Images of the sandy beaches of the Pacific dance in my head, but if AccuWeather is accurate there will be no sunny tromps through the ocean, seaweed slipping between my toes. Alas! It is supposed to be cloudy and rainy through my trip. ARGH! You know, I have finally become a Texan. Our latest ice storm made me sick of cold. Suddenly I long for spring days where I can put on shorts and run, gulping water afterwards. I miss direct sunlight and windows rolled down. I want to turn my heater off. California, here I come, I thought, to the land of sunny days. In Santa Maria it is sunny 300 days a year. I will be visiting in one of the 65. Drat! Of course it could change. It is rather ironic, of course because I never liked the weather when I lived there. I wanted rain and cold and overcast days. Just another change to add to the list. Tonight I sit anxiously, ready to book my hotels while traveling. I am waiting only for Robin. When she calls to tell me our plans, I can decide, but when I see her depends on when I leave and from where I leave. The one thing I hate is backtracking when I drive. So I am waiting for the phone to ring because once it does, I can jump on Priceline and find my hotel rooms. I have at least four to book. One on the way there, two on the way back, and one in Santa Maria when I travel down there.

I am slightly overwhelmed by the drive, filled with slight trepidation, as with any long road trip, but this is the longest. Yet I simultaneously anticipate it. I am consciously remembering the past, recalling the people and places, and choices. I had a wild thought this evening: I wondered if I called the juvenile hall if they would let me come speak to the kids. I remember that place like it was last year, not more than half a lifetime. I remember pretending I was crazy so they would not keep me there. I guess they knew I was not crazy, just troubled. I wonder if there is a me in there now.

I wonder if I could go see the old high school. I bet I could, under the auspices of teaching. I could say I want to see such and such program and tour the school while I am at it. Of course I only spent a grand total of four months enrolled there, and much less in attendance. The junior high is more intriguing to me. And the churches. I wonder if I will go to the mall and see people who used to know me. I wonder if Julie's parents still hate me. I wonder a lot. The anticipation is strange.

The greatest aspect of the victory in my life is where I came from. The last time I sang a solo in church, several years ago, I sang a song that was so ME. It was called "How Would I Know?" The idea was, how would I know how much I needed God and how much He loved me and set me free had I not been so low and gone through many awful things? "If I had never faced the battle, how would I know the victory?" the song asks. The lower you have been the higher you fly when you rise. It is just like in dance: The deeper the plié (knee bend) the higher the jump.

I am not who I was when I lived there. But I am more of who I am today because of it. I did some deep pliés, but praise God I now have high jumps.