Quickie: Morro Bay

October 18, 2007

With a picnic lunch of brie, bagette, fresh fruit and salami (from a kick ass deli in Shell Beach which pregnancy mind has erased the name) we stopped in Morro Bay to snack and find Moonstone Beach.  I think we found Moonstone Beach, but apparently the moonstones were a hot commodity and they’ve all been snatched up.

Enter Morro Bay.

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Steps down to Moonstone Beach. 

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Mia found this "sea noddle" and dragged it around for 15 minutes like it was a pet, running with it and leaping over it.  

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Sula just kicked it in the sand, talking to herself and to who knows else, totally enthralled with fingering the sand and laying back in it, letting the sun warm her brown face.  Everyday she grows into this girl, further from my baby and closer to a person I am just so thankful to spend time with.  Curious.  Patient.  Strong.  Playful.

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I am getting big.  I feel huge.  Massive.  Baby rolls and turns and flips in me on schedule right before the sun rises and again while I lie in bed trying to go to sleep.  All day, baby chills out and sleeps, or maybe just listens for it’s families laughs and squeals and stories; quiet and enthralled with us.  My skin stretches; tightening and changing colors. My ass jiggles and my thighs now touch.  But let me just say that there is nothing like being pregnant spending everyday letting the salty air clean my soul. Although I haven’t officially showered with soap in 4 days, I feel cleaner than I have felt in years.  My hair is getting some bounce back, wavy and springing up and down. The dried ends seem to have repaired and my cracked feet have been pumiced by sand.  So different is the sand here from the desert town I just left, there it is old and fine, dust-like.  In Zion is was thick, like powder, perfect for making face-masks with.  In southern Cali its your typical beach sand, but here, as we head on up, it becomes more like small, bit size stones, and when examined closely, the hold every color of the rainbow in their granules.

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 These trees grow all over the coast.  They are whimsical and silly, yet so serious and zen.  A fairy meets satori.

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Rufegio.

Mile 1060.  M.I.A. blaring on the stereo (must check her out of you like to dance).  The pacific ocean slaps the sand to my left.  Rugged mountains explode to my right.  Heaven.  Right here.  Nowhere else.  Nobody can convince me there is a better place anywhere, anytime than this moment on earth.

 

We just got done camping at Rufugio State Beach, somewhere close to Santa Barbara (note: amazing campground, request Spot 63 for maximum wave sounds at night).  We pulled in last night, fixed the stroller, and then pushed the girls down the 3 mile path from Ruferio to El Capitan which is 3 miles of pure bliss cliffs dropping down to pristine and undeveloped coast.  We climbed down at one point, when the cliffs turned to just rock and we were sure we wouldn’t die on the climb, and took some photos before the sunset (and my camera battery died).

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Mia is a child who is hard to sustain any kind of focus.  Granted, she is just four years old and what four year old has focus.  But I can see the difference between her and Sula.  Sula will sit for periods of time and just be, play, listen, follow along.  It’s easier for Sula.  It takes Mia great work to just sit still and focus, she is too occupied with seeing from the eyes on the back of her head. But here, where land meets water, Mia is captivated.  She has no wants or whines or needs.  She only has her wool hat, which she uses as a bundle and collects rocks and shells.  She has only her stick of driftwood which she carves shapes and forms and letters in the sand.  She has only her bare feet and the squeal of her voice as the foamy ocean hits her skin.  Her face is lifted, her eyes shine.  The sadness I saw in her eyes the month before we left was real.  She felt the stress of transition.  And now, she is unleashed.  Her power is grand and her imagination limitless.  She runs and leaps and lives in a world I love to watch.

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For the past 2 mornings we rose from bed a stones throw from the ocean.  It’s impossible for me to carry any stress or weight when the first thing I see is the sand and the vastness of water that seems endless and infinite.  To imagine that some people get to see this everyday upon waking.  I only hope all the people who wake with windows looking out at this view wake up in light, happiness, gratitude.  They are lucky folks.

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Since my life the last few months seemed to be one bump of exhaustion after another, it’s so hard to believe that I am actually driving this trip.  The girls so content in the backseat.  So happy to have a little 7x8 foot camper to call home.  We are all completely thriving.  Even the little facts that we still have not secured a rental home (we’ve been trying) or a midwife (not trying to hard because I gotta see her face to face) have not gotten me to stress in the least bit.  It’s like we somehow mastered the Law of Time and Harmonics and everything is just falling into place.  I don’t want to speak too soon, but the timing with closing the house and leaving has left us with a trail of the most perfect weather.  Ranging from 90 degrees in Zion, to beautiful 65-80 degree days at the beach in southern California, I can’t complain.

I woke up this morning and jumped in the ocean instead of taking a shower at the camp.  It wasn’t warm (brrrrrrr), but the baby demanded that I do it and I’m glad I did.  The cool and salty water cleansed me, deeper than skin.  My dry and brittle desert hair, pumped up fill of minerals and curls are now forming.  My desert skin was exfoliated by soft sand and sea.  The sun was warm as I ran out and I sat there and let it dry me off, digging my toes and fingers down deep into the palpable earth.  These will be the last rays of southern cali sun that this growing body will feel for a while.  Like a Rite of Passage, I let go of the Sun God, give honor while my body  sit underneath this light.  I am about to enter into a sphere of mist and fog, when the sun appears, but like the rainstorm in the desert, it comes as a rare and valuable gift.  I think I am ready for this shift.  As a matter of fact, I know I am.  I have gathered more than 20 different soup recipes that call specifically for chilly and rainy days near the northern sea.

