Here comes the sun
Yesterday I went to Santa Cruz with my family, mainly so we could go to a sunny beach. We went to Natural Bridges, and we clearly picked the right day to go, because it was clear and so warm that all the little kids were out playing in the ocean. (In their clothes, because no one thought to bring bathing suits to the beach in January). Mom made sure to take pictures of all of us standing in front of the ocean in our t-shirts, so my brother could show his Canadian friends how he spent his winter break.
Then we went walking over the rocks. At low tide, you can climb over the rocky outcroppings, walk across the sand between them, and then climb the next set of rocks. This was not low tide. It was high tide, meaning that after a certain point, you can only keep going by scrambling across wet two-inch ledges on the cliffside over the waves. I stopped at this point, since I have successfully navigated this section of rocks before and don't have anything to prove. Mom and I rested while the menfolk continued on. My brother returned soaking wet from the thigh down. Dad was not wet at all, because he did not attempt the last crossing--attempt obviously being the key word.
We sat in the sun for a while. Now, I enjoy going to the beach, but there's only so long I can sit there without doing anything. Since we were sitting on the rocks, my normal beach activity, namely building sandcastles*, was not an option. So I built a tower out of small chunks of rock instead. Mom made a comment about Andy Goldsworthy. I was thinking more along the lines of the early medieval Irish method of construction that involved fitting rocks together without mortar, so securely that parts of these buildings are still standing today. I don't think I quite achieved that level of quality. My "tower" was about eight inches high and definitely not structurally sound.
After a walk through the eucalyptus grove to look for monarch butterflies, we headed into downtown Santa Cruz for tea and a touristy stroll. Mom led the way into every thrift store (and a few other places) within six blocks of where we parked, mostly on the pretense of finding dry pants for my brother. (We found some, but by that time the pants he was wearing were mostly dry.) Then we had dinner at a Sri Lankan restaurant, and I decided to be adventurous and order the lotus roots. They were quite good, if a bit too spicy for me.
And then we came home and I had a dream about the zombie apocalypse. For some reason that I cannot fathom, the full-fledged zombies were bright blue. Also, one of the first signs of approaching zombiehood was a glowing red electrical field around the eyes, and you could be turned into a zombie just by having one touch you. I'm sure that all this says something deeply psychological about my subconscious. Or my brain is just weird. Whichever.
*What's that you say? You thought building sandcastles was only for little kids? Don't be ridiculous. Being a grown-up just means you can build better, more elaborate sandcastles.
Then we went walking over the rocks. At low tide, you can climb over the rocky outcroppings, walk across the sand between them, and then climb the next set of rocks. This was not low tide. It was high tide, meaning that after a certain point, you can only keep going by scrambling across wet two-inch ledges on the cliffside over the waves. I stopped at this point, since I have successfully navigated this section of rocks before and don't have anything to prove. Mom and I rested while the menfolk continued on. My brother returned soaking wet from the thigh down. Dad was not wet at all, because he did not attempt the last crossing--attempt obviously being the key word.
We sat in the sun for a while. Now, I enjoy going to the beach, but there's only so long I can sit there without doing anything. Since we were sitting on the rocks, my normal beach activity, namely building sandcastles*, was not an option. So I built a tower out of small chunks of rock instead. Mom made a comment about Andy Goldsworthy. I was thinking more along the lines of the early medieval Irish method of construction that involved fitting rocks together without mortar, so securely that parts of these buildings are still standing today. I don't think I quite achieved that level of quality. My "tower" was about eight inches high and definitely not structurally sound.
After a walk through the eucalyptus grove to look for monarch butterflies, we headed into downtown Santa Cruz for tea and a touristy stroll. Mom led the way into every thrift store (and a few other places) within six blocks of where we parked, mostly on the pretense of finding dry pants for my brother. (We found some, but by that time the pants he was wearing were mostly dry.) Then we had dinner at a Sri Lankan restaurant, and I decided to be adventurous and order the lotus roots. They were quite good, if a bit too spicy for me.
And then we came home and I had a dream about the zombie apocalypse. For some reason that I cannot fathom, the full-fledged zombies were bright blue. Also, one of the first signs of approaching zombiehood was a glowing red electrical field around the eyes, and you could be turned into a zombie just by having one touch you. I'm sure that all this says something deeply psychological about my subconscious. Or my brain is just weird. Whichever.
*What's that you say? You thought building sandcastles was only for little kids? Don't be ridiculous. Being a grown-up just means you can build better, more elaborate sandcastles.