Waiting on Sundown

Sunday night toward the end of a long, hot summer, we were sipping cocktails at a local casino waiting for sundown. It reminded me of a Brooks & Dunn album called “Waiting on Sundown” from 1994. I was living in Fremont, California in the San Francisco Bay Area back then after living in a condo on the Peninsula in San Bruno for 10 years.

I now know three things: (1) never live in a place for 10 years (2) the importance of “waiting on sundown” after owning a home in Las Vegas for 8.5 years (3) the meaning of the movie “Leaving Las Vegas.”

We left Las Vegas for a couple of years almost 5 years ago. We ended up revisiting/living in, briefly, 3 of our former places: Orlando, Oregon, and the San Francisco Bay Area, coming full circle back to our home in Las Vegas. Being coastal/beach people, we enjoyed the break from the desert.

We’ll eventually leave Las Vegas for good, but I’m getting nervous the closer it gets to the 10 year mark. Heck, after 8.5 years, I think it’s already too late. While some people don’t understand frequent moves and might think that 10 years in one place is way too short, my point is that it’s far more difficult to move on if you’ve lived in a place for 10 years and why I say 8.5 years may already be too late.

We’ve stocked way too many memories here to be able to leave easily. Our younger selves lived her. Our fur baby Buddy lived here. Buddy’s brother Skipper and his sweetie Lovey have lived more than half of their lives here. Shadow hopped on a plane and came to live with us after we lost Buddy. We’ve been a family here.

I’ve grown attached to our church, to the neighborhood stores and restaurants and, heck, even the gas station. It’s a beautiful neighborhood. Last week, we stopped in at one of those urgent care centers for something not exactly urgent and when we opened the door to leave, we were struck by the beautiful sunset or “sundown” as we call it here in the desert southwest.

But until sundown, I go a little nuts. By late afternoon, I’m exhausted by the intensity of the sun, which, until you’ve experienced it, you may not understand. I never thought I’d say this but by then, I’ve had far more than enough of the sun. It’s too hot to be outside and I hate being cooped up inside. To escape the sun inside, you can use  blackout drapes, which are dark and depressing.

I’ve discovered I have the summer counterpart to SAD I had living in the Pacific Northwest. I didn’t even know that existed until I realized I had it. I’m counting down until we can finally put “Daylight Savings Time” behind us. I can’t wait for shorter, cooler days when I can get back to my afternoon walks.

But this weekend, we had an amazing night at the new Westgate aka the International where Elvis played (aka as the Las Vegas Hilton). Memories of a lifetime of Vegas overtook my emotions. I felt so at home, touching the past.

Yes, it’ll be difficult to leave but it’s even harder to stay. Or maybe it’s difficult to stay but even harder to leave.

About Kathy

Novelist, Poet, Songwriter/Music Producer