I drove by the sea yesterday on my errands. The surf was choppy and wind churned good only for tourists. The sun was out though, and I was heartened by the long lines for hamburgers at Hodad’s. Around the corner, I was pleased to see the birth of a new, crowded micro brewery where before there was a string of bars and hamburger places. The town was hopping with the young, and the streets were crowded with happy looking people. It’s not even the start of summer yet.
Just over there, the poetry ladies meet at Nati’s once a month. Every Monday evening, another group meets at Winston’s bar, right around the corner, to read their works at an open mic. Our ladies have been known to read there too. This is Bums beach…not to be confused with Sleazy beach where I lived for so many years in the ‘60s. Although drugs and alcohol surely are still available on every corner along with the homeless, it doesn’t seem as visible in the midst of this off-hand gentrification. One has hope here.
I’m encouraged and leave the large surf to the tourists as I head home to pack and become one. I’ll slip my eternal zip lock bags of sox, underwear, fewer bras, two pair of denims, endlessly layered tee-shirts and sweaters, meds galore into my antique Samsonite. He packs his rolling bag today. We will see you in a week….she says waving.
Coit Tower, San Francisco, 2000.