vern3

The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.
Marcel Proust

Fugginlovinit, everything except for the writing without dual monitors.

SATURDAY we picked up T Alan and co. at the airport far too early and drove straight from Ontario to socal’s “Cherry Valley.” I remembered doing something along the same lines when Mikey was taller than me, quite some time ago. The orchard was conveniently located off the 10 freeway in the middle of nowhere - past goddanged Yucaipa, a boondock town whose claim to fame is its Baker’s burger joint. There would’ve been more ripe fruits next month, but that didn’t stop any of us from eating our $7.50 admission fees. I thought the working farm to be a nifty date spot, but let’s be real: I don’t anymore live in California. Or date. Along with the cherries the place proffered a small petting zoo, with chickens that lay sleeping in the sun, dogs that coughed dust, a male turkey that shook his tailfeathers, and sheep that went “meh.” Kid sister’s only got about a week at home this summer but she’s definitely baking us pies.

The indigestion that followed would’ve given a weaker man the mudbutt. Afterwards we hit Town Sent and the ladies were snappy, impatient like we were the only ones in the restaurant. At noon. On a Saturday.

Waited for Joshy at the house then headed back to Bolsa Chica, this time for Mikhi’s 15th birthday. Pretty huge trip that I’ve almost got a decade on the girl, good to know that taking socal freeways north is heading towards the mountains. Before a couple weeks ago it’d been years since I’d hit the beach, this run was just as overwhelming as last time. Not that it’s a novelty, I’m just not taking it for granted – I live in the desert now, I’d hate to be one of those folks that’s never seen the ocean (sorry boys, so-called “great” lakes don’t count). The day was booze-free and it was (for the most part) good ol’ wholesome fun. Water was chilly like being slapped with a blanket made out of icepicks. Why waste your time dipping toes? Face first diving numbs you the best. Joshy loved the flip fare they had going; he’d never had sweet, sweet turon (“Dude they have freaking fried bananas man”) and Filipino BBQ. We slid and dove and played our version of “smashball”, giggling uncontrollably the whole time

There was a certain surreality about the day I couldn’t put my finger on. It could’ve been any combination of, say, the sand between my toes and underneath my fingernails, the roar of the ocean, the heat waves fueled by charcoal. Part of it definitely came from watching a pod of dolphins ride the swells behind the shorebreaks that the fogeys caught. I’d only seen them race alongside a boat once, and that was Kauai, HI; I’d never fathomed seeing them this close to the shore. Aris told us they were locals that often swim alongside surfers; T Alan said they were cool, it was the whiskered seals brushing up against his legs that freaked him out. The temperature went down with the sun and I remembered the amber lamps and glow from burning pallets from days past. A couple of the grownups poked fun (“that’s so cute”) at Joshy and me for sharing a husk of corn – “we’ve been friends for eight years,” was met by “I’ve got hemorrhoids older than that.” I didn't feel like having a whole piece, it’s not like we were eating the halves out of each other’s zippers.

It wouldn’t be a public outing with my uncle if I didn’t at some point end up with my shorts around my ankles. “At least I didn’t step on them and push you over.” Touché, thanks unk. I lost another pair of sunglasses (this is why we don't have nice things) and Leanne’s currently getting yelled at cause we left the mela sunblock behind. We’ll live. It was open mouthed snores all the way back home.

Being totally undeserving and graced with gifts regardless of that fact - that’s love. I’ll get it, eventually.