All Shall Be Well
It was nearing the end of another one of my exhausting Fourteen Hour Fridays that I’ve been keeping lately at work when I found myself somewhere between the end of yet another 3rd quarter at a home basketball game in which I found (still surprisingly enough to me) attempting to coach the cheerleaders, and the promise of a spontaneous weekend visit to the coast. As the gymnasium buzzer buzzed yet again to signify the start of 4th quarter, my thoughts drifted…
…between basket tosses and beach houses…
…Saturday morning coffee on the coast and… who should base the next full extension. Should she do a twist down? Should I drive up hwy 101 tonight, or early tomorrow morning?
Before long, I found myself somewhere between mile marker 179 and 178 that very night. Driving along the empty moonlit twisting curves of the 101 near midnight,I found myself expertly navigating the Rav along the highway while simultaneously dodging Bella’s ever-present snout and tongue making contact with my face from behind me in the cargo area.
Rounding a familiar bend in the road, a familiar light was faithfully orbiting across the night sky, and I had to smile to myself. Perched atop it’s coastal cliff, the Heceta Head Lighthouse silently stood just where it always does, while a full moon was perched in the clear winter night sky just over there, illuminating a spectacular display of the sea at night. All the while, Bella’s head outside a partially opened backseat window welcoming in the ocean air.
We were flying down the coast, and for the moment, it felt like it was just Bella and I. And that was enough.
We were heading north to my now all-too-familiar spot where I can always rely on to escape and find myself again: Yachats. With each passing mile marker, I felt myself slip further and further into beach weekend getaway mode and thankfully, the glaring gymnasium buzzers began to dissolve away in my mind as the crashing ocean surf took over as the primary background ambient noise for the weekend.
Climbing out of the car that night, I walked through the front door and straight through the beautiful beach house and promptly out the back door to the private deck leading to the beach in a semi-trance. Walking along the wooden planks of the deck, I tried to shake the week away. Maybe it was from the 14 hour Friday still coming off me, or the night drive or maybe it was the sounds of the ocean calling to me, but I was in the zone. Bella needed no coaxing however, and barreled down the embankment in her own doggy way toward the sand and was romping along the surf in seconds. Me? Well, I took my time. Flailing down that sandy cliff in the middle of the night on what felt like the edge of the world, the sounds of the night sea surrounding me, I reached for his hand to help me down and didn’t let go.
The rest of the weekend was a blur of comfy socks, a lot of sand, laughter and good food. Bella came and went as she pleased, making herself at home curled up next to the fire or careening down the deck toward the beach. Meanwhile, I found myself at home in the beach house hot tub. Saturday night found me yet again in the hot tub, peering out over the edge of the frothy thing toward the beckoning Pacific ocean waves. There was talk amongst the hot tubbers of running down to the waves for a dip, which at the moment sounded pretty refreshing to me as I was reaching my heat limit. Dares were proclaimed, hesitation was expressed and then, we all emerged steaming from the bubbling tub and grabbed our towels as we made our trek down to the water. My senses quickly began to take over as I padded barefoot along the deck. I lagged behind the more exuberant ocean goers who were already waist deep bracing themselves against the rolling waves, while I timidly made my own way down the sandy embankment allowing my toes to comfortingly sink into the loose sand. The winter ocean air felt good against my too warm skin, and the sand stuck to my toes felt grainy as I nestled myself into my towel and walked toward the smaller waves reaching out to me.
I frolicked ankle deep while Bella pranced by my side, and I remember thinking I hadn’t felt more alive than in that moment.
As the heat eventually dissipated from my body, I turned and ran back toward the warm lights of the beach house against the night sky smiling the whole way.
Sunday morning brought breakfast at a restaurant in town with a fantastic panoramic view of the crashing surf against the Yachats rocks and then shopping in the town art galleries. (Note: Coastal town galleries are the best.) I hardly ever leave without finding something I absolutely adore, and this trip was no exception. It was in the last art gallery of the day that we ducked in to escape the oncoming rain that I found my latest treasure. Our group walked in, expertly shaking the rain off of our coats and then proceeded to break off into our separate ways about the store, exploring the shelves, the trinkets, the store cat, all lost in our own worlds. The floor creaked comfortingly beneath our steps, and the sound of cars wooshing past in the rain just outside of the little shop filled the quiet in the air around us. I was lost in thought when I found it. And upon seeing it, I’m not really sure how I missed it on the way in to begin with. A gigantic hand-crafted tree made entirely of leaf-less branches filled the entirety of the entryway to the store. And on each branch? Hundreds of pieces of colorful construction paper, each hole-punched and carefully tied to the branches with ribbon. Upon closer inspection, I found that each piece of paper had a message written on it from previous customers. A sort of on-going living art project in the middle of the store…I circled the tree reading messages high and low on the branches. Messages of life, love and happiness. Words to live by. Inspired, I plucked one of the markers from the red dixie cup sitting on the table next to the base of the beautiful tree and set about adding my own message to a blank piece of paper. But… what to write?
Chewing my lip in consideration, I glanced around the store searching for inspiration. It had to be good. The lady behind the counter said that she never throws away a message, only moves the messages higher on the tree branches to make room for more. It couldn’t be just any old message. My eyes filtered through the other messages again. Looking across the room, his eyes met mine for just a split second and I remembered Friday night standing on the coast just the two of us.
And then it came to me. Just like it always does when I need it most- words to live by, and I could almost hear him, my dad, saying it as I committed the words to the paper…
“All shall be well…”
