back home

i was in san francisco visiting my friends siskel and ebert in the house i'd sold them a few years back. they were such a happy couple and we'd had such a great week together that i was feeling a bit blue and nostalgic. i was dreading heading back to L.A.. we finished lunch and i was looking over toward a small suite of rooms i use to rent out when i owned the place. they had kept my tenant. peter ( a die-hard burning man devotee...) and i was sad to see that he'd painted everything a horrible purple. 'let's go look at it!' they said almost at the same time. 'no...' i replied,' that's okay, i can see it from here. besides, i think that color is going to hurt my feelings if i get too close...'. they wouldn't take no as a reasonable answer and both playfully dragged me into the space.

when i'd owned the house, i had always thought of the rental as too tiny to really live in comfortably- but i'd bedded down in a million hotel rooms since then and as i entered it now, it seemed like a perfectly proportioned fairy cottage (a purple fairy cottage...). the french windows had all been thrown open to bring in the day, the breeze and the expansive view of the bay. the green glass tiled 20's fireplace had been restored to it's original glory. 'oh my god, how beautiful... i always meant to do that...' i said as my hands fell upon the smooth, cool tiles. siskel and ebert just stood in the doorway and let me explore. i could feel them smiling behind me. i stepped out onto the slate balcony and was drenched with a combination of the dazzling blues of the sea and the sky and the salty, bright taste of the ocean in the air. 'god, why did i ever leave here?' i asked myself out loud. 'because you were stupid' they both said in unison. we all laughed together. 'yes,' i answered, 'you are correct, sirs...'

i turned back into the apartment and said to the men, 'if it weren't for the color, i'd move in in a heartbeat.'. siskel was light and dismissive 'oh, we just let peter paint it because he had his wedding here, but you can have it any color you want.'. ebert moved toward me and took my hand, 'move in, shandra, you know we love you'. siskel came up from behind him, threw his arms around me and started singing 'little mama's coming back!- see, you can look at the bridge when you write!' 'wait. what?' i stammered, 'i can't-' 'YES you can. you know you can.' ebert lectured. 'stop wandering the world like a gypsy. come home. we miss you.' (ebert could always be so earnest when the moment called for it).

I agreed without much more fuss and we spent the rest of the afternoon drinking margaritas, laughing and scotch-taping a rainbow of paint chips onto the walls of the apartment. I emailed and phoned everyone i needed to to get my belongings either stored or sent to san francisco. we wound up too drunk to choose suitable colors that day, but i remember feeling very happy that i'd made the choice to stay.