And The Mist Made My Eyelashes All Shiny...

I went to the Oregon Coast.  I didn't just go to the oregon coast.  The capitals on the letters are there for good reason. Oregon Coast.  That is short for: I HAD AN AMAZING TIME IN THIS AREA.  or a more formal way of saying WOW.  And I went with my childhood friend, Jen.

Here's what I found...

Moments at the coast can last for hours. They are breathtaking and moving and memorable because they can last a lengthy amount of time. For instance, Whales  breaching and spouting and ... mating.  We got to see only glimpses, but it was a life changing experience.

Apparently, this is really rare. "A Treat".

Such a great shot!

Now these moments didn't have anything to do with Cap'n Jack navigating the choppy waters just so, even with the 2 pm waves pulling against his boat.  They didn't have anything to do with the blue sky and light breeze that whipped my jacket to and fro around my torso.

But they had everything to do with the fact that I was out on a boat at all, enjoying the bumping and dipping and spraying and sun-shining that happened at just the moment when the whales decided to let us in on their intimate chaos.   I loved that spot on earth, and found that I had a rare shot at being there. My heart raced and I couldn't stop smiling.  Ask Jen. She thought I looked a bit like an idiot.  But I kept clicking pics, and yelling, "look over there!" and "See that?", knowing that everyone on the boat was looking in the exact spot I was pointing out anyway.

I was experiencing being a tourist in its purest form.

I didn't care one whit that I was jostled and jostling around with perfect strangers. It didn't bother me that Cap'n Jack asked us all to move back from the stairs and be safe. I kept clicking away and being part of the crowd, all the way until he threatened that he would go away from the whales if we didn't listen to him. ...

oh! what a sight. The smell of the ocean, and the sound of the birds cacophony just added to the experience. I loved it all.  All of that was one moment.

Another moment happened when we were land-side, on Hug Point.

The mist found me, clear up on these lovely rocks. It kissed my eyelashes, and curled my hair, and made the tiny hairs on my hands sparkle.  I could feel the BOOM! that the surf made as it crashed into the sand, making swirling, eddying, sucking places all over our stretch of beach. I saw the whitecaps form, relentlessly daring any souls to come play in its reach. And again, I smelled the scent that was The Coast. The clean, brisk, crisp scent that carried anything from seaweed and seagulls, to the contents of a family picnic basket down the shore.  It was ... open... to any bit of brightness that caught its fancy.  And I got to be a part of it.

I love a good moment in time. I have lots, but these happened recently, and I still smile when I think of them.

Burn, cardboard! Burn!

Um.  I cried today.  A lot.    Watching "The Dog Whisperer".  Looking back,  I am not sure if it was because his teeth were so professionally, blindingly white that my eyes hurt to look upon them, or because he talked about finding the right time to move forward after grieving for a pet.  Maybe both.  (I just wore sunglasses and sobbed.  No one was looking.)

Also, I cleaned my bathroom because I was angry.  I find it is the only time I do clean.  Chores don't help.  Even with a chore chart.  You know, chore charts?  The ones that I share with my kids so they will do theirs?  Bribery doesn't work either.  (If I clean up, I will .... insert reward....)  I wonder why my kids aren't motivated. :)   So here I am back to being angry when I clean.  My bathroom is shiny.  I am not angry anymore.  (I left the tub for another time.)

Lastly,  I burned cardboard in the fireplace of my new place for the first time.  Not pieces of cardboard, which would be acceptable.  No.  I shoved entire large moving boxes into the gaping maw of this fire-belching wonder.  It was therapeutic to get rid of all the moving boxes that have cluttered up my life. (And my house.)  I didn't wait and do it to bond a bit with the kids while they tore them down to acceptable size.  And I sure as hell didn't take them out for recycling.  There was nothing acceptable, or even safe, about me creating this fire-storm, barely contained, as I pushed box after box inside the fireplace, and then judged when to shut the glass doors.  I felt cleansed as I did something that I would never let my kids get away with, and was ridiculous.  It felt marvelous.  I did NOT tell my husband.

Nothing dramatic to write about.  No nuggets of wisdom.  I just thought I'd solve the mystery of the thought, "Why do I feel so worn out?  I can't remember a thing that I did today!"  Woot.