We drive for about 3 hours until we land in Big Sur.  I haven’t been there since 1998 when B and I wandered the rocky beaches, pretending we were hiking on the moon.  It’s not such a far fetch.

Los Angeles and Up.

Los Angeles.  The Brazilian Girls played on the pod as we cruised the 5 Freeway through our old hilly ‘hood.  I remember the first time I saw them play at Spaceland.  When they came on stage and she began singing Pussy, Pussy, Pussy, Marajuana, in that seductive yet impish voice, I knew I could not live without their music (check them out if you like Brazilian-jazz-reggae-soul).  I guess that song sums up my years living in the city of lost angels.  B and I reminiscent about the first time we first ever laid eyes on eachother in B.B.’s apartment she was our herbal service provider/magical people coordinator.  We never even exchanged names that scortching hot Hollywood day, but I could tell you what he was wearing and he could tell you what I had on.  We just happened to be there at the same time and had a brief conversation, which in it’s shortness somehow led to the oppressive state of marriage and how it promoted the ownership of another person and how we would never get married.  We laughed, 10 years later.  Were we fools then or now?   As we cruised this familiar ground, we chatted about how the next time we ‘met’ I was naked at the beach and he was carrying a bag of fish and a spear out of the water and we fell in love.  And of course as we passed through Hollywood, how could we forget our ‘first date’ when I showed up in my Ford Focus wagon to take him to a laid back pub to play some pool and as he climbed into my car I said, oh by the way, I just took a hit of mescaline.  He said at the moment he knew I was totally insane.  How I kept him close I’ll never know.  And as we passed by our last apartment there, we pulled Mia close and told her he story, for the tenth time, about how she was born right inside that window, on our bed.  We have such history here and somehow it will always be our home in some way love/hate way.  We came to L.A. as wild babies, longing for meaning and epiphanies and spiritual growth.  Hoping to expode in creativity and find love. And some where through all the valleys and hills, this city brought us together and we grew up, and in and out and all over.

 

We spent our first night at Leigh Ann’s amazing retreat-like home in the foothills of Altadena.  We ate loads of cheese and chocolate, sipped wine and watched the girls run around together, sucking in their four year old connection like soul elixir.

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The next day we had a gathering at a beach in Point Magu with a bunch of L.A. family. We set up shop about 100 feet from the ocean and sat around the fire until much too late.  They drank rum and beer and until they swayed and I ate toasted marshmallows until I almost puked.  My family in L.A. is always good for grounding around a fire. We’ll never stop dreaming while we watch the flames dance.  From early 1997 the fire and beach has been the setting where our friendships grew into family status. Each one of them were pillars of support for us on this journey.  Most of them are nomads as well. They get this need for us to fly in their gut. I see only glimpses of them here and there, like stars in the sky, they are bits of blinding light that follow me everywhere, especially when I need to close my eyes and look within my heart to see.  We made a promise to each other no matter where we wander, to carry the seed we all share so deep; love.  It’s hard to even describe who these people are and only when you hug their flesh can the intensity be understood. To be with them all before we headed up the coast to our new home, meant the world to us. 

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I think we know that all there is to do in this love is to love hard, love hard every singe moment we are alive. This is what Amy tells me within an hour of her arrival. These are words that stick to my ribs like a marinated meat.

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Mia and Ivy got to run loose on the beach all day and all night and all of the next morning. Those 2 are like the wind, airy and spacey and looking for a good time.  Sula was a bit bent out of shape to share her sister so intensely with another.  Althought she loves her some Ivy, we often heard, no Ivy, you cannot have that stick.  That’s Sula’s stick.  No Ivy, you cannot have that hat, that’s Sula’s hat.  No Ivy, you cannot have Mia, she MY sister. 

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We are so blessed to have Ivy and her family in our lives, though it’s bittersweet not to have them as neighbors. But perhaps the girls love eachother so and play forever without even a whine or a fight because they don’t see eachother every day.  Ivy’s mama has been my  bestgirlsince I was 11.  I see so much of us in our daughters, carrying on our love and dire need to explore and be free.  Leigh Ann and I are always at ease, no need to talk or figure things out.  We just walk side by side and take in the views together.  Being doing that for over 20 years. Right now i get to take in the view of her and her baby boy, Thor, soaking in some newer life love.

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The weather was gray and misty, not cold, but not warm either.  It was not the desert and that’s all I needed.  Thus begins our travels up the coast, the US 1 the whole way up.  I can barely stand the excitment.  So far everything is going perfect.  Even the piss bucket isn’t bothering me or the collection of sand in the bunk bed of the camper, or the fact that every night we wind up with with 4 bodies in our bunk when the rule was mama and dada in their bed, Mia and Sula in their own bed.  The dogs couldn’t be happier, cleaner and smell better. Is this what vacation is like?  Shit, I guess I need to take more of them. I finally feeling like me again…new and improved.

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Next stop: Refugio State Beach and then Big Sur.