MOODY WRITING IN REMEMBRANCE OF MOODY WEATHER. OR, POSTINGS OF A FOOL.
Girl enough to wear the beads, boy enough to still tromp off into the woods. I like a balance in my ladyhood. Schmutz happened here. Leaned ever so slightly on a tree, and it leaned back. Last August, Travis had the idea to trip to the ocean again, and that’s always gonna be a “count me in.” We arrived to a cabin on the waterfront well after dark, the waves rolling and crashing violently against the shore, the wind whipping at the windows and howling in the eaves. Sitting outside in the muddled grey, looking out into the vastness of beyond made for moments of reflection whether wanted and ready, or not. It was murky, ponderous and moody, if not a little eery as well.
At any rate, I spent a portion of the ride to and from writing in the front seat, all for blog posting, if only for posterity, though one wishes it would be more so, hold meaning and delight for others, too. When at last I looked up, my eyes fell to a passing street sign: Kitchen-Dick Road. Required a wicked and instant infantile joke.
So, yes, I’ve posted again at long last. The blog. It’s about time. Charo has had her reign. The obstacles of the dad’s health and sister’s wedding are resolved. Recouping in the aftermath, seeing what is or isn’t still relevant for the sharing. Tumblring now, too, little bursts here and there.
As we began our trek into the rainforest, Travis says, “Wait, I forgot something, I’ll be right back.” Classic last words lost on a guy that doesn’t watch horror movies. Ever.
Leave me to the forest.
I want more rainforest. A giant poster board full of rainforest was one of my very first largely formatted drawings long ago. The woods on this trip were exceptionally dark, creepy and made for strange dreams the entire stay. The dreams themselves were forgotten, but the sense that they left lingered on. I find the same may be said of people at times.
Flattery will get you somewhere, it’ll just take longer than expected.
Our trek to the most northwestern point in the United States was more difficult than expected. In reaching Shi Shi Beach, we traveled along the Cape Flattery Trail. No small feat! Mere miles dragged out to hours upon hours due to the much under publicized mud. That’d be capital M. U. D! I refused to take a picture of it. Frankly, it didn’t deserve one. Over mid-calf deep much of the way without reprieve. Sloppy, sucking muck n’ mire ready to trip you up on yer bum quicker than a clumsy horse. Traipsed on through, bend after bend, no end in sight. Jokes and laughter were had for a time due to the difficulty of the situation, most thankfully.
When we at long last arrived to the edge of the cliff overseeing the rocks and water below, we had to rappel via the fraying rope attached to a sturdy tree. Laughing and rappelling do not go hand in hand, energy zap! After risking life and limb to reach the beach, I sat there beyond the pile of rockish doodie for a late lunch.
ON THE WAY BACK, DARKNESS BEGAN ITS DECENT QUICKLY
On the way back, darkness began its decent quickly, a frustration when coupled with an inability to maneuver any faster than we already were. The laughter stopped and a determined silence settled in. And then for the rain. Pouring buckets of wet, wet rain filling my boots and weighing me down. Fear threatened as the darkness increased, but then my dormant super power kicked in, a beast often reigned and best squelched due to its ferocity in younger years, that of temper. Anger swooped in and provided the determination to get through the rest of the way to live another day. The reward: inhaling a winged creature of the six-legged variety in approaching the vehicle.
There’s beauty here.
Massive piles of seaweed and barnacled bits all along the sand for as far as could be seen. Rather hard on the eyes over all, except perhaps for what is found upon closer inspection. Dainty petaled fronds that fringe the larger portions. Lovely autumn browns, greens and oranges, too.
Traveling-gnomed shoes, check.
Smooth sand and the salty ocean, check.
A jellyfish! Check.
Staring down at my shoes, then out to the ocean, and back again, I was reminded that I remain dissatisfied, and forever hinged on the precipice of more. A hell of sorts fueled only by hope. How many more years of enduring a not quite full existence fallen short of the resonance and purpose I’ve tasted, but am not yet allowed to sustain. How many more years of lament, I wonder. Ever thankful for the daily joys and laughter afforded in way of compensation. Quick, somebody tell a joke.
I’ve been living for months in an apparent false belief, but I guess we’re all allowed our delusions now and again. How’s that go- delusions are as necessary to our happiness as realities. I guess it won’t hurt anymore than it already does to choose to continue that belief, if only in a dream.
Is it ever going to change? Some things so simple are apparently not easy.