A good run of days
Sunday found us on a secluded beach outside of Santa Cruz, taking in the sun, both of us topless and idle. Suddenly something hit me. It was a small hard grey thing... I figured a bird had shit on me. Weird though that it was hard and grey, rather than white and gooey. Oh well. We lied there a few minutes more, blissfully indolent, listening to the soothing sounds of surf and wind. Suddenly we heard something crumble above us and felt the sharp sting of cascading rocks! We yelped and leapt up and away from the cliff. I escaped without injury but poor Az. got nailed on her back. We looked back at our towels and on Az's we saw a rock the size of a big grapefruit. What if it had hit her on the head?! After that we were unable to sunbathe without fear, so back to Costanoa we went.
I used to do a better job of chronicling my ins and outs, the weekends, wine, women and song. I'm not sure if it's laziness or recognition that I'm in a holding pattern that's caused me to stop posting so much.
We were staying in a bungalow with no bathroom; the bungalows shared a communal bathroom called the "Comfort Station." It didn't take long before we were brainwashed into saying Comfort Station instead of bathroom. I guess it was a pretty nice setup. They had a big fireplace there, and both Saturday and Sunday night we sat by the fireplace drinking wine and staring at the flames. What is it about a fire that's so mesmerizing? It's controlled chaos. I can sit for hours fiddling with a fire, adding wood, shifting things around, trying to ignite recalcitrant logs.
New photos up on flickr. Remind me to tell you about "The Universe Beneath" and other books I'm reading. I want to write book reviews for popmatters but as yet haven't seen any books that really appeal to me. We're reading "Death and Life of Great American Cities" for our bookclub. Also: poker night, taco trucks (SF equivalent of knish stands or hot dog stands) , etc.