I entered the code given to us by Mr. Meyerman into the small stainless steel kiosk nested in a robust boulder at the base of the property. It granted us entry in a tinny post-beverly voice 'access tgranted', the gate rose up shakily and I drove under it fearing that it may have a failure and crash down on the hood of my new ford. The engine rattled under the strain, pushing up a steep grade, to rest only for a moment on the switchback. As we reached the first gate on the left hand side I was forced to squint, nearly blinded by the light reflecting off the house like a porcelin domino. Seeing a dark refuge straight ahead, I pulled slowly into the the car port letting my eyes adjust to the change, switched off the engine. In front of us to our left, a perforated array of delicate concrete bloc so familar to my memories of childhood visits to Palm Springs, and to our right a large glass door dotted by squares of light projected from above, inviting us in. Unload the luggage, follow the squares of light, thru the door and down a long hall way subltly sloped down I gradually gained momentum in approach to the end of the hall. Intuitivly expecting, but not knowing for sure, the vision in my head instantly repaced with a reality only more detailed and sharper. The entire desert floor. We stood. The house is a fountain in reverse, flooded with light. I turn to my right and squeeze my wife's hand and exhale. In my view just behind her the bar comes into focus like a mirage, begging for our attendance. She moves to push open the door to our right that I didn't see at first, it opens to the master suite, which I notice right away is skewed. The floor is tilted, oddly, but I know to trust it and am confident it's function will reveal itself later, though I must fight my emotions of anger towards the designer and focus my energy on relaxation over the next few days. Everything in it's right place.