Thursday, August 17, 2017

brb, just for tonight

It hardly seems necessary for one to break away from one's own dreamy silver lining beach pad, which is in and of itself a break from one's own happy yellow house, but it's summer and it's San Diego and I'm on a mission to bring the happy back to  my original happy place. So off we go! Just for tonight




Monday, August 14, 2017

"Drinking and Flowers, Mostly"

Last week someone asked me, "You have a blog? What do you blog about?"

"Drinking and flowers, mostly."

I mean, it's summer. What else is there?

There are delicious drinks . . .

. . . and there are beautiful, well, in this case, deck ferns . . .

. . . our deck ferns make our deck a magical wonderland.

(And we can gaze upon those flowers from up there.)

But I realized I left out another crucially important subject matter.

Food.

Food!

Mistah made us a Summertime Meal for the Ages last night . . .

Groovy, man.

I love this effect. And you actually can see flowers in the background.

I mean, grilled salmon and grilled corn and grilled zucchini and a tomahto and onion and avocado salad all look well and good . . .

. . . but everything likes to be fancified every once in a while.

It was, quite simply, amazing.

But wait! There's more to life than drinking and flowers and food . . .

. . . there are friends . . .

. . . there are poolside parties . . .

 . . . there is live music . . .

. . . there is our beloved Ocean Beach . . .

. . . and there are our heroic firefighters -- and internet-wire-fixers -- from the New London Fire Department.

So, yeah. Drinking and Flowers . . .

. . . and oh so much more.

Friday, August 11, 2017

silver lining

As I mentioned in my last post, my horizon has recently changed. I live in a lovely little yellow house that I love. It is a house of sunshine and happiness, and has been the anchor of home during a year of struggle and change and adjustment and new beginnings. We are renters in this house, which was first procured as a short term vacation rental. The owners rudely expect to be welcome back at certain intervals, which although does present a giant pain in my bum, is an inconvenience worth enduring for the simple fact that we always get to go back. We had traveled pretty light up until this summer, so previous relocations were pretty straightforward and manageable on my own. This August upheaval was more intense. I still did it on my own of course, but it was harder.

The drudgery of packing and moving and cleaning and storage-ing was made bearable by the knowledge that when I finally got to UNpack and move IN to a spot that I'd selected for the most obvious and insightful reason:


My dirty soul is now clean as a whistle

front yard
I'm at the beach.

I know, I know. I'm so spoiled! First I lived 10 miles from the beach and then I lived 2 miles from the beach and still I was not satisfied.

Now I am here:

living out my ultimate fantasy of looking at the ocean while I wash dishes
Every morning, no matter how late I am for work, I walk on the beach. Some days it's just a quick stroll down to the water and back, other days I turn north to the jetty then back home.



When I have all the time in the world I start south and go down to the pier





then double back past my place and continue to the river inlet where cute doggies play.






It's a challenge to calculate the distance, speed, and sand depth ratio to create the perfect morning walk. My life is sooo haaaard you guys.





Morning walks on the secluded beach are a good way to start one's day. It's not just the soul cleansing sounds and smells of the sea, although that's easily the best part. But for me it's also so good to spend some time alone and undistracted by my phone, the tv, the tasks that need doing, and the people with their insidious demands. It's just 30 minutes, but it's my 30 minutes.

I let my mind wander.

I'm fascinated by the tracks that line the beach


They're not necessarily straight, but they are organized




On Tuesdays the seaweed is pushed into giant clumps, and I always think about that passage in the book Jaws where a morning beach walker notices an unusually large clump of kelp then sees half of a human stuck in there. Then I think about that preceeding night scene where the drunk girl goes swimming and is being all loud and dumb then the music starts and as she is weirdly tugged into the water, and that moment as the tempo builds and her confusion turns to terror and then... well, you know. She ends up part of an unusually large clump of kelp.

On Wednesdays the seaweed is pushed out to sea and the sand is turned and fluffed into these long, meandering tracks that you really can't help walking along.

I don't think I'd hate that job
I like the fluffy tracks because they allow me to analyze and correct my weirdo misaligned walking gait that lends such woe to my hips and feet and knees and life.

The later my walk, the more peeps I see on the land. It's different in the late morning, but still pretty quiet.



It's different in the afternoon, less about walking and more about:


Of course, evenings have their own special appeal


But this one's about my mornings, my August, my silver lining, my soul.

Good Morning, OB!