These are Better Days

Glorious.  To sit with my youngest Angel daughter on a Wednesday afternoon sharing a hot pot of Strawberry/Kiwi tea, our laughter softly rising in the puffs of wispy steam as we savor the simple abundance.  How can one mother be blessed with so much?

As the tea seeps languidly before us, we breathe in the fragrance of the day.  This moment, so incredibly perfect in time, imprints itself upon all of my senses and I am happy.  There is a freshness on the subtle breezes of springtime which, when mixed with the aroma from the steaming pot of tea, are intoxicating. 

We agree that we adore tea sandwiches and currant scones with clotted cream and homemade raspberry preserves and flowers which you can eat if you choose to, placed delicately upon your plate.  I watch my child enjoy.

There is such simple beauty in all of it.  It makes me feel as if I could cry.  


She asks me if we can do this once a month, a standing tea date between mother and daughter.  Delightedly, I reply YES.(And I think that I must do the same with my other three girls.  Yes, we must try.)

She lifts my camera from its place on the table and takes a picture of the view from where she sits.  The world through her eyes at that moment is lush, green and perfect.

We stop by the petting zoo to feed the Lamas carrots.  This is the same zoo that I used to take all four of my Angel Daughters to when they were little and I dressed them all alike.  I am whisked back for a precious moment.


AD4 kisses me good-bye and heads off to dance practice but the day has taken hold of me in such a way that I am not quite ready to leave, so I go for a walk.

San Juan Capistrano is one of the oldest towns in California.  220 years ago, it was home to the Indians and has evolved many times since then.  Walking around this little town is like experiencing history firsthand and I never tire of being here.

Each Wednesday afternoon, there is a Farmer's Market which hosts locally grown vegetables, fruits, flowers, locally made dressings and other delicious goodies.  There is a charming older gentleman there who sells Italian sauces, cookies, olive oils and handmade pastas.  He stops me in my tracks.  "Signora, Bella!" he calls out to me.  "You like-a the Italian food?"  "Of course!" I reply and he begins giving me a little lesson on the meaning of Italian words.  He flirts, I giggle.  I walk away with two cannolis to be shared with my honey later on.

Walking through the market, I spent some time admiring the gorgeous array of flowers.

I selected some intoxicatingly fragrant Star-Gazer Lilies and took the long way back to my car.

I lingered around The Mission which was built in 1776.  I thought about the class trips that I accompanied my daughters on to learn about its history so many blue skies ago.

The church was completed in 1797 and the wall that you can see exposed in this photo was partially destroyed by an earthquake in 1812.  There are several ghost stories surrounding the tumbling of the wall which are told until this day.  Some of my daughters have a love/hate relationship with those stories.  Others, are more intrigued by them.  I am a bit of both.

As I arrived back at my car, I noticed this license plate on the vehicle that was parked in front of me.  I thought about the "old" west, the "new" west and everything that came during the years in between.  I thought about relationships, where they began and where they are now.  I thought about how lovely it was to spend an afternoon with my youngest Angel Daughter and then to spend some time walking around a town that I have been to so many times, yet I still love it so much.  How can one woman be so lucky?


I gathered the Star-Gazers wrapped tightly in newspaper and placed them on the front seat of my car hoping that their fragrance would float in my direction.  I turned on the radio and set it to E-Street Radio so that I could listen to some of Springsteen's poetry sung in a raw, soulful voice that I never, ever tire of.  And I drove home content, so very content.  It made me feel as if I could cry.  And I just might have.


Glorious.