Just a train ride away

Part 8 Finding treasures at the beach

The San Francisco coastline

The beach, my sanctuary, was a lifeline during the emotional storm of my divorce years ago. One could call it my church, minus walls. My trusty Honda Pilot would carry me over Highway 92, me swiping tears each mile. And it was on Mavericks Beach, a renowned surfing spot on the San Francisco peninsula, that I always found my center. When the surfing competitions took place, the beach was bustling with people from end to end. But between competitions, I often was the only one on the shore. From the parking area, I would hike down the path to the harbor, turn right, follow the trail to the jetty, and round the corner. The steep cliffs on the bluff would shield my frayed spirit. 

I poured my heart out to God/the Universe as I walked the length of Mavericks, and inevitably, at some point, I would lie down on the sand, bunch my coat under my head for a pillow, and fall fast asleep. A short time later, I would wake to the sound of the waves, my sorrow dissipating temporarily, and feel the beginnings of acceptance. 

After enjoying a delicious cafe latte at a small oceanside coffee shop/bakery, Rick, RuthAnn, and I walk the short distance to Cannon Beach, a sandy beach with dramatic rock formations and gorgeous coastline views, cliffs, tide pools, and also home to Haystack Rock, a 235-foot sea stack.

I kick off my thongs within seconds of stepping onto the sand. And like a kid, I am moving with speed toward the ocean. Ten strides out, I realize I am leaving RuthAnn and Rick behind.

I send a nod in the direction of my maker. 

I'll revisit you as soon as I can. As much as I have missed you and as tempting as you are, today is about being with my family. And thank you, thank you, thank you, for your generosity of spirit in providing me with so many unique and loving family members.

I slow my pace and quickly reunite with RuthAnn and Rick. RuthAnn and I pose for a photo in front of Haystack Rock, a seasonal haven for tufted puffins. These puffins are roughly the size of a pigeon. Over the years, their numbers have shrunk dramatically and disappeared in some areas. I feel somewhat akin to these birds on this trip.

A couple of “tufted muffins,” a distant cousin to the puffins.

I'm grateful as I pose with RuthAnn, and at the same time, my heart slightly aches for the years we've missed. We wander the beach leisurely; it's a mild day on the ocean, my kind of day.

Upon leaving Cannon Beach, we continue our journey down the coast. The tree-lined coastline is breathtaking and reminds me of the SF peninsula in many ways, but only if possible, it is even more magnificent. 

Along the way, we visit Tillamook Creamery. There's always room for ice cream— yes, we do choose ice cream over cheese, but we also bring home a few delicious cheeses. 

We arrive at our destination near dinnertime, checking into the Sylvia Beach Hotel on a small cliff overlooking the historic Nye Beach in Newport, Oregon. Their motto,

Read, write, relax… no telephones, televisions, or WiFi. A love of literature is at the heart of everything we do. Patrons are invited to unplug, unwind, and connect with a favorite book, with the ocean, and with one another.

Rick and I are in the Mark Twain room with a view of the ocean, a definite splurge. The hotel is quaint and nostalgic.

We choose a pub just a block away for dinner, Nana's. My mom was Nana to my kids, so I of course have to take a photo under the sign. Dinner is excellent; maybe my mom has pulled a few strings.

After dinner, we return to the hotel and retire to the reading room to play a game or two. There is an assortment of games lining the shelves, and we decide on Scrabble.

RuthAnn enjoys a massive win. I can't pull a useful Scrabble tile to save my soul. I keep searching for windows to see if the crows are outside once again fighting? If so, my dad DOES NOT win this argument. 

I know, a severe defeat for you, my girl, all in good fun.

We retire to our oceanfront room. The sound of the waves as in years past lulls me to sleep.

The following day we return to RuthAnn's home, stopping for lunch as well as a beautiful hike along the way. Once home, we relax on the deck before we enjoy yet another home-cooked meal and an evening of games. And yeah, I lose all of those as well. 

Bygones. Still worth that first win. 

Tomorrow, Sharon, Margie, Debbie, Rick, and I will visit Multnomah Falls as a smaller group. It will be our last day with my sister and her family on this trip, and it will be lovely, memorable, and bittersweet. 

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