For reasons too depressing and frustrating to go into here, Pongo telepathically commanded me to drop everything and take him to Palm Springs this weekend. He said it would be good for me, and just what I needed. He was right.

We blew out of here Saturday morning and took the scenic route through the San Jacinto mountains. Palm Springs is only a couple of hours from San Diego, and I was poolside by noon.

I’d love to say I finally reached some magnificent understanding of what’s going on in my life, but I’m not sure that’s the case. I spent a lot of time contemplating my navel and thinking about where I am and where I want to be. I also spent a bit of time contemplating some of the other poolside navels as well. Had an OK dinner trashed by lousy service and a so-so breakfast more than compensated for by a ebulient hostess and great ambiance. Donated a small amount to the Agua Caliente tribe via their video poker collection boxes.

I’ve been visiting Palm Springs off and on since 1980, the first summer I worked for the girl scouts up in the San Jacinto mountains. I don’t think I’d ever want to live there but for years I’ve used it as a place to visit when I need to hide a bit. It was never home, but in some ways it feels like home. I’ve been eating at the same sidewalk restaurants for more than half my life and even though the staff changes, many of the other elements are pretty constant and generally at least invoke a sense of deja vu if not outright recollection. At the same time no one there knows me (as far as I know) and I can be pretty anonymous, which is more or less my preferred natural state.

We got back to San Diego this afternoon. Pongo seems to be happy, and I’m not bouncing off the walls, so I’m labeling it a successful, if much too short, trip.

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