While Jerry and Erin are deep sea fishing, I have most of the day to myself. This was an unusual phenomenon in my life. Even if I'm home by myself, it's not really "by myself", and there's rarely "free" time, with nothing to do. At home, I fidget. I do laundry, play with the dogs, read, work, go out and annoy the alpacas, etc. Today, however, I am in a new town, in a hotel room, and filled with the nagging sensation that I should go somewhere so that housekeeping doesn't have to work around me.
So I did what any person would do. I made the bed (I blame my mother for this little habit of making the bed, even though I know it will be stripped and remade in about 5 minutes), got dressed, and jumped in Velda Van to go explore.
Garibaldi is a busy little town, and the best thing about it, I think, is that it's REAL. There isn't a whole lot of tourist-y stuff going on. Mostly, it's real people, earning a real living by fishing, working at the cannery, or working at the lumber mill that's located just a few steps from our hotel.
Sure, there's the requisite knick-knack shops, restaurants, and myrtlewood stores, but from what I can tell, at its essence, Garibaldi is a fishing town. The harbor marina, literally 20 feet from the front door of our room, is constantly busy. Boats coming in, boats going out. There are recreational fishing boats, charters, and what appear to be commercial fishing boats going in and out of the harbor at a brisk pace.
I pointed Velda north, toward Rockaway. We tooled along Hwy 101 for a while, and before I knew it, I was in Wheeler. This looked like a cute little town that I'd like to explore, but I wanted to wait for Jerry, because he'd love to see the little bay front area. Maybe we'll go up there tomorrow and rent a little boat for a few hours....
On my way back, I noticed a sign for Manhattan State Park, and it had a small accompanying sign that indicated that it had beach access. It's been a while since I walked on the beach, so I decided to try it out. Once I got to the beach, this is what I saw:
How amazing! How beautiful!
I took off walking north, and the wind was pretty strong. It was fun to look at the footprints and imagine who had walked there, and how recently. I turned around and looked at my footprints, wondering if a forensic scientist could examine them and guess how much I weigh. I resisted the temptation to find a stick and run back and obliterate my footprints. Then I turned back around and looked where I was walking, because as we established yesterday, gravity is not my friend this weekend, and I didn't want to trip over seaweed and end up with a mouthful of sand. I caught sight of my shadow, and was pleased to note that it looked somewhat svelte. I surmised that, if I was 9 feet tall, like my shadow, I'd look pretty darned hot.
When I was in my early twenties, I would often spend weekends at the coast by myself, just basking in the beauty of the ocean, and contemplating great, metaphysical things, like, "What is the meaning of life?" and, "Why am I here?" and, "Where do I fit into the grand scheme of the universe?" and, "Dear God, please tell me that Keanu Reeves is my soul mate..."
I think adulthood (or maybe cynicism, raising teenagers, and having just finished a book on criminal profiling of serial killers) does something to your brain. It makes you less idealistic, less whimsical, less trusting in the innate goodness of one's fellow man. I say this because today, even though I was by myself, closer to God than I've been in months, lost in the vastness of the empty beach, with the wind in my hair and salt water on my face, all I could think of was, "What a great day. I don't have any chores, I don't have anything I HAVE to do. Someone else is re-making my bed. I hope they put another of those yummy-smelling vanilla coconut-scented soaps on the vanity. I'm out here on the beach, no one around for miles...wait--no one around for miles--do I have my car keys? Do I have my inhaler? Do I have my phone? Do I have cell service? Does that dune look like a good place for a homicidal maniac to hide my dead body? Okay, get over yourself and focus on the beauty around you. Anyway, I'm here, sharing my adventure with.....a dead bird."
Yes, out of all the places on the vast, empty beach I could have sat down, I chose to plop myself next to a dead bird. Poor bird. I started contemplating the fleeting nature of life and the great circle of life--dead bird, flies, parasites, more flies.... I tried to get metaphysical, but really, all I could think was, "Glad I'm not that bird."
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