Waning Gibbous Moon
From 2004 to 2005 I lived in a tiny cottage on Central Avenue in Pacific Grove, CA, just a few blocks from Hopkins Marine Station on Monterey Bay. The cottage is not there any more. It was bulldozed a while back to make room for a condominium better suited to someone who could actually afford a condominium a few blocks from the ocean. The time I spent in that cottage though was crucial, a time of a major upswing for me psychologically and spiritually. I now feel like my soul has its roots in Pacific Grove and I always return there whenever I feel the need. When I woke up this morning, I knew this would be one of those days.
Today would have been my Dad's 103rd birthday. There were many years, decades really, when Dad's birthday made me rock bottom sad. In the back of my mind, in the pit of my gut, I had never stopped grieving his death in the bad old days of 1963. But in 2013, when my Mom passed, it was like the other shoe dropped, to use a tired old weather beaten phrase. For whatever reason, I stopped grieving. I didn't mull it over. I just said no mas - no more being sad when people close to me die. I am free.
So I drove to Pacific Grove this morning, not to escape being sad, not because I was missing Dad, but simply to be my best self. I wanted to walk by the sea, to smell the salt air, to hear the massive splooshing waves break hard on the rocks, to crunch my shoes on the sandy trails, and to revisit tide pools too long neglected in the isolation and distancing of 2020. It was predictably glorious and invigorating.