Deep-freeze Chill

I’m happy. It’s nearly impossible to explain just how much or why. It’s a virtual onion peeling process of bliss. Am I happy because I am perched in a lush mango grove being serenaded by the fountain’s impersonation of a summer rain shower? Maybe it is the two glasses of margarita that evaporated poolside while I read the sensual escapades of Lupe and Salvador Villasenor in “Thirteen Senses.” There’s a good chance that ABBA’s Mama Mia soundtrack is contributing positively. Most certainly the fact that Celia has abscond with a good friend for the afternoon while I experience this euphoria is a factor. So here I sit – ABBA’s SOS in my ears, sun-kissed skin all aglow, fingers on my keyboard - wondering what mood-altering agent of this day can I smuggle home with me. I have mangos, tequila, literature, ABBA, and play dates at home in San Diego. Could it be that the things I have at home (teetering piles attention-begging paperwork, eternal rennovation projects, a calendar of social engagements, an overdue oil change, meals to prepare, fleas to eradicate, calls to return – in short, responsibilities) inhibit this deep-freeze chill? Yo pienso.