We now live in a region of San Diego called Mission Hills. I presume the neighborhood got its name from its location in the hills above a mission. Seems fairly straightforward.

The mission was established in 1769 by a Spanish Franciscan missionary, Father Junipero Serra. The mission (and presidio) was California’s first, and it is now memorialized with a rambling park full of mature trees and a truly inspiring, Spanish Revival, museum. I love this architecture. Triple love. The white archways and tile roof  and courtyards peek through the trees, and I swear it’s as if you are driving down your very own little stretch of 17 Mile Drive.

I often duck through Presidio Park on my way to the freeway—even though it’s indirect—so I can coast down the road, cut right through the park, and take in the scene. If I’m driving that route in the morning or afternoon, chances are the marine layer is rolling in or out, and the haze blurs the outlines of the trees (like it does in Carmel or Monterey), and you just want to die the effect is so amazing.

I’ve made it a habit to disavow “efficiency” as one of my top life values, demonstrated by my willingness to drive West in order to get on the 8 East. I honestly don’t care. Totally worth it. And, also, I’ve fallen madly in love with a house on a huge corner lot right near the park that has the most perfectly chosen black and white striped awnings above every window. The charm is so effortless you almost can’t help yourself from stopping the car altogether just to sit and stare. And possibly cry.

Efficiency can be a great enemy of the creative spirit. Don’t you agree?

Other things to live for:

1. The farmers market comes every Friday and we can walk to it. Last Friday I bought (for $3!) a bunch of clover flowering with these eccentric, electric purple buds. “You know that’s a weed, right?” Steve says. I just look at him blankly giving off the, “Shut up” vibe.
2. Football season. I couldn’t accurately explain the anticipation Steve and I have both been experiencing around the long, dogged wait we have endured between the Super Bowl and September. All I can say is that the whole production arrived just in time. We are saved.
3. Deliciously good friends. We howled late into the night with Tatum, Eric, Chad, Amie, and Katie last week. We have actually enjoyed unpacking and whipping our house into shape because of Ken and Elaine. And we watched college football and ate kielbasa and drank this primo Cab Franc with Jamie and Katie last night. I feel as though a part of me is reconnecting with “fun.” What a concept.

Something I’m realizing . . . we are all in need of recovery. Every one of us. We are all recovering from something or toward something or in spite of something or because of something. I’m believing Mission Hills is going to be a step in my recovery. Somehow, I just know it.