Away

What a relaxing day it's been. How strange, and how wonderful.

The wife and I decided it was time to get away from the localized Central Fornicalia madness and partake of our Fornicalia coastline. It's been hot as hell recently (no, not Global Warming -- around the Central Valley it's called "summer") and, for the area, relatively humid. When I write of heat, I'm indicating temperatures around 105 to 110-degrees. Not where I live in the mountains, but where the wife's house is, in Sacratomato -- which is also where I work. We both agreed: it was time to head for the coast.

We enjoy staying in Monterey, Carmel, Big Sur, Santa Cruz, Capitola, Eureka, Ft. Bragg, Mendocino -- anywhere we can see the ocean, we can hear the waves, and enjoy relief from the heat.

It's strange, because I'm writing this post in the same chair you see my wife occupying in the photo above, on her laptop, connected to the internet available in the room. At the same time, it's about 55-degrees outside, overcast, and I can see the ocean fog running for shore. I can hear the tumultuous cascading of the waves, and I'm watching them strike a series of rough rocks just outside the window. I have my camera mounted on a tripod from the little veranda, so I can catch any really monumental waves -- like the last series I just missed because I was writing this sentence -- in hopes of snagging another photo for the post.

We've decided that today, after procuring breakfast, we'll be banana slugs and simply leave the door open so we can read, write, and just savor the essence of the coast. I have a few Heinekens nearby (imagine that), my wife has a wine cooler on the table, I'm writing this post and she's sewing a sock monkey for the truck we're going to buy soon, to replace her ancient 1990 Toyota pickup.

Despite the gray day, the impending fog, the lack of sun, we both find the surroundings utterly beguiling and relaxing. We're enjoying identifying the dogs we see walk by. We're marveling at the turn of the gulls as they wheel mere feet from the veranda. I can see the ocean now, changing to a deeper green than it was a few mere minutes prior -- why is that? A small flock of ducks just zipped by. And now and then, too far for the zoom on my camera, we can see the popping heads of seals surfacing for a breath and a bit of orientation.

We'll be here another three days, and likely doing the same thing: not much and/or, what we wish when we wish. I'm starting Daniel Silva's The Messenger, and my wife is beginning James Rollins's The Judas Strain. We are both rabid and voracious readers; we adore that in each other.

I'm convinced: if I were to win the lottery, I know my two immediate choices would be to live in the mountains above the snowline, or by the ocean. And, ultimately, I know my final choice would be to live in the Pacific Northwest, by the ocean. Northern Fornicalia, Oregon or Washington state. Living next to the ocean wins, hands down.

If you won the lottery, where would you live?

BZ