At the beach

I want to write one more post about my vacation before plunging fully back into Ridgecrest World. It's not that I'm miserable to be back, it's just that, well... let's say it's been kind of hot here recently. It makes me a bit nostalgic for the beach.

We went to the beach for my birthday, at my request. I was touched that so many people agreed to go (my little sister really wanted to go, but got sick), because as we all agreed, going to the beach is kind of a pain. We were smart about it -- we ate lunch at home, and we had dinner reservations at Duarte's in Pescadero. So we didn't have to drag a LOT of food out onto the sand, just snacks. And we didn't have to be at the beach all day, just a few hours. Very smart.

But first we had to choose a beach. There are 6 or so public beaches on the San Mateo county coast, from Half Moon Bay to Pescadero. But none of us had been to any of those beaches in eons and we had no idea what would be best. Finally I chose San Gregorio beach, because I remembered that it had a nice little channel running from the ocean inland, and I thought the kids could play in that.

So we drove over the mountains to Half Moon Bay and then down the coast. The parking fee at San Gregorio beach was $8 and there weren't too many cars in the lot, which I thought was a good sign. We unpacked the cars and started the walk down to the beach, and then we realized the problem.

The little channel of my memory has become an enormous lake, taking up half the beach and making it almost impossible to walk from the parking lot to what's left of the beach. This new lake also has signs posted saying "Contaminated. Stay Out." We discussed going back to the cars and trying another beach, but no one wanted to do that, so we inched our way down the steep, narrow path to the beach. Here's my niece on the narrow path and some of the kids climbing up above her.

And here is the contaminated lake behind us:

But here is the beautiful ocean in front of us:

It was a truly perfect day at the beach -- blue skies, warm but not hot -- I don't think it's probably ever actually HOT at the San Mateo county beaches, but it's often very chilly and foggy, and so of course we had all brought sweatshirts. They were not needed. We made sand castles, frolicked in the waves, took walks down the beach, ate sandy snacks. I loved it.

But it wasn't just a nice day at the beach for me. It was Memory Central. It was as though I had walked into an old movie of my past, and I had to watch it play out.

Who knew that my past, my family history, lives at the beach? I certainly wouldn't have guessed that. It is true that my father's ashes were supposed to be scattered at sea (though they may not have been -- long story). I helped scatter my older sister's ashes up near Half Moon Bay. (My mother's ashes are inland a little ways, but same county.)

It's also true that beach trips were a regular part of our lives when I was a child. And when I was a teenager, I used to go with my friends. In fact, here's a photo I dug up of my 16th birthday party -- held at Bean Hollow beach. I'm in front, digging (with the long blond hair, not the bikini):

So I celebrated my 16th birthday party at the beach, and my 52nd. Pretty funny.

You know, maybe the whole memory thing was because the beach doesn't change (much). Sure, there was that contaminated lake, but the ocean in front of us was the same ocean that I remember from when I was little. My parents' house is sold and doesn't look anything like it used to. But the beach is the same.

Rocket Boy tried to go swimming, but the surf was too rough even for him. While he was out there, though, a seal suddenly popped up, right where RB had been a moment before. He and I were the only ones to see the seal -- as soon as I started yelling, it went back under and we didn't see it again. Still, pretty cool. And then a moment later, it seemed to be snowing -- and that puzzled me for just a moment until I realized that a low-diving seagull had just pooped on me. I've never had that happen! White seagull poop all over my shirt, and probably in my hair.

It was very very hard not to think that the seal and the seagull were two of my departed family members, paying me a little visit on my birthday.

We had dinner reservations at 5:30, so around 4:30 or so we started packing up. It takes so long to shake the sand out of everything and carry it all back up the hill and shake out the sand again and change the clothes of little people who have gotten sopping wet and shake out the sand again and pack everything and everyone back in the car. (And still there's sand on everything.) We drove further down Highway 1 to Pescadero where we had a delicious dinner at Duarte's.

Duarte's Tavern has been around forever, but it's famous in our family because our parents ate here on a little honeymoon they took back in 1943, several months after they were actually married. Duarte's has the best olallieberry pie in the world. Also other pies. Also fish, and artichoke soup. And sourdough bread with butter. It's a little pricey, totally casual, and just divine. I had a Petrale sole sandwich, with blackberry shortcake for dessert. Every bite was ambrosia. And every bite was memory lane again. I felt as though my parents were there too, eating right along with us. I didn't actually eat at Duarte's very many times with my parents -- it wasn't that -- it was just something about the place and the day and the wonderful food. A good piece of bread and butter can be a poem. A blackberry shortcake can be a nocturne.

I did think, on the drive back, how lovely it would be to drive to Duarte's on a date, if one were young and rich and in love. But going at age 52 with one's husband and two darling children and beloved extended family was really fun too. My family lives on at the beach. Well, now I know.