Current photo album: Cocoa Beach. Piano Music — compositions by Eric Satie performed by Anna Queffelec. A favorite disc of contemplative music for solo piano. Love is much more demanding than law. — Archbishop Desmond Tutu Oh, this home-buying process just makes my head hurt. There are so many layers to it. Like an onion. The further you go, the harder you cry. — September 25, 2003 I can be reached at romanlily ~at~hotmail.com. Or you can join the notify list here.	September 29, 2004 Mandatory evacuation (Note: this entry is copiously illustrated in this photo album.) By the time Amy and I woke up on Sunday morning in my sister-in-law's house, the power and cell phone service had been knocked out, and water was about to go. She had flown in from New York to Orlando for a weekend. The plan was for us to meet up and borrow Kathy and Manley's condo on Cocoa Beach. Amy was headed towards a long winter in New York — we were going to store up the sunshine and play in the surf all weekend. It started well enough. The rental people noted our enthusiasm and upgraded us to a dark red convertible. That was nice. We had the top down before we even turned on the ignition. We arrived in Cocoa Beach after dark, and immediately put on some hot water to boil for tea. Manley had left all kinds of little treats for us in the condo, and Amy was delighted: how did he know that she loved Pellegrino? The next morning before going to the beach, we cruised into town to visit the local surf shop and came across two silk scarves bearing similar tropical floral prints. We purchased them right away, tied our hair back in the parking lot. (All that wind in the convertible, you know.) Amy took the orange one and I took the blue one. At the beach, the wind was up, but it was clear and beautiful. The water steamed and foamed, so warm and inviting. I had almost forgotten what it feels like to be in the ocean, to be fully engulfed in this enormous living thing. An instructor in a yoga class years before had suggested that sound of waves in the ocean mimics human breath: in, out, in, out. That is sort of an obvious observation, isn't it? But I had never considered it until she said it. We played in the surf and Amy opened the bottle of Pellegrino and drank it straight from the bottle on the beach. We walked deep into the water and did yoga poses on the shore. We re-adjusted our hair under our scarves. We nibbled on dates and figs which Amy had brought with her from New York. Late in the afternoon, my cell phone rang. It was my brother-in-law Manley, checking in on us. "Are you following this storm?" he asked. "There's a mandatory evacuation scheduled for tomorrow morning," he said. I went back to the condo and flipped on the TV. An angry red boil was festering over the Atlantic. We drove the red convertible up and down the shore for the rest of the afternoon and evening, then left at first light the next morning. At first I was disappointed to have our beach time cut short by a threat of a natural disaster. Perhaps I was a bit worried. It takes a certain kind of friend to cheerfully weather being stuck at her friend's in-laws' house for three days while a fantastic hurricane flattens what's left of vacation. Manley warned us that the airport would shut down if it got bad enough: we might be stranded for a while. When we arrived in Orlando, the winds were picking up and businesses were shutting down. We spent the day in town, then came back to the house to hunker down for the storm. Amy drew a hot bath, and I worked on some email, trying to use technology while there was still power. At dusk the sky turned dull yellow, a certain shade I've witnessed in the sky only two or three times before. The storm arrived in the wee hours of the night. When we woke the winds were shuddering all around the house. We laid in bed for a long time and looked out the window at the trees dancing in the wind. Do you believe me when I say that this hurricane was the best thing that could have happened to me? Do you believe me when I say that I loved this hurricane, and am grateful for its severity? Mandatory evacuation: what a prize. You can't schedule the kind of conversations we had in the dim light, watching the trees sway. Maybe it really does require a certain unplanned break, a non-optional separation from all those distractions. Maybe it requires unplugging that damned computer. I like the bumper sticker Kill Your TV, but the one I really would prefer is Pour Ginger Ale Into Your Hard Drive. While we watched the trees I remembered the meal that Amy and I had shared in Brooklyn in the spring. That evening in New York was our first time seeing each other in a long time. She had been through a rocky divorce earlier that year, and we had exchanged difficult words about it, straining to find a path back together. But we walked out of the restaurant after an amazing conversation and I just stopped and said awkwardly, I love you. I think that if I were a boy I would want to marry you. She laughed, but her laugh was full of kindness. I think she understood. It's a rare friend that can gently open your eyes to the colors and tastes and possibilities of the world that you've shied away from, consciously or not. It's a rare friend that gently holds you to your own work, who refuses to listen to your sorry excuses about why you can't possibly move toward your dreams. Amy is a friend that does this. It is impossible for me to be around her and to not feel more in love with her and with my own life. Our planes leaving Orlando were delayed. We went to the airport on Monday afternoon. She kissed me on the cheek and boarded her plane. I flopped down in one of the airport chairs, greasy and worn out and happy, and wrote my journal: I find myself brimming with ideas. Somehow this springs from Amy. The lightness with which she carries herself, her natural ease and beauty. The simple pleasures from which she derives such obvious joy (Pellegrino, figs eaten from a plastic sack). I feel a pure wave wash over me — a call to distill, release, listen... Ideas currently under investigation: Envision being able to leave current job. Envision being self-employed. Envision home office space, big bulletin board, skylight.... Submit photos for publication. Try JPG Magazine. Consider a new notebook/journal. Be willing to go 3D in journal. Watercolor pencils. Buy macro lens for camera. Buy telephoto lens for camera. Buy laptop! Oil painting class? Figure drawing class? Opera music? Tango. Re-engage with Artist's Way. Ask Scott H. for lesson on baking bread. Clear planting bed: consider growing roses. You go to Florida with little plans for the beach, a polite evening spent painting your toenails and watching a chick flick. The hurricane comes, and you return with plans the size of the sky. You remember the wild wonderland that is life. Oil painting, watercolor pencils, roses, figs and Pellegrino.