Here in the new house, I am happily surprised by my own awareness of the proximity of the lake in the early morning. When I awake to the perfect blue sky, feel the sun streaming in, and hear the gulls, I am immediately transported back to our last apartment in the Sunset neighborhood of San Francisco. I am startled by what a familiar, comforting feeling this is.
Lyle and I head down the block to the beach in the morning, and, among other adventures, sit in the soft sand playing with a couple of small trucks for a while. I am struck by the sounds of the beach intermingled with the sounds of the city: loud gulls squawking happily, probably thrilled that the ice has finally melted on the lake and they can leave the fast food dumpsters and return for some real food; a crow in a nearby tree caw-cawing her way through the morning; a lovely church bell chiming the hour, slowly and melodically, for us. With every new sound, Lyle turns, surprised. "I hear the dolphins!" he declares each time the seagulls become louder.
We find a playground just two blocks away that sits alongside the beach. We are early enough that no one else is there for quite a while, and we pretend to be Teletubbies and school bus drivers looking for the right key to our bus. While we eat a snack, I give Lyle a big hug and say, "I love you." He hugs me back and says, "You love me, too!" Oh, well, I think I knew what he meant.