Howdy,
Series note: the days have kind of come and passed—so quickly—but I’ve mentioned briefly in multiple posts about our six days in Santa Cruz and having active snippets to share, so I’m going to follow through on this—even if it’s become so long now that I’m not sure that I’m even that interested in it. (Not the way to intro your piece, for the writing students out there.) It’s been busy, and some minor illness in the family kind of throws things out of whack; we’re blessed it’s a summer schedule right now and we can kind of roll with the inefficient fog as the days rise and recede …
So I’ve lined it out, from what I’ve started (Thursday): Friday; Saturday; Sunday; Monday; Tuesday. Now I’ve just got to write them all.
Monday: Monday, was Riah’s birthday.
Riah’s birthday day, starting with açaí bowls on a cliff ledge and the sea attacking us with glorious display—and power. POWER. Blew my hat right off! Seriously. Right off my head. Blasted into the air. But that’s a story and description for another time. But man am I glad that …—
So, where were we?
Oh, yeah, that’s where we were!
On the cliff ledge. My cap blasted off my head. It was my San Francisco Giants hat; with the way this season’s been going, I’m surprised it didn’t end up in the drink, sinking to a dark and lonely departure from the upper world.
But let’s rewind, give Riah’s first birthday a little more of it’s due.
First, we woke up in a cabin, near Santa Cruz, so that was a good start to the day. And with the intention of getting out first thing for açaí bowls and the beach—or the surf—for Riah’s birthday, we did a good job of the family loading up and strapping in the car to get going. After, Riah had help from his brothers blowing out the solo candle sticking from a banana.
Got the bowls of goodness to go, and searched for a “picnicky” spot to eat them without the boys or myself spilling too much of the nutritious gold. Observing pleasant, well-positioned benches off the road (W Cliff Dr), between the street and the cliffs dropping off in the north-most side of Monterey Bay. We decided we’d eat breakfast on one of those benches, gazing out over the ocean—before proceeding to the Natural Bridges beach (it’s all right there—and fantastic).
But when we finally—finally, to my boys’ way of thinking—parked the vehicle and made our way across the street, I bypassed the beautiful bench spot and led the way down to a (safe) ledge on the cliff. We were still up from the ocean, but when a few of the bigger waves pounded in, the spray made its way up and kind of lipped its way around the edge toward us to where we got quite the show. Dinner and entertainment: we received magnificent breakfast and natural theater.
Sarah was a little nervous at first, but it was fine, and she trusted me. It was safe.
It would’ve been safer if I hadn’t been peering down to the swashing ocean through a type of blow-hole when a moderate-sized wave pushed into the wall and shoot rushing air and trailing spray straight up into my face, instantly lifting my baseball hat high, high, into the air—like 50 feet or something stupid or maybe 50 yards, I don’t even really know; all I know is that it was gone from my head (and stinging face) and by the time I looked around for it it was still high in the air, drifting down, helicoptering—I thought headed for off the cliff and into the ocean, lost forever. But it (eventually) landed a few feet from the ledge’s edge and I was able to swoop it up and put it on my head (backwards—though I didn’t plan on sticking my nose too far into ocean’s business again that day).
How high did the ocean air against the bill of my hat force it up into the sky? Like I said, I don’t know, but Sarah was around the bend—like a mountain point—and she said she saw my hat up there, just floating, all alone. I remember a “Are you guys okay?” from her from around the corner.
Yeah, we were. It’s not like I had to cliff jump into the Pacific to retrieve my lid.
Anyway, walking out of there (alive) we remarked how amazing that place was for sitting to have breakfast, and Sarah stated it a few times throughout the day, how great that overlook site was. Special. Later, she mentioned it as a highlight of the great day.
Then the real treat. Riah was afforded the opportunity to eat sand for his birthday, maybe the whole beach. He just kept trying to shovel it in his mouth, practically licking his coated fingers as we worked to wipe his mouth and cheeks and eyes and ears and hair and chin and toes free from sand and sand and sand and more sand.
Pretty much, Riah does the beach like his older brothers. Seriously, how can you get so much grit and grinding sand paper wrapped all over your body? Doesn’t that hurt, or at least seem the slightest bit uncomfortable? (I hate that part about the ocean, surf, and beach; I love the water and waves part, but the sand and the portion of the natural shoreline that you take home with you in your vehicle as stowaway from your family towels and own butt crack is terrifying and quite inconvenient. No, not my favorite part.) But our boys can dig and play all day.
I spent most of my relaxing day on the beach setting up one of those popup tents in the high, ocean-front winds and then attempting to fold the correct spring-loaded ends together so that the thing would self-fold and obediently jump into its carrying case for leaving. Sure felt that way anyway.
After the beach and as much de-sanding as we could coax from the young family, we stopped by Marianne’s Ice Cream. Great stuff. Enough said.
Except to say, Riah didn’t mind pulling his “I’m one now card—pass that sugary ice cream my way.”
A great day.
Happy Birthday, Riah Surf Hawes!
—Billy
Reading. Writing. Living.
Word Count: 131,586 / On Pace: 139,150 / Year’s Goal: 200,000
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