Heartbreak Hotel California
Really. This is the FINAL post in this week’s series, Grounded: Stories From the American Southwest. I love California, and I don’t think my post yesterday did it justice. If this is your first visit to Grounded, click here to start the series. If you’d like to subscribe to my blog, subscription boxes are on the right-hand side of the page. If you like me enough to Like me on Facebook, simply click Like in the Facebook box on the right. I’ve updated my blogroll with lots of new lovely folks. Check them out if you’re seeking more great content. As always, thank you for reading my little blog.
Heartbreak is like winter. It litters the ground with the detritus of what used to be green. Things that once bloomed with color look stripped of life, dead. Barrenness clogs sightlines, haunts the soul, saps the spirit.
That’s how I found myself at Lake Tahoe one cold December. How long is too long to mourn the loss of love? For over two years, I lived in the wasteland of a broken heart. Desolation informed my every turn. My decision to visit Lake Tahoe in winter was built upon two things: 1. a cheap flight; and 2. a life-long friend who encouraged me to see it.
I arrived on a collision course with a cold front. In a race against the changing weather, I chose to see Emerald Bay, because it alone matched my bleak mood. The isolation of its narrow green waters beckoned me.
The sky was too burdened to stay propped up as I drove into the parking area above the spit of dull jewel-like liquid. Down a treacherous trail, past denuded trees and silence was the only path for me. I snapped some pictures of a spooky building along the shore and marveled at how the moving ice rounded out a liquified emerald. In the calm before the snow storm, I felt soothed.
This place, it was me, the landscape of my ruined heart.
Water moved over rock. I found the source and followed it, up through the trees to a rocky ledge. Suspended between the lake and the toothy ridgeline, I sat among the trees and listened to nothingness. Like a vortex, it sucked my pain into itself, took everything. In its place, dots of white blew over the ridge, the first blush of the virgin snow of the season. It coats everything it touches and recreates it anew. I let those snowflakes cling to my eyelashes and mingle with my tears. I even tried to catch a few on my tongue, pinpricks that melted and became part of me. That topography replaced my shattered heart with the scent of evergreen as I danced in the blowing snow.
I left my broken heart on that mountainside. A stunning vista is the ideal place for a burial, a spot I will always visit and relive the lightness of release. Once upon a time, she lived happily ever after.
The lightness of release. That is beautiful and I speak of my own experience with that in the last pages of my book. The one I could not have finished without you. I’m sorry I’ve been away for a while. It’s wonderful to come back and witness the brave steps you’re taking with your writing. It’s not new to you… it’s simply a gift to us. Thank you for sharing this part of your literary journey.
I, too, love California. If I could live a parallel life, that’s where I’d be.
The boys have a Postagram coming……..(where she plants the idea of sneaking away to CA with their Dad the next time he goes.)
Love that first paragraph and ‘The sky was too burdened to stay propped up’ – wonderful image.
Funny how we both honed in on winter today, Earlybird, in totally different ways.
You really captured the essence of Lake Tahoe in the first throes of winter. It is an enchanting place, beautiful and barren when you go to the right places to see the naturalness of the area.
The lovely Miss TK and I lived in Calif for 7 years and Lake Tahoe was one of our favorite places, winter or summer. Our first trip inthe Fall was rudely interrupted by a snow storm and we had our first experience with the mandatory snow chains. I think we paid about $35 for the chains and $25 to have them put on. When we were leaving, me being Mr. Skinflint, I thought I could take the chains off myself. Well, that turned into a Laurel & Hardy episode and we wound up having to pay again to remove them. I finally got the hang of getting them on and off after a few trials, whew, brings back some wacky memories.
Ha! You and chains, Lou. I cannot imagine trying to get those things on or off. If I lived in Northern CA, I would visit Tahoe all the time, too.
Love the poem that is this–:
“Barrenness clogs sightlines, haunts the soul, saps the spirit.”
Spare elegant writing that is both immediate and direct.
Dropping off disappointment at a spot of inspiration is a technique that truly renews.
New things grow in detritus.
A purposeful green shoot cracks rock.
As always, I love your poetry.
This post is simply chock-full of beautiful imagery, Andra.
Personally, I’m not sure one ever totally stops mourning lost loves, but the heart learns to put patches on those holes and move on to allow new loves. Recent disappointments, given time to settle, will likely create new impetus for your quest. Talent will out – just keep on keepin’ on.
By the way, I love Cheryl’s “. . . purposeful green shoot cracks rock.”
This was back in the era when you were here, Karen. The year after I left BWPH. Trying times for me, but they helped me see the person I was supposed to be with.
Cheryl does write lovely poetry.
Karen and Andra, thank you for your wonderful words. I love words. All kinds used in all ways. (Except destructive ones.)
Beautiful, today, Andra: nature’s extremes allow us to leave things there with them. What a sight that must have been, all that white and ice.
I don’t know who followed the links, but the one on the words ‘Emerald Bay’ leads to some jaw-dropping views of the place. One had to be taken from where I sat.
You crafted this piece beautifully, faultlessly… Thank you.
Thanks for reading, Adeeyoyo. It is such a gorgeous place.
The right time qand place to yourself to heal. I was a little worried until the healing started. Thank you for sharing.
I don’t know why this story popped into my mind when I read your weekend theme, Sidey. Most of us have experienced heartbreak, and that moment when we let it go is always exquisite.
Lovely.
Thank you, my Dear. I hope you and the family haven’t lost power in Beacon. That would be a shock to little Coop’s system, wouldn’t it?
This was actually the trip I took when you house sat for me and kept Jazzmine.
See, so now I feeling guilty for not posting a comment yesterday. I read the post, I just didn’t comment. Why didn’t I comment? I don’t know honestly. I think thoughts of car engines were filling my head at that moment. Oh, and thoughts of how cold the picture looked. Which made my toes cold. Which made me think abou the mountains. Which made me think about mountain road. Which made me think about driving on mountain roads. Which brought me back to engines.
I told you it was complicated!
What’s funny is the picture is not Lake Tahoe. My pictures from that trip are film, and I’ve never converted them to digital.
Are you working on your new toy’s engine?
Actually no work necessary at the moment. I was just out running her down Hwy 61 around the plantations under the oaks. My favorite drive around here, especially in the fall. I love watching the leaves swirl around.
Did you take the picture? It still looks too cold for the likes of me.
Beautiful, and no fairy tale – I too have known such moments, such turnarounds…
If we live life, Ruth, we all experience this at some point or another, unless we slide into the valley of despair and never break free. Thank you for finding my blog today. I’ve admired your avatar for a while now. Off to visit your blog.