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| Farmers' market beauty in Santa Monica. |
The first notes from our
Santa Monica summer sublet:
After living in the brittle high dessert of Northern New Mexico for three years, I am drunk on oxygen. I walk Ocean Avenue cradled in moisture, intoxicated, breathing deep. And although we sleep seventeen blocks from the Pacific, I smell the ocean in the sheets. I wake with the sensation, the awareness of the sea. It infuses the day with an unnameable pleasure I can almost taste. If I could live on air I would eat the on-shore breeze with a spoon.
Steve has found his own source of bliss at Caffe Luxxe on Montana Avenue. Rich, caramel Italian espresso with the perfect artful brush of creamy foam. If further persuasion is needed to lure him into staying here, I only need to whisper, “Una bella tazza” and he'll be putty in my hands.
Things are looking up.
) where we stayed overnight. We'll be up with the chickens, Honda 
when 
's romantic liaisons post 
. It's a serpentine endeavor, this whole reading between the lines thing, deciphering what is true and what is only 
