Today, Nathan and I had a date with death. A close friend of the family shuffled off this mortal coil, and left a large empty space behind. Her daughter, one of the kindest, loveliest people I know, (whom my bestest cousin is married to) is beyond bereft, and I wish I could give her anything to make it better. It makes me feel empty to not have that *thing* that would cause ease, to make her life go back to what it once was, with her mom at her side. But I know this is not about *my emptiness, but her's and her family's.

So we got up before the crack of dawn, that blue light time, to drive to Fresno, and honor their loss.

The drive was spectacular, just to counter-balance the bereftness of the day. The hillsides on Hwy 126 through Santa Paula and Fillmore, which had been devastated in last year's fires, were exploding with green, in crazy contrast to the blackened remains of trees and charred grasses. Life and death, entangled.

The Grapevine shone softly with a rising sun. These mountains always stun me, no matter the time of the year, and leave me feeling so insignificant in my tiny, tin, moving machine at the base of their majesty. There was snow still on some of the mountains.

Then we hit the valley, which Spring had attacked with vengeance. Row upon row of trees in full bloom, white and pink frilly panties sweeping past our windows at 85 mph. Made me think of the lines from "Aqualung"...

Sitting on a park bench
eyeing little girls with bad intent.
Snot running down his nose
greasy fingers smearing shabby clothes.
Drying in the cold sun
Watching as the frilly panties run...

Brains are weird sometimes.

The funeral was unspeakably sad, with the interrment in a beautiful park first. Mariachis playing through the sunshine and into all the people in black. What grace this woman passed on to her family, and what resolve and strength. Too much to really relate, and so much overflowing from each heart present.

The wake was afterwards...begun with a video of photos of Olivia's life. I hope to conquer the world in the way she did--backpacking trips for 14 days, out in nature for weeks at a time, raising a family who stood up and read all the things their mother/wife meant to them. Then the friends spoke. She was one that left an impression--steel strength and warm kindness wrapped in a small Guatemalan immigrant body. Their words left the room breathless; you could feel everyone suck in air at the end of each speech. I hope she was listening, somewhere.

On the way home, the same trees changed for me--became so many pink ballerinas en pointe, row upon row. The largest ballet ever, crossing all of the SoCal heartland.

And as the sun set, we came up through the Grapevine, into Santa Clarita. I looked back toward the hillside, to drink in the colors and almost gasped out loud. A huge cloud, shaped like a white dove, hovered over the hills. Centered perfectly in its chest was a hand, opened, as if waving. A sign, if I ever saw one. I looked back about 10 minutes later, and I swear to god, I was stunned again. The dove had metamorphosized into a woman's face, with pristine wings behing her. As I watched, her face became clearer, ears tightening into shape, smudges beneath her eyes made her look like she had been crying. Her hair was swept across her brow, very reminiscent of Olivia's style. What could I say?

"Goodbye, Olivia. Goodbye."