We crossed the border into the United States of America after a 2-month visit to our house in Bahia de Los Angeles. We took the Tecate turnoff just north of Ensenada. We opted to avoid the constant confrontation of forced lane changes and people who know the route better than we do cutting in front of others less knowledgeable. The kindness we had been living in the remote small-village environs of the Bay is certainly not located at the Tijuana crossing. Tecate took us just a few moments; it can be much longer but it is more policed and structured. The smaller town folks are more giving and considerate. Seems like that might just be true regardless of the part of the world we're in.

We got home to Ventura, California. Michael and Kevin helped us unload. Hugs passed as freely as the duffels filled with soiled clothes. Our first several nights were a little noisier and filled with less friendly sounds. In the bay we're caressed daily and nightly with natural sounds of whales, dolphin, sea birds, sea lions, and waves, small fragile sparkling tinkles in the night reflect off the distant stars and moon. Our moon.

While we live in Ventura in a relatively remote small orchard of avocado and lemon trees, our rented house is located between the 126 freeway and another major thoroughfare connecting Valencia and the coast. The noise from traffic, particularly in the evenings and early morning hours, is too much. I fall asleep dreaming of Bahia de Los Angeles.

We're heading there soon. I have a list of supplies we need. Mary Ann has met a neighbor at our house on the Sea of Cortez who does the ancient art fabric Locker Hooking. We set off to the local Wal-Mart to buy what she needs to perform this art. I was completely unprepared.

In Bahia the definition of a crowd is several people gathered somewhere. The Ventura Wal-Mart is huge and there must have been many thousands of shoppers, all speaking different languages, pushing shopping carts filled to the brim and not watching where they were going and grabbing at more STUFF! What has America taught us? I do not mean this disrespectfully as I am very much an American.

All my life I have spent money as a form of uplifting entertainment. Now, retired, I have to stop. But I've been thinking about it for some time. It's something I need to fix in myself. I really don't think it'll be too hard. It's a matter of my understanding my own form of demented logic.

The bulging crowd continues on their quest for new stuff. We enter the checkout line, one of twenty, and it takes us 20 minutes. We only have several purchases. The rush of humanity is incredible and overpowering. I can't wait to get out of the building.

Cars in the parking lot are zooming around looking for open slots. People are everywhere. I'm overwhelmed once again. This is the society I grew up in but it has grown. I long to be back in Bahia de Los Angeles or elsewhere in Baja, in Mexico, where I also grew up.

"Come save me, Baja."

"I'm right there with you, Michael. I'm in your head." She said.