nothing to report

Valentine's weekend on the coast -- a treat every time for those of us who migrated from the middle of the country. I'm just checking in, enjoying a few moments of electronic rambling. Which is kinda crazy, I suppose, but I am having fun. Everything in moderation.

Right now we are staying at a sweet place where we honeymooned a couple years ago. It's a really large, blue, homey building. It's got three stories, with a total of about five or six rooms of various size, each with kitchenette, big windows onto the ocean, no TVs, no phones, no cell service, yes wifi, Pendleton blankets, dozens of books about whales, a few books by the Dalai Lama, many books by Sherman Alexie, a deck of Medicine Cards, environmentally friendly cleaning products, do-it-yourself daily tidying, compost buckets, and a rule specifically against Hummer vehicles.

A few bags of groceries, and there is no need to even get out of pajamas.

Every room overlooks the smashing, crashing ocean, and it is very, very easy to sit in one of the overstuffed rocking chairs covered up with a heavy wool blanket, looking out the open window, staring into the ever-changing sea and sky, just watching for hours and hours, which I did today, between naps, cups of tea, a brief jaunt out to Cape Perpetua, and the purchase of a tree-and-plant-identification book. I suspect I have taken on a task more difficult than I thought -- learning to identify and differentiate the conifers of the Pacific Northwest (inspired by my friend Joe).

Each room also has a stack of journals in which guests over the years have left their expressions of gratitude for their time here. It's precious and delightful to read over all the entries from people as far away as South Africa. There are drawings, poems, rants, Bible verses... it's a hoot to go through them all.

I am having fun, and existing in a state of near-constant appreciation. So many people in those journals wrote about how sad they were to leave, already planning their next visit. Impermanence can be such a sweetener.

There's a storm on its way, and the wind is whipping up, as we sit with the windows open, facing the darkness, only just listening to the vast, cleansing, churning ocean, feeling the wind pick up and rattle the windows every now and then.