All things being equal...

...I might never leave home. What ever house I am calling home at a particular place in time, that's where I most want to be. I want to make meals and clean up after them. I want to smooth a fresh tablecloth over the table, and switch the laundry, and sit in a favorite chair. I want to bother the girls to straighten their beds, and ask Tim if he, too, wants another cup of tea. I want to sweep up the floor, and have a glass of wine, and go to bed early, and read a bit of my book. I want to be home.

Tim likes to be home, too. But fortunately, he sees the need for one of us to be a catalyst for movement, and he will most likely be the one to get us out. Get us up, and out, and doing something.

I've made love to this house with my camera since we've been here, taking pictures of our days, and our cups, and our beds, and our walks.

But, today we drove the sixty-five miles to the closest surfing beach, once again. Oh, yes. We can skip down Pink Street to the dock, or shuttle over to the Drift-In beach. These photos are from the lighthouse a stone's throw from where we're calling home.

But for Tim to surf-for the girls to body surf!-we need to drive back down the coast, to the single most spectacular spot we've ever been. Where Rachel Carson wrote Silent Spring. Where the waves are big, and the beach a mile long. Where it's just us, and maybe twenty others, on the last day of August.

Today, I did.not.take.my.camera.

I just wanted to be there. And I was. I said about twenty times, "I can't believe I didn't bring my camera". The light was perfect, the waves were huge. Anna sang and danced on the shore, while Tim caught waves like his teen-aged self, and Lindsey buried Callie so deeply that she couldn't get up. We laughed so hard, we nearly couldn't dig her out.

But not a single picture was taken.
And that's alright with me.

Because I was there.

More tomorrow. Thanks for reading.
tt