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!