kelp, rocks and a walk

The ocean has been lake-like lately. That sentence feels hairballish, but it's the actual look and feel of the sea we see out there. Truly, with such calm waters, the kelp's rapid growth is becoming very obvious. It grows - according to scientists who actually take the time to measure that - about 2-3 feet per day. It gets growing pains like my brother did when he was 14 and grew a foot one summer.

So, now's the time to come rent a kayak at Lover's Point and venture out to see what you can see in the sea. I'm having fun with that, like the Owl and the Pussycat.

On my walk today, I saw a few houses being remodeled, refurbished and even one being built from scratch, so the economy does still have a pulse and cannot yet be considered dead on arrival. On a day like this when it's so quiet and the doldrums are upon us, weather-wise, you have a good chance of actually enjoying a walk, not being blasted off the recreation trail by the cold north wind. I strolled and reveled in it, felt vigorous and full of vim and vigor. I have a pretty good idea about vigor, but vim is still a vague concept to me. I'll take it though.

Harbor seals and sea lions choose the most uncomfortable rock outcroppings to haul out on and rest. I guess I'm assuming they're resting because they close their eyes, but they hold their hind flippers up and balance on their side on the tiniest pinnacles of the rocks in the most rakish and jaunty way. It emphasizes to me how much I love a good well-made bed that definitely does not have a large rock in the middle of it for me to balance on as I sleep.

So, the day is mild, gray but strangely warm. She's out there, I know the sun is, and she's keeping the wind in a straightjacket for now, which accounts for the warmth. It's the best we can do here in the Groove with June all around us. Whatever form of comfort we take in this season's offerings, be it balancing on precipitous rocks, walking breathlessly out in the almost sun or hitting top speed (15 mph) on Lighthouse Avenue in our 8-cylinder 450 horsepower Buick LeSabres, we are not to be denied even the tiniest bit of summer ease and luxury.

Walk or Danish?

Faced with a blank page and a few unfocused thoughts, here I sit.

There is an uncertain light outside my window, pushing to get in out of the cold, slipping past the chair and onto the floor with a silent glance backward. It's like he's a harried tax man on April 14, doing what he can with the information given to him.

Clouds, with undulating patterns of blue and gray, shield the sun's brilliance from me. No fog today. He's lolling around somewhere else, probably eating a berry cheese danish from Pavel's Bakerei. If I were the fog, I sure would be eating one of those.

With all kinds of resolve, I strode out into the day, walked down to the water's edge and east to Hopkins Marine Station, the physical land form the denoting the edge of Pacific Grove's waterfront. 45 minutes of good intention rassled with an unruly impulse to head over to Pavel's for one of those cheese danishes. Good God, they are just delicious. But, intention is everything, and I can claim victory today, at least for now.

One day after a longer, even more brisk walk, I will go and sink my teeth into one of those and tell you all about it. Every crumb, every morsel, every single bit. For now, though, responsibility and prudence are calling, and I must prepare for work.

Fling it!

I'm just now awake, and there's not much going on. Feeling a bit bored, I consider dropping something off the balcony to see what happens. Nothing qualifies as smashable except the TV. This seems pretty tempting all right. Criteria include heft, ugliness, potential for dramatic impact and replacement with a flat-screen model.

The largest building in Pacific Grove by quite a wide margin is The Holman Building. It dominates the skyline. It's actually the only significant building in the skyline by city standards, depending on your vantage point. It's about six or seven stories high and all other buildings are two stories, maybe three, and they all stand shoulder to shoulder along Lighthouse or Forest avenues. The Holman Building - or Holman's as we call it, even though the store that gave it that name is long gone now - is a big ugly toad of a building that squats on half a city block bordered by Lighthouse, Grand, Fountain and Central avenues. A local self-described visionary bought it after Holman's and then Ford's department stores failed. He painted it mauve, a committee color that has gradually turned grayish pink over the years. You could argue that mauve actually is grayish pink, and I would agree. Certainly it's one of the most colorless of colors ever imagined.

So, the Holman Building is a big mauve toad. There you go.

