Saturday Morning Beach Report

Big waves. Strong light. Sand bermed up, water pooling into salty lakes, debris etching the sand.

There were many birds taking advantage of the pools of water, and on the dry sand there were turkey vultures. Maybe they were displaced by the fires. Maybe they heard the crash of the waves and knew there would be carnage for them to feast on. Turkey vultures do show up on the beach from time to time--but they're not a regular feature.

Later this afternoon at home, I sat in my bedroom, reading, and the door to the hall was open.  I looked up and caught a beam of light sitting in the chair. The days are short, but the light is dramatic this time of year--both inside and out.

Dream on the Eve of My Birthday

"Look how high the water in the marina is," my friend Sasha said. We all ran to the window to see it lapping the edges of the sidewalk. Going from window to widow, we checked the water's progress every few minutes, but the level held steady. 

"It's okay," I said, "but what about all these dogs?" The neighbors had a small pool and a jacuzzi, and nine large black dogs took turns jumping in and out of the water. When I looked more closely, I saw that one was an ape. "That's not good," I said as the ape came to the fence between our two yards. He could climb over that, I thought. I ran to a basement bedroom and barricaded the door.

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When I talked to a friend this morning, he told me he'd had a dream last night about seeing someone walking some big dogs. And he dreamed about a chimpanzee in a car. We talked about the Chinese zodiac for a while, but couldn't make sense of anything. I was born in the year of the dragon. Water dragon, I think, to be more specific. At least that makes a little sense. The water is rising.

Surprise!

The Thanksgiving table is already set. There are pies on the kitchen island. In the fridge there are casserole dishes filled with "sweet potato surprise" and stuffing. A friend is driving for three hours to get here, and other friends from down the street are coming too. A friend that I wish could be here just had a knee replacement and is in the hospital. Family is far away because we've all come to our senses about travel on Thanksgiving weekend. Two years ago I tried to drive to my son's house the Friday before Thanksgiving. Everyone in southern California, it seemed, was leaving for an early start on the holiday. It took eight or nine hours to get as far as Indio which should be a three hour drive. I got a motel and continued on the next day.

Sweet potato surprise is a a recipe from one of Molly Kaizen's cookbooks. You can assemble it a day ahead, and if I recall, guests swooned over it when I made it some years back. I hope I'm remembering that correctly. It's good for a guessing game anyway. Do I taste apples? Ginger? Really? There are bananas in here? The stuffing is even more fun. I never make it quite the same way twice. This year I bought a completely different kind of sausage from the farmer's market. We'll see. Love is the secret ingredient in everything, that's all I know.

Across the country my daughters and their partners will be having their own Thanksgiving in the duplex they bought together. Maybe next year I'll be having Thanksgiving with them. Life is full of surprises. That would be a sweet one. One thing is for sure--this is my last Thanksgiving in this house here by the water in a state that I used to think of as paradise. The word paradise now conjures a town that was obliterated by one of California's latest fires, and in that bereft place ghosts of loved ones will visit tables that have turned to ash.

Since Dan died four and a half years ago I open my eyes thankful each morning, amazed to be breathing. Breath is such a simple thing until you've watched it leave the body. In these post-apocalyptic fire days, that feeling of being alive flattens me to the mattress for a minute when I open my eyes to find myself still here. I've read that people get happier as they get older. Maybe that's what's happening.  I'll be 66 on Saturday. That's a nice amount of happiness. Happiness ends, I guess, when we stop breathing, so for now I'm breathing in happiness and breathing out love. I wish that for you too.