There’s no stopping the ticking of the clock. No halting the flow of time. (Not in this here and now, anyway, not as of 2024…) I sip my iced coffee, thinking about time and listening to the rain fall.
A steady rain falling doesn’t trouble flocks of seabirds.
I watched seals (sea lions?) playing in the channel as the rain fell. I listened to the raindrops on the water. I felt the soft pelting of rain on my face as I stood on the balcony drinking in the cool fresh sea air. The clock still measures the time that still flows, but I have no interest in attending to it, and it mostly goes unnoticed. I’m just being.
I enjoyed breakfast at a local breakfast spot. Their coffee was good, and breakfast was exceptionally well-prepared. My appetite was ready for it; I woke early and got a walk on the beach before the rain started. It was a lovely early morning moment (the walk, yes, and also the breakfast). There’s nothing about this that is extraordinary. “Woman on vacation dines at local breakfast hotspot!” is hardly an attention-grabbing headline. lol
Even the gulls are just chilling, today.
Returning to the hotel room after breakfast, I arrived along with the rain. I stood on the balcony awhile, listening and feeling and thinking my thoughts… then… I napped. lol My intention was to read, and to finish the book I brought with me. Instead, sleepiness overcame me and I dozed for an hour or so, although I did not need the sleep. It was luxurious, and I woke feeling that deep satisfaction and rested-ness that a good nap can provide. Now, I’m back to the iced coffee I picked up on my way out for my walk and never finished. No clear agenda, no plan, no goal for the day ahead besides relaxing, resting, and “refilling my tank” – apparently there are naps involved. 😀 So far my results are excellent – I am relaxed, and calm, and contented. I feel merry and deeply satisfied in life. I’m ready to get back to routines and requirements and structure and habit, and all the day-to-day details that need my attention.
I needed a break. I took a break. I have gotten what I need from this break. Feels very successful.
I’ve the day ahead of me, yet, and another night of sleeping by the seashore, listening to the wind and the waves. Another day to listen to the rain fall, and watch the gulls riding the air currents over the bay. Another day to relax and read and nap and walk on the beach.
What a day this has been. Spent mostly in solitary contemplation, reading, walking the beach here at Siletz Bay, I’ve enjoyed the quiet geniality of my own good company. It’s been lovely.
I sat for a long while on the beach listening to the waves breaking against the shore. It seemed as if I had no tinnitus at all, for a time. Oh, it’s still there, and if I pay it any attention, I hear it, but here on the shore I can let it recede into the background for awhile, more so than I ever can elsewhere. It’s a different kind of quiet, and these moments are precious. Restful.
Some of the people who have been most dear to me in this mortal lifetime have had strong connections to the sea, and this keeps me coming back to the seashore again and again. My Granny loved the sea and the shore so much that she and my Grandfather bought a sail boat and retired to the waterfront. When they moved to the West Coast, later, she regularly yearned aloud for the days of sailing the Chesapeake, and the feeling of freedom she felt being on the water. As a child, she took me to places like Cape May in New Jersey, Rehoboth Beach in Delaware, and Myrtle Beach in South Carolina. Later on, she also took me to Ocean City and to Assateague Island in Maryland, and Gold Beach in Oregon. When she lived on the Eastern Shore, her home was a refuge for me at a time when I needed it most, after I’d returned home from wartime deployment.
My recently departed dear friend loved the sea. She saw the ocean as our cosmic Mother, the wellspring of all life. Our one and only beach trip together was to the ocean beach nearest to Arcata, California, shortly after she had moved there, when she was still easily able to get around. We took a picnic lunch, and ended up eating it in the car, to avoid the strong wind blowing that day, and the aggressive gulls seeking snacks. lol
Even my Traveling Partner has a connection to the sea. He’s a Navy veteran, a submariner. His experiences of the sea are his own, and I know very little about them – but I know they exist in his experience and his memories. He took us on an anniversary trip a couple years ago, and we enjoyed the Oregon coast. Our hotel was a lovely spot along Nye Beach. It was a delightful time together, restful and playful.
I’ve spent many happy hours at beaches. As a child I found fossilized sharks teeth at Calvert Cliffs, in Maryland, and as a young soldier I partied at Padre Island in Texas. I walked the beach in Carmel California and the dunes near Fort Ord, as a deeply unhappy woman with a lot on her mind. I’ve restlessly walked along the beach and explored the tide pools at Cannon Beach Oregon, and sat with a quiet coffee on the beach near Brush Creek, Oregon, thinking my solitary thoughts. The beaches of Lincoln City have been fond favorites of mine for 4 years now; they’re very near by, and an easy getaway for a day or a weekend and I return to them often.
