When I was young (oh so many years ago) and just dating now husband Chris, he used to chase storms with his band of friends. Someone would hear of a squall brewing somewhere and calls would be made. Then surfboards would be loaded onto a dilapidated four-wheel drive vehicle, and they would head out. The windows rolled down, the Beach Boys cranked up.
I'm not sure that any of them were terribly good surfers. But there was something about those waves and those winds that had enspelled them.
But then there was me and adventures in far off lands. And somehow those journeys brought us here to Marrakech, a city with no sea. So now the only surfing my husband sees is on a screen in our Moroccan tent at Peacock Pavilions.
There remains a kind of longing in his eyes -- a sacrifice (one of many) that he has made for me.
Please, oh please, let's pretend that dessert ...
and tea....
makes it better...
