Rogue Waves

It's our last full day on the beach, so I woke up in a melancholy mood. This can't go on. I probably wouldn't like it if it did. But somehow I still want it to.

I've been thinking a lot of my grandmother this morning. She used to sit on the deck here wearing her floppy yellow hat and watch the waves. "They say the seventh wave is the dangerous wave," she'd say. I'd roll my eyes because my grandmother was given to odd pronouncements at times. "If you eat beets, you'll have rosy cheeks like Jackie Kennedy," for example. Or "If you put vinegar on your food, it'll melt the calories." So of course when she'd start up with the rogue wave thing, I'd always say, "Yes, but how do you know when to start counting . . . "

Still, this morning as I took my solitary stroll on the shoreline, watching the brown pelicans dive bomb into the water, I found myself looking for that seventh wave. And for the shades of our old selves left behind here.

Bird watching

So occasionally I do a little bird watching, thanks to Gigi who always gives me tickets to the Great Salt Lake Bird Festival in May. Right now I'm checking out the brown pelicans who make their home here. Love it when they glide low over breaking waves like surfers shooting the curl. And I especially love it when they go all kamikaze while fishing. They sweep through the air in wide circles, then wheel out and dive bomb--BOOM--headfirst into the glittering water.

Awesome.

And now . . .

. . . we're at the beach. And, once again, it's Reality TV show time. The family next door is all Jersey Shore with the fist-pumping and the chest muscles and the big hair and gold jewelry to match. Meanwhile, they look at our license plates and me crocheting an afghan in my little lawn chair and go, "Yep. Sister Wives."

cali update

here. internet super slow.

good news though! gulls screaming. waves crashing. air sharp and salty. heaven.

have eaten at in-n-out TWICE in less than 24 hours. also heaven!