a desert fete

I awoke this morning with bizarre and vague memories of the dreams from the night.  They were bizarre people.  The only part I remember clearly was running around the city with a cohort, board game in hand.  We were looking for the perfect place to spend a summer day relaxing.  Really relaxing.  

This is pretty much what we had in mind.  A private residence where the inside flowed uninterruptedly into the out, where we could play our board game in the refuge of the deep shady overhang of the house, and then little more than roll our lazy bodies over into a pool of water.  

Our desire went unfulfilled and stranger more urgent plots of the dream took over. 

I spent the morning still longing for this place, and it was a familiar longing.  This place must exist.  And exist where I can go.

  

Then it hit me.  Palm Springs. Vacation rental. DUH.  What seems like forever ago, one summer we rented a magnificent mid century home for a long weekend with a few other friends in Palm Springs. It was perfect. 

It had a huge very private backyard the size of a freaking park. We spent all day lounging in and around the pool.  We floated.  We got out of the pool occasionally to play croquet.  We drank a little too much and engaged in other slightly devious activities. We barbecued in the giant outdoor kitchen barbecue pit.  We never left the house.

Late in the evening we retired to the unnaturally cool indoors, which was appointed far finer than any of our homes were, and cooked, and watched movies, and listened to music, and yes, played board games.  

Upon memory of all this I immediately began scheming for a future such trip in the near future.

Yet, somehow that does not feel like enough.  Right now, it seems like the best idea to move to Palm Springs.  Buy a mid century house, and spend every single damn evening and weekend lounging by the pool.  Barbecuing.  Playing croquet in our park size lawn.  Doesn't that sound f-ing fantastic?

I know.  I'm sure it would get boring before too long...... Maybe if it was a beach house? After all, I married a surfer. No desert living for us...

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