to slice vegetables or to cook stew tonight, so it will be drive-through. 

“Yes, I would like fries with that and a Whopper. With a Diet Coke.”

I should make dinner for the kids, but I’m so tired.

“Make that two kid’s meals with milk” 

At least I got the milk.

There is a mortgage to pay.

The 529 to fund.

Groceries to buy.

The money I should put into my IRA, but still haven’t found the minutes or the pennies. 

I will someday, I promise. 

I’ll work until I die, anyway.

Next year’s vacation, so I don’t go crazy.

School lunches for the kids.

Lunch at the office for me.

Gas for the car.

Treats for the dog.

“Yes, I do want that super-sized,” I answer back.

I want to go home and watch cable.

On my financed couch.

After driving home in an SUV that is far too expensive, uses too much gas, and needs a new front tire.

“There is nothing on.”

I surf Facebook. 

Wow, she is looking great. I wonder if she used a filter? 

I want to go on vacation, too, maybe next year.

Maybe I’ll get a salad for dinner tomorrow at the drive-through.

With fries and a Diet Coke.

Bing, my phone.

Lunch on Saturday? And a Pedi?

Sure, we do deserve it, don’t we? 

We are exhausted, and we work too hard.

There really is never enough time, so sure, let’s get together.

Over coffee, over lunch, getting pedis. 

How is it Sunday night already?

Yes, I will take fries with that. 

I forgot to order the milk.

I go to bed, a super-sized jar of Tums at my bedside.

Did I shut the garage door, put enough money in the account to cover the cable bill, give the dog her joint supplements, and schedule the dentist? 

I think my tooth is cracked. 

When I open my eyes, I am standing in the center of an overgrown, lazy garden.

Ripe tomatoes hang heavily from vines, intermingled with wildflowers, grass, and a few weeds.

I picked faded red tomatoes under an afternoon sun.

They were imperfect tomatoes with tiny bites and scratches but could be eaten like juicy apples with a dash of salt.

The garden had a faded white wooden fence; the paint was peeling and chipped.

Two old chairs sat on the sagging porch of the old wooden home tucked into a cul-de-sac of a forgotten neighborhood, where kids rode bikes and chased each other fearlessly into the street.

A large jar of tea sat in the sun, waiting to be poured into Mason jars, served over ice and sliced lemons from the tree in the backyard.

I had a basket from my garden filled with peppers, tomatoes, and a head of lettuce.

I’ll make a salad tonight. 

I use the potatoes I picked yesterday for some stew. 

While it simmers on the stove, I read the mystery novel from the library.

The sun will wake me up before a friend comes over for coffee. 

I grind it myself with beans I bought from the Farmer’s Market while my wash dries on the line in the sun.

I walk to the library, where I work 20 hours a week, just enough for the rent on the old house and seeds for the garden.

I open the screen door and let the fresh air inside. 

Soon, the moon will be out, and the air will chill, so I’ll light a fire. 

While the kids are at school, I cut carrots and peppers from the garden.

After dinner, we will walk on an overgrown trail and eat strawberries and cream for dessert.

We will crawl into creaking beds with faded quilts and listen to a lonely owl outside our windows. 

I awake in my Posturepedic on a Monday morning. 

Just enough time for a Venti Iced Double Espresso Vanilla Latte and to drive the kids to school.

Meeting at 8.

Practice at 5.

Dinner?

Yes, I would like fires and better make it super-size.

With a Diet Coke.

And some milk.