A Day Outside Time

Today was a day outside time, truly perfect. The kind of day that renews your faith in everything.

First, I was able to go back to sleep after the beep, beep, beep of the garbage trucks backing up at 6:00 a.m. I've managed to fall asleep immediately and sleep 6-7 hours each night for the past week. That, in and of itself, is a miracle.

The day dawned with streaky low clouds blanketing the sky, heralding a blustery, overcast spring day, but by the time I finished on the treadmill, every cloud had vanished. The air was cool, the sun's rays warm. Perfection.

I drove five miles out into Carmel Valley to take some things to the new house, and it got even better. I stood on the deck with my face turned to the sun like a morning glory, absorbing the view of the mountains, and listened. It's so quiet in the valley that every individual sound has its own distinct presence. Today, I heard the very distant hum of some type of machine. It could have been a leaf blower or a chain saw; it was so far away I couldn't tell. The sound was just enough to remind me I wasn't the only human on earth. Otherwise, the silence was only broken by an occasional bird call and the crow of the rooster who lives somewhere in the distance down the valley.

When I left the house, I couldn't bear to go anywhere inside, so I drove to the garden center at the bottom of our hill. It will be months before I can begin planting my garden at the new house, but I was looking for inspiration. I found it. Everything I've dreamed of planting--roses, rosemary,   more types of lavender than I've ever seen, sages, orange and lemon trees, ceonothus; even the exotic kangaroo paws and bottlebrush from Australia. I was in heaven.

When I got home, I ate lunch on the patio, sunning myself like a lizard. It was wonderful, although we're going to have to get a patio umbrella or I'm going to have to start wearing a hat. Even with sunglasses, it's so bright I can barely see. Also, coming from Minnesota, I'm just not used to being able to be out in the sun this much. I have to start considering my skin.

After lunch, I drove into the village of Carmel-by-the-Sea, parked at the end of Scenic Avenue, and walked the length of the beach and back. A brisk off-shore breeze chilled my cheeks, and the wide, white beach and rolling breakers were postcard-perfect. On top of that, I had the place nearly to myself.

When I got home, I still didn't want to stay inside, so I walked up to my favorite independent coffee shop. They make a mocha chai latte so good that my daughter dreams of it back in Chicago. Chai in hand, I stopped at the chocolatier next door and bought the ultimate indulgence--a box of tiny truffles, all for me. I hope I have the willpower to make them last through next week.

On my way back, I passed a big orange car carrier delivering someone's new red Ferrari--a sobering reminder of the price of paradise. Many of the people who live here are indeed very wealthy. But as I continued on to our modest condo complex, largely inhabited by retirees and regular working people, I realized money isn't the essence of Carmel. It isn't about Ferraris and mansions. It's about the breathtaking beauty of the natural surroundings. It simply feeds the soul.

Today reminded me why this is my inevitable place.

Is There a Move in Your Second Half?

It’s official; we’re moving to Carmel.

We might be crazy to add the stress of a cross-country move on top of all the other changes of the past several months, but as I sit here watching it snow (again) in Minnesota, I know we’re doing the right thing.

OG and I have been vacationing in Carmel (on the central California coast two hours south of San Francisco) for the past five years. About a year and a half ago, we splurged and bought a vacation condo in a wonderful location with a view of the mountains and only a few blocks from the beach, thinking it would be the perfect getaway for the five years before I retired. If you follow this blog, you know fate threw a monkey wrench into my retirement plans last summer, turning years into months, and we began to evaluate every aspect of our Second Half. What exactly do we want to do with our time, and where do we want to do it?

For years, the Monterey Peninsula has drawn me like a magnet. For a lifelong Midwesterner (and flatlander), the combination of sea, rocky shoreline, sandy beaches, and mountains is magical. I marvel at the softness of the air and the unfamiliar vegetation. I even love the fog. We rarely have fog in the plains, and when we do it’s thick, solid ground fog—nothing like the mysterious floating fingers of coastal fog that glide above the highway and through the pine-covered hills.

OG has always been a winter-hater at heart, and in Minnesota he’s housebound for several months a year except to shovel snow and run essential errands. The first few weeks of retirement gave me a taste of what that’s like, and I hated it, too. I want so much more for our Second Half. I want to go for walks and work in the garden. I want OG to be able to play golf and take sailing lessons if he chooses.

It’s scary to think of leaving the familiarity of the place we’ve lived for twenty-three years, the place we raised our daughter. OG worries about finding a new barber who will cut his hair perfectly every time. We know we’ll never be able to replace our wonderful dentist, and at our age that’s a serious concern! But there’s more to life than barbers and dentists. With the demise of my job, we no longer have any real ties to Minnesota. Our daughter only comes home a couple of times a year, and we have no family here. It’s time to suit ourselves and move on.

We began house hunting in Carmel last November and settled on a house during our trip last week. We chose a modest ranch house in Carmel Valley a few miles inland from the coast with a glorious view of the mountains. The house is in dismal condition, so fixing it up will be a several-month project. I’ll post updates as we move along. Who ever said the Second Half would be dull?