Live From The Pacific Ocean

Clearly there was no Friday post -- but only because it was a "day off" and my wife and I were driving to one of our favorite coastal towns for a five-day vacation.  Rumors have it that all "discretionary" time off is about to be canceled at my work and I decided to "discresh" whilst I still could.  Because I already live in the Sierra Nevada mountains, our general locale of refuge tends to be the Fornicalia coastal areas, from roughly Big Sur to Eureka and all points in between.  This will be our celebration for my birthday -- early -- because I could get the time, at this point.

And so: here we be, adjacent the ocean once again.  We both find the ocean to be mitigative, refreshing, powerful, cerebral, relaxing, therapeutic.  It's not just the sights; it's the sounds and smells as well.

The coast mirrors some of what's occurring recently inland; the humidity is up exponentially (at least for Fornicalia) due to the tropical systems swirling into the area from the south.  We had torrential rains and winds about five days ago.  As soon as we crested the Mendocino coast range and dropped down towards the cliffs, the temperature plummeted from the 80s into the 60s -- yet the humidity remained and, in fact, increased.

Right now, as the light diminishes, the fog has reduced our ability to see the ocean much past the mouth of the harbor where we watch the waves pound the L-shaped protective jetty.  The foghorn still sounds and alternatively appears to be closer or much further away, dependent upon -- well, I'm not sure what makes it sound near or far.  The fog is so thick it's actually like rain.  I'm watching the drops run down from the overhang protecting our room's veranda.

I treated ourselves to a local couples massage today and we visited an excellent antique bookstore where my wife acquired a number of books, and I purchased biographies of T.E. Lawrence, D.D. Eisenhower and Thomas Jefferson.  I'm quite looking forward to learning about Mr Jefferson as I admittedly know little about his life or words -- and clearly to the consternation of the ubiquitous Mr AJ.  In a fit of pique and decadence, I scheduled ourselves for a second 90-minute massage two days from now.

I also purchased a hardback by Vince Flynn, who is an excellent author and his newest is entitled Pursuit of Honor.  Also out in hardback is Evil At Heart, by Chelsea Cain.  An author that, unfortunately, many people have never read or heard of -- Chelsea Cain isn't simply some sort of "guilty pleasure" -- she is a full-fledged literary force in the realm of fictional serial killers.  Her Gretchen Lowell character is robust, fully-fleshed out (sorry), transfixing and challenged by her nemesis, Portland PD Detective Archie Sheridan.  Run, do not walk, and pick up this and the previous two books in the series by author Chelsea Cain.

And now, at 7 pm, it's mostly dark outside.  The fog is almost complete.  Whereas before, absent fog, at this time I could have at least seen the mouth of the harbor -- it no longer exists.  I have never seen the fog here so thick.  This is new and intriguing.  And somehow mysterious and mesmerizing.

The sheer curtain over the sliding patio door is alternately blowing out and being sucked into the room.  It's almost like the room is breathing.  This is indeed a very strange phenomenon.

BZ

P.S.

This post -- and some others to be published on vacation -- was created on my Apple MacBook Pro.  I'm starting -- just a bit, mind you -- to get the hang of this thing.