For California

The day after Cameron discovered the stove top espresso machine I woke up to rain. It felt familiar and cozy to hear the whish of water spray flying off tires on concrete five floors below. I crawled out of bed blurry eyed and smelled coffee- real coffee, not nescafe. I put on my sweater and jeans, slid into pace at the family table for bread, margarine, jam, and a big hunk of papaya. As I sipped my good strong coffee and dug into the fruit, I thought of Jeff, the math teacher in Pescadero where I taught for three years. I spent many a rainy morning comforted by his in classroom espresso machine and his ever ready solution to a sour face or big yawn- "coffee?" I could just see him eyeing over the breakfast in front of me and chastizing its high carb count. I was caught by a stab of homesickness and a deep fondness for the relationshps and routines I had with my fellow teachers there. I went to brush my teeth and found Cameron´s Ipod lying on the bed. I popped on the earphones and let myself be lulled by the languid voice of Jolie Holland. I thought of Megan who has just moved back to San Francisco from Germny and how much she likes the second track (black stars- we coudn´t remember and tried so desperately to sing it with the few lines we could remember in the desert). I hope she is well in California.