Rain. Rain. Rain. Inside the motor home it sounds like mulberries falling on a tin can lid overhead. After hours of it, the charm fades (even to one tenaciously looking for the good in everything) and the thought of stepping outside the door feels like inviting an instant soaking.

In reality, I step out into a gentle rain.

I've loaded up all our breakfast ingredients to take in to cook in Jay's kitchen. This is after I blew a circuit breaker using the microwave, electric heater and television at the same time. Jay had a busy night—Valentines Day—at the restaurant, and then went to bed early this morning after unwinding. I had to wake him to go fix things. After opening every drawer and cabinet door—and there are many in that kitchen—I got my homemade hash browns going, sliced the raisin toast Andre and I had just gotten from the local bakery, cut mushrooms and red onion, grated cheddar cheese, pulled the smoked ham from the remaining half of the chi-chi sandwich I had for lunch at the Prado in Balboa Park in San Diego, cast aside the limp remains, and heard what I thought might be Jay getting up again. Although he needed/wanted to sleep, I was happy that he materialized in time to snap things together by making 3 custom omelettes, which we took out to the booth table in the motor home to eat.

So it's been a lazy Sunday. In a while, we'll go to Davis to have dinner with my sister and her husband: Ann and Chuck. Beyond being eager to see them, I'm looking forward to Andre being in Davis. We've been talking about towns lately. The big and the small. The one time I stepped off the Amtrak in Davis to see my sister a few years ago, I felt good. The scale just fit. Then there's the California light. Or the California sunlight, I should say. I think I saw it briefly yesterday a few times.

Jay said most of the time the sky here is blue. The leaves and mosses on the trees are green, but the grasses are golden. We see green now, because this is the short (cold!) rainy season. Yesterday Jay drove us 4 miles uphill on a single lane road, full of twists and turns, echoing the tree shapes that surrounded us. Everything was beautiful. Andre had no camera, and, if he had, wanted sun to heighten the contrast between the greens. What we were seeing was too much for a camera, too much for words. But I snapped a few pictures. Like I've said before, sometimes I feel like taking photos is just a prayer back. A thank you. A yes-I-saw-and-felt-deeply. I don't know what the object, the picture is for. Proof, story-telling, sharing? Already yesterday has merged with my memories. I ate the cake, and do I have it too?