I’m headed to the coast this weekend on a solo mission to save my soul. My family owns property in a little, teeny, tiny town on the Oregon coast that consists of: one hotel, one restaurant and one itsy-bitsy store.
It’s a beach where I wake up bright and early because the wind and rain is pelting on the windows that stretch across the horizon. It’s a place where it feels warm, cozy and safe; like home, even though the family may not be there. It’s somewhere I have missed going to during the winter/summer months; to scour the private beach, being the first (and sometimes only) one to mark my prints in the wet sand. It’s where I have found dozens of whole sand dollars and shells, last touched by the sea lions who pop their heads out of the water with their eager Labrador eyes, waiting for me to greet them. Where I’ve made crab bisque, drank bottles of wine and played games for hours (and sometimes even more hours) on end. I’ve sat in tipi’s, listened to music, been stoned and have had some of the best sleep of my life at this beach. Here, I’ve had revelations, loves and memories that will never be forgotten. However, if you know me, my intentions are to create even better memories, loves and revelations. Oh, and for future reference, I will not be jaded to think otherwise. Please inform my beach, that my expectations will not be compromised for false happiness. Now, please pass the wine.
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