…Funny thing about me, and the seashore… I don’t even swim. lol Maybe that’s not the point at all, I just think it’s a bit comical. I rarely swim even when I have the opportunity, and when I do find myself tempted into the water, it’s generally a swimming pool, and I mostly just enjoy being in the water without actually doing any swimming. I’m honestly not much of a swimmer, although the Army makes a point of ensuring soldiers are “drown proofed” (handy skills, not the same as being able to swim). I dog paddle a bit, if I must, but mostly… if I’m honest… I don’t actually swim. lol I’m certainly not ever going to venture into deep enough ocean water to need to swim. Ever.
At some point, this morning, on my way to the beach, I decided to grab a coffee. I had something rather specific in mind and ordered it with some anticipation. I was eager for the taste – a rare treat – and I ordered it anticipating the experience. By the time the line moved around and I was able to receive my coffee, it had mixed and settled in the cup, and wasn’t at all what I was going for (which was a rather fancy layered drink that looks beautiful in the cup). I was… disappointed. Then I felt like a shithead – because it was thoroughly delicious, it just wasn’t what I wanted. lol It reminded me that there is no guarantee on the experiences we seek; reality will be what it is, and there’s no arguing with that. I sipped that coffee and reflected on the foolishness of being disappointed by what was actually quite a pleasant experience – if only I’d enjoyed it in that moment, precisely as it was, instead of weighing it down with baggage and bullshit to do with my expectations. A moment with a lesson.
Eventually, I became chilled as I sat on the beach with my coffee and my thoughts. The raindrops that spattered me hinted at the potential for a real rain shower, and the storms on the horizon suggested it might be time to return to the hotel for a time. I sat awhile longer, watching the waves break on the shore, flinging sea spray into the air as they did. I breathed the ocean air and enjoyed the breezes and the sounds of the shore birds, gulls, and crows. I finished my coffee, and returned to the car, and eventually to the hotel.
Later on in the day, as I stood on the balcony watching the tide change, I watched the gulls sailing on the breezes. I noticed them as individuals – one for each departed dear one no longer traveling life’s journey: family members, friends, lovers… the fallen ones that are now beyond any words of affection reaching them. No more time for “thank you”, “I love you” or “I’m sorry”. They exist now as memories. I stood with my thoughts, my memories, and my love for a long while, just watching the gulls soaring past, again and again.
I don’t know that the seashore is “my happy place”… it’s certainly a happy place, and a place that I turn to for solitude, when I need to step aside and allow some measure of time to pass me by, in a sense, while I gather my thoughts. I feel connected to the seashore because the sea meant so much to so many that I have held dear to me. Fond memories. Shared moments. So here I am, enjoying my own good company, in the company of my thoughts and memories, finding my path.
Maybe this isn’t “inner peace”, but it’s a handy facsimile and it serves my humble purpose. This is what I need for now – soon enough, I’ll begin again.
The balcony door is flung wide to let the sounds of the sea and the wind and the gulls fill the room. The smell of a doused bonfire on the beach sneaks in with them. A drenching misty rain began to fall shortly after sunrise; I had watched the clouds roll in bringing the rain along with them, as I sipped my coffee. I’m still sitting around sipping coffee, without a care, after “doing the needful” regarding payday details (because truly the clock never stops ticking, and some shit just needs to be done). The sky is a peculiar milky gray that obscures details that are relatively nearby, and which I can usually see quite clearly – it’s just that drenching mist of a rain adding a gray wash over everything, like a careless watercolorist.
Looking from the balcony toward Schooner Creek, through the misty rain.
I crashed ridiculously early last night, after a walk on the beach in the late afternoon, and a bite of dinner. I think it was barely 7:00 pm. I expected I’d probably end up wakeful and restless during the night, but I slept right through, waking only briefly to pee during the night, and the morning caught me by surprise; it was past daybreak when I finally woke. My sleep tracker suggests I slept quite deeply more than half the hours I slept, which is rare for me these days. I needed that rest.
A picture before bed time.
The water along the shoreline is quite clear this morning, and from my third floor hotel room I can see into the water, to the sandy bottom, and even see an occasional small crab moving along, sideways, no doubt hoping to avoid an eager gull or other shorebird looking for a tasty snack. The tide turned before I woke, and I enjoy watching the sea rise, wave after wave, gulls enjoying the air currents, or picking at bits of things in the shallow water. A bit further from shore, the clear water appears as a blue-green-gray, and I can’t see into it deeply at all; it’s deeper there. There is a channel there that never quite empties, even at the lowest tide, and occasionally shallow draft fishing boats travel this channel, fishing or moving to the next good fishing spot, rarely staying long. It’s an odd little spot, this Siletz Bay. The view changes so much with every change of the tide. I love this spot. It’s interesting seeing some of the massive logs carried down the river to the sea, they move so far on relatively little water (quite a lot of this bay is very shallow). The driftwood log upon which I sat for some time yesterday evening may not even be there by the end of the day, today.
