La Buena Vida

I’ve settled into something of a routine. Mornings find me on the edge of the desert greeting the sun as it creeps up over the Sierra de la Laguna’s. To the west sparkles the Pacific, patiently waiting for me to finish my coffee. Sleepy children with crusty matted hair emerge from their sandy beds to snuggle in our laps. Woods and I spend the rest of the morning trading off with the kids for surfing, running, yoga, or sometimes just ‘alone time’.

Each day consists of roughly one trip to town. Never more. Rarely less. The road is dusty, long, and jarring; best described as ‘Extreme Washboard’. I have a North Idaho advantage in the washboard category, so I have a higher tolerance than most. As a child brought up at the end of a long dirt road, I’ve come to relish a certain cleansing quality that comes when your brain gets rattled continuously. I’m thinking it could be the next big therapeutic trend…Something like ‘Mind Clearing Washboard Therapy’.

A trip to town can take half the day because distractions abound. The internet café is where all in one stop you can get an expensive organic smoothie, check your e-mail, let your kids do some social networking for you at the playground, load up on homegrown produce, and then post a quick blog all about it. Ha!

The return from town usually means it’s finally time to chill. We’ll spend the rest of the day at the beach in one variation or another. I’ve become resident den mom to any and all children of the beach. I relish this highly respected position in the surfing community. I take in urchins so their parents can grab a quick wave. I make sure they don’t wander off into the sea and in exchange they offer my kids a unique social life. One of these days I’ll be one of those moms in the water. But this break is a little more than a starter wave.

Everything depends on the surf. Everything. If the surf is big, the whole schedule seamlessly shifts to accommodate optimal time in the water with regard to winds and tides. When the surf’s up it’s like a big snow dump. It’s what everyone eats and breathes and lives for. Adrenalin is