I hate that. Hate it. I hate getting all comfy and then your eyes fly open and you have to move. You roll over, make a new nest, get the pillow just right and close your eyes. That lasts for thirty seconds until you have to cough or your leg twitches or something, and you have to move again. It goes on and on, you keep checking the glowing green numerals of the clock across the room, you listen for your partner who is watching the game and then doing something on the computer into the night. And then you don't wake up until 8 AM so even though it's 10:45 you feel like it should be 9:30. Bah.
September 2--Cheju Island, South Korea. The mist was cold and so thick that Kim was sorry that they had come. It was just after sunrise and the light wasn't strong enough to start burning off the swirling mist. She couldn't feel the air moving but the mist twisted and flowed like it was alive. She was glad for Peter's hand warm in hers as they filed down the narrow path between the cultivated fields. Kim's rich imagination saw the scraps of mist as ghosts and she stumbled and shivered wanting to be back in their warm bed in the guest house. Peter led her to a flat boulder all alone on the beach of rough sand and spread a blanket out for them to sit on. "Sit," her said, helping her up, "I brought coffee so we can keep warm waiting for the sun." He pulled a thermos and two mugs from his backpack, poured the steaming brew, and sat beside her. When she thought back to that hour spent with him on that damp lonely beach listening to the gulls cry and waiting for the sun to appear over the horizon, she knew that she had made the right choice.
I'm off to meet Mom to celebrate our two-days-apart-birthdays with lunch at HuHot. There's nothing quite like Mongolian food to say Happy Birthday! Yum.
--Barbara
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