Bay view this morning, shortly before the rain arrived.
The room is chilly, now, from leaving the door open to the balcony all damned morning (since I woke). I put on a sweater rather than shut out the sea breeze, and stop writing long enough to wrap my hands around a hot cup of coffee while I watch a short video my Traveling Partner shared with me. He misses me already, I know. It’s tempting to immediately return home to comfort him and hang out together… but I know I actually really need (and benefit from) this short break from “all the peopling” and busy-ness of life. Self-care only works when we do the things we need to do to care for ourselves. I breathe in the cold sea air, and sign contentedly. The rain is still falling, but the clouds are moving away, and it seems likely I’ll be comfortably walking along the beach shortly, enjoying the advantage of the low tide to walk along further than I might at high tide. My coffee has grown as cold as my hands.
…I would enjoy a better cup of coffee than what the hotel provides. Perhaps it is time to begin again…?
I’m waiting. It’s quite early, before daybreak. I’m parked at a local trail near home. I’m waiting for enough daylight to walk. I’m waiting for the grocery store to open. I’m waiting for my Traveling Partner to wake and start his day. I’m waiting to begin my long weekend and short trip to the coast. It’s not a bad time for waiting. The world seems quiet and peaceful, and although that’s an illusion (the “peaceful” bit is very local), it’s a pleasant moment with which to begin the day.
My head aches ferociously. My neck, too, aches horribly. It’s more likely than not a byproduct of yesterday’s physical therapy, which isn’t unusual but is usually less intense. Progress? Hell, I don’t know.
Subjectively, I feel as if my range of motion is improving. The symptoms of occipital neuralgia seem reduced in frequency and intensity. Those are promising changes, but g’damn the pain persists, it’s just located differently. lol Learning to deal with pain emotionally has been as important as anything I’ve done to attempt to reduce it. I fully expect pain to continue to be a thing that is part of my day-to-day experience, and it’s no good letting it call the shots (anytime I have a choice to do otherwise). My results vary.
The ringing in my ears is… loud. I’m looking forward to being by the ocean. The sound of ocean waves and seaside breezes is one of the very few things that drowns out my tinnitus almost entirely. It’s a delightful break from the maddening din that no one else hears. For a couple days it’ll be rather as if there’s no tinnitus at all. This experience is one of the reasons I go to the coast when I need some time to myself, the chance to escape the noise of my tinnitus for a short time. Another is the feeling that being oceanside connects me more closely to my Granny and my recently departed dear friend, both of whom felt a strong connection to the sea.
It won’t be long now until mountain and forest places are warm enough for camping and hiking, too. I enjoy the forest most of all, myself, and that’s a lifelong love. I enjoy the seaside places. I enjoy the broad plains and vast expanses of high desert skies. I love the forest. My reluctance to camp in early Spring is to do with physical comfort, only. My arthritis makes sleeping on the ground in chilly weather uncomfortable, and the more frequent Spring rains make hiking muddy and more treacherous, so I just don’t. Choices.
…I sit quietly for some moments, feeling grateful to have the luxury and privilege of choices…
Daybreak comes. The morning sky stays pretty dark, and streaks of blue hint at daylight to come, through stormy clouds. It’s not raining though, and it looks like a good morning for a walk. I remind myself to check my paint box for blues and grays and colors I might use for stormy skies…
Soon there will be enough light to walk the trail. I grab my boots to make the change from sneakers, and get ready to head down the trail. It’s already time to begin again.
I’m sipping my coffee and savoring the sun rise. I’m not complicating the moment with stress or worries, or leftover emotions to do with past experiences (recent or otherwise). I’m just… here. Now. Being and breathing. Sipping coffee, black, iced. The local murder of crows has begun the day, too, and I hear their calls to each other before I see them singly or in groups taking flight and heading for wherever crows go when they’re not in the trees along the park. There were signs that it had rained during the night, as I drove into the city, and the clouds scattered across the sky suggest there may be more rain to come. I’m okay with that.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I let go of hints of lingering stress and anxiety lurking in the background. I breathe in deeply, and exhale slowly; I definitely need this break I am taking, and today is my last work shift before I go. I’ll have the evening, and much of the day tomorrow, with my Traveling Partner, then… two days for me, for self-care and reflection. “Downtime.” Much needed downtime, actually, and I’m glad I didn’t wait on it. I don’t have the resilience I really need for some of what life throws at me lately, and it’s an important matter to “refill my tank” and prepare for whatever may lie ahead on life’s path, as much as I can.
Another day. Another beginning. Another set of choices upon which to act. There are verbs involved, and my results vary. I just keep practicing, though, because incremental change over time is a thing I have learned I can count on – if I just stay on the path. 🙂
Evening Light 