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August 27, 2003

Little Beach

"Bees makes honey. Bees make ... honey.
Well ...
Do earwigs make chutney?
Do spiders make gravy?"


I spent today driving around with my friend Donnie, doing chores. He had to get his license back, which meant going to the insurance company, getting lost, standing around, and eventually the dreaded trip to the DMV. There was many a line to wait in, many an inept government official to hold things up, it was hot, and it was sticky. Our hopes of a post DMV surf break were quickly dashed as one hour turned to two, then three, and the sun began to sink out of the sky. Although the company was pleasant, I caught myself frowning and pouting like a petulant child, furrowing my brow and tapping my feet impatiently as I waited for my friend. By the time our days missions were complete (at least a success) I knew it was time to take him home so he could get to work.
We pull up at his house, my goodbyes are all prepared, and then he throws me a curve:
"We can jump into the ocean and go swimming for half an hour, if you want."

Well, really now ... Did I really want to suit up, sand up, and tangle up my blonde curls with salt and kelp for only half an hours foot-numbing waterplay? Yes, I did.

We changed fast and walked a short four blocks to the secret swimming hole. I had heard it affectionately referred to as "Little Beach". When we walked down to it, I understood why. In the center was a huge rock that stretched from the sand out into the surf. On either side of the rock lay two perfectly identical little beaches, each about the size of a small restaurant. There were people scattered around the intimate little beach with beers and boom-boxes, a couple of people up on various rocks, and a handful in the water. It was so small and inviting, that I was instantly charmed. We dropped our towels and ran in.

The waves at this cove beach were deep and broke around the rock. They were big and strong, moving us effortlessly in their swells. We swam out and rolled in them like teenage sea otters. The waves seemed thick, and even though they were big they seemed almost surreal and slow. For thirty minutes we swam around in the tide, my feet not once touching the bottom (mostly out of fear of disturbing a sleeping sting ray). When our time was up, the waves easily whisked us back into the shallows. I was breathing hard as I walked up to the dry sand. We toweled off and walked the four blocks back. Done. Our day had just been made worthwhile.

To make it even nicer, I got to go home where all my roommates were feverishly cooking up an Italian feast. We ate outside in the backyard, (on our newly refinished picnic table, thanks to Ash and Beej) and drank some good wine as Frank Sinatra sang to us through the window. A little chocolate cake, some Queer Eye for the Straight Guy to get the guys in touch with their stylish feminine sides, and we said our goodnights.

It was an unexpectedly lovely day, and all it took to turn it around was a little beach.

Posted by kati at August 27, 2003 12:30 AM


Sounds like a lovely day. Here in the Santa Maria, there's isn't much more than a little dirt, little streets and little Mexicans. I feel like the biggest one here, and I'm not even a pure breed. I'm insainly jealous of your San Diego tales. I'm still warming up to the folks down here and when I go home, there isn't much more than my walls to say "Hello."
"Hello walls" I say, and proceed to beat my dome on them. I feel you when you said (a couple blogs back) than the mass of new found time on your hands isn't what it's cracked up to be.

I've a chest of gold, to big to carry around - so I sit with it, wishing to share it with my friends. Love you. Tell the roomies I said "Hello"

Posted by: Mike at September 3, 2003 01:04 PM