Sitting here contemplating my TV and the Holman Building, I imagine the smithereens I could create by hauling my TV to the top of Holman's and dropping it off the rooftop. I think that would be something PG could attract visitors with. Not only could I and my friends fling offending machinery off the top, but we could sell souvenirs and award prizes, have a festival of flinging. We could build a trebouchet and send modern home appliances into the stratosphere. Oh, the possibilities: TVs flying uphill to the Middle School field, arcing high over the nursing homes and Victorians. Microwaves winging west to the golf course. "Fore!" Golfers running for cover. Even refrigerators soaring to Hopkins Marine Station. Biologists could find out what's actually within the Tupperware containers, take samples, measure the velocity and approach angles.

Pacific Grove is quiet, contained, reserved, peaceful. Boring. Dead. Bravely, an event literally rolls into town once a year - The Cherries Jubilee Classic Car Weekend rally. Cobras, Chevys, Skylarks, Mustangs and other cool cruisers line up, rev their engines a few times and drive off for a tour of the whole Peninsula. The organizers try to raise pulses with swing tunes played at twilight for couples to dance to. Old cranky citizens always call the police. "What's all that horrible racket? I can't hear my TV!"

The Groove has all this potential. Steinbeck wrote about a flagpole sitter who tried to set a record up on Holman's rooftop. Even then, the building inspired its citizens to scale its heights, challenge gravity, cure boredom. Tossing a TV is my version of that. Gulls strafe cars and streets for the same reason. So, we restless and bored stand ready to fling.

June fruit

The market came again to Lighthouse Avenue, and Pacific Grove residents responded in kind, assembling from side streets and avenues, carrying bright cloth bags that caught on the air like balloons. I strolled around again, listening to the murmuring voices of people discussing plans in twos and threes while they sampled this and that.

"Sample, ma'am!" Stone fruits are showing up more week by week, and cherries are glossy, bright and sweet. No tomatoes yet. Meyer lemons are hanging in there. Blueberries from Martinez looked too tempting to ignore, so I didn't. They joined strawberries, apricots, plums and raspberries. I passed up the fresh fish again - no chance to eat them and do them justice soon enough. I'll buy some at the market on Thursday over in Monterey. Baby spinach and Italian parsley finished off my healthy purchases, so I headed over to the cupcake lady for a sweet indulgence. Chocolate on chocolate this week, packed in a special box. "Just bring it back next week for a refill," says Mrs. Delish's. I'm hooked.

In comparison to last week, the light was brighter and I only had to wear one sweater instead of two. Businesses I took special note of this week included, to my happy surprise, Petra's Mediterranean Restaurant, who offer hummus, baba ganoush, pita and other delectable treats. Also, Dress For Change was represented in a small booth. They feature clothing that's recyclable and organic. Having a lot of determination, they just opened within the past year on Forest Avenue, and we all know how much they're up against in this tough economy.

I spent every last dollar I had and walked home wondering when I'll be able to prepare and eat all the freshness I was carrying. But, as you can see, just looking at it is half the fun.

final note for the day

With full color guard, flags flying in arrears, the sun set sail for the western horizon, on her way to a rendezvous. She had warmed the air nicely and found herself wheeling through the day unopposed by the wind or fog. She was very pleased by this and had an extra spring in her step. She began to practice her scales, starting with a low contralto range and saving the high notes for later. She tossed her skirts, even flounced them a bit, very sassy and full of herself. It was going to be a good trip west beyond the horizon, and she anticipated a lingering conversation with the Pacific, wanted to catch up on the details of the night disappearing before her.

I stood on the bluffs near Asilomar and watched her go, felt the moist salt air cooling in her wake and heard the shushing gossip coming up to me from the confusion of currents below. The horizon was broad, stretching from Pt. Joe north to Santa Cruz and beyond. A silly, happy little breeze danced around, teasing skirts, lifting hats, twirling and spinning. Once in a while you can see dolphins offshore or, at the right time of year, a whale spout, but you're never too sure because the wind likes to send up imitating splashes of white from the tops of swells coming ashore.

You may arrive at the shore full of something. Worry, for instance, or confusion. You stand there and feel smaller and smaller, ant-like, but something grows larger inside you at the same time. You see the rocks that the waves have been harassing for centuries, who knows how long, and you feel your life is very short, that you have a lot to be thankful for, that for all our intelligence we know precious little about it all. You get everything back into perspective again and you are refreshed, relaxed and revived.

I watched the sun flick her amber scarves over her shoulder and they flew in gossamer shreds. Then, aware of her audience, she paused dramatically, savoring her moment, before stepping down below the horizon. "You've still got it, girl. Yes, you do!" she sang. Then she breathed deeply, hit a rich round E major and disappeared.