I'm home with the crud that someone's loving child probably passed on to me while I was at the beach. Unlike some who have had this it's so far not lain me so low that I can't get out of bed. I'm hoping today's day off from work will conquer it.
My adventure at the beach didn't end with my departure from South Beach. Since I was alone, I could take any route home I wanted. So I stopped at a local fish joint, picked up some fish and chips (halibut, salmon, and albacore tuna -- yum!), and headed to Devil's Punch Bowl at Otter Rock, a favorite stop at the beach for me. It's between Depoe Bay and Newport and features a formation formed from a sea cave whose roof had collapsed years ago, forming a bowl that the sea flows into and churns. When I got there, the tide was out and people were wandering inside the bowl, so I missed the wave action. But there were a few surfers out on the water doing their thing.
While I was munching on my fish and chips, I noticed squirrels coming out to forage. Naturally at a state park like this the squirrels are more tame than most wild squirrels thanks to the droppings left by humans during their picnics or handouts given to them. What struck me was their coats compared to those I see in the city. The centuries of life at the beach have generated a coat more grizzled and capable of hiding in sandy areas. Compare these guys to ones you see around your place.
Yesterday I was listening to the taping I did of the retreat and we don't sound too bad. A little polishing and we'll be ready for concerts in June. They will be the weekend of the 14th in Portland and Salem. The last rehearsal session break saw the completion of the Noro brioche scarf, nice and long for those days when the east wind blows.
Back to bed now.