I’m glad I live in San Diego
My youngest son, Doug, lives in Boston (where he was born and raised). I keep asking me to move out to San Diego to be with me, but he refuses. He doesn’t want, he says, to leave his "home". I constantly tell him that home is where the heart is, but my words fall on deaf ears. I mention moving to Doug ever now and again, but I’ve reconciled myself to the fact that we will live on either side of the continent.
Today, Doug called me, ostensibly to finalize arrangements for his holiday visit with me. We chatted about this and that, and then he mentioned that he was stuck at home. When I questioned why he wasn’t at work, he informed me that an ice storm had blanketed the entire Northeast, depriving more than a million people of electricity. There was no way for him to get around because the roads are covered with a layer of ice that makes traveling impossible. He has no electricity, therefore, he has no heat (the heater is powered by electricity), and (horror of horrors), Doug couldn’t make it to the liquor store before the storm hit, so he has NO BEER! I sympathized with Doug, refrained from gloating over his plight, and wished him well. After I hung up, I thought about the differences in our lives - and you know what? I’m glad I live in San Diego.
