Sunday Morning Beach Report

Who has time to walk on the beach anymore when gluing one's self to the news seems the most important thing to do? Somewhere in the distance there must be someone or something that can save us. Or so we hope. And hope. And hope. And we are doing things to support those hopes. But still.

We can't see the forest for the trees most days. This story. That story. Personally, I'm obsessed with Paul Manafort. I keep going to the website of the institution where he is jailed to check and re-check that he's still inside.

Meanwhile there is a place called Santa Cruz Island. I'm training to lead hikes there. On this island where there is no cable TV, there is the Channel Islands Fox. This fox is an island dwarf that does not exist outside of the Channel Islands. Smaller than a regular fox--a mere four pounds or so--due to it's fluffiness it appears to be the size of a house cat. There. I hope I've transported you to somewhere else for a moment. Let us ponder how things can get smaller when everything else looms large.

And when things loom large, perhaps we should think of this.

In any event,"my" beach looked like this today.

I hope you are well. Sending love.

Friday Evening Beach Report: How a walk on the beach is like a lifeboat

 I am stuck. No not literally. Not in the mud. Just the mud inside my head. Still no word from the state of Iowa that my mom has made it onto Medicaid. It's Friday. Why didn't I call the caseworker? I don't know. Because I'm stuck in the mud inside my head.

Meanwhile my mom's dentures somehow got lost at the nursing home. This might be day three of toothlessness. Everyone is looking for them. No one has found them. Lost teeth were a pretty regular occurrence when my mom lived here with me. I'd find them under the bed or in the bed. Once my mom tried to retrieve them from under the bed herself and fell and hit her head. I think that was the time she ended up with a big lump on her forehead that made her look like a Klingon. One day I came home to find her and her caregiver looking sheepish. My mom had dropped her teeth in the sink and a piece broke off and was stuck in the drain. I didn't know whether to call the plumber or the dentist first. It turned out not to be a huge deal. The dentures were fixable and the piece of pink plastic was not big enough to obstruct the plumbing. I was able to do something. Now I'm just able to fret and think of all the reasons why one should not lose one's dentures.

I'm great at menial tasks while fretting. So I fretted and did menial tasks. Christmas lights, cutting up the giant cardboard box that the new ping-pong table came in. Pitching another thing or two into the Goodwill bag.Trying to decide if I should plan a visit to see my my mom soon. Deciding no. Deciding yes. Deciding no. Deciding yes. Getting frustrated for being indecisive.  I couldn't decide whether or not to take a walk either. But I finally did.

The sky looked like cotton batting

And the sand was a mirror for the sky.
Foam was dolloped on the sand like whipped cream.
And if I turned around, I could see the tops of the mountains were white too.

I walked for over an hour until the sky turned red over Santa Cruz Island. I finally got unstuck enough to text daughter C and ask if she wanted to go see her G-ma with me. 

The sunset went crazy and I went sane.

And I've gone through an entire day only being vaguely conscious of my injured ribs. I think I'll try to get back to yoga next week. Another way to be sane.

I came home and bought a plane ticket. I got out the checkbook so I can pay another million dollar bill for the nursing home. I resolved for the billionth time to floss every night so I'll never have dentures. 

It was a perfect day.