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We are finally back in the Northwest. And for the first time since moving here, I feel out-of-body in this town. Alien, despite the familiar surroundings. It’s probably just the drastic weather shift.

In many ways, Santa Barbara was a bit of a homecoming for us. IZ is a Santa Barbara boy. He drove us by his old homes and knew every backstreet to the town. No maps needed! For me, the topography of the canyons is familiar… as I grew up with very similar landscapes. The Oak scrub savanna is much like the little alpine lake of my youth… we just didn’t have palm trees everywhere. While I didn’t grow up in Santa Barbara, I spent a great deal of time there during my undergraduate work. It was always a toss up each break—do I head for Montecito or do I head for Laguna? The American Rivera usually won out.

It’s hard not to love a world of permanent sunshine. Yesterday found us stuffing suitcases with souvenirs and rumpled laundry, headed back to the wet. I was ready to leave, but not to come home. As we took our last transport to the airport I found myself wishing for a do-over… for a chance to head back to Santa Barbara. To sink into the big king bed surrounded by the pale blue of our hotel room and just rest. One last stroll on the beach. One last glimpse of terracotta and palm fronds.

Perhaps never to leave.

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