What Restores Me

Every year,
for years and years,
about this time
I get itchy to book a trip
to stay with my friend, Chris, in LA.
It’s my version of a
sanitarium
minus the social stigma
and with much
better food.
And wine!
The timing is less about the calendar
and more about a feeling.
Restless, out-of-sorts or,
as we say in my family,
“the world is too much with her”.
I make decisions all day long.
For myself and, too often seemingly,
for everyone around me.
With Chris, I don’t have to make decisions.
Just writing that restores me.
Not making decisions
is like being on vacation.
That can come in the form of
a week with Chris or,
closer to home,
in the form of someone
ordering for me in a restaurant.
Anything.
Really.
I mean it.
You cannot possibly make
a bad food decision on my behalf.
Also, in no particular order:
Strong coffee; good wine.
Short runs; long showers.
Good, connected conversation—
all too rare and therefore
all the more special–
restores me.
Over coffee, of course.
And, especially,
late night phone calls
where the day is discussed
across the miles
long into the dark of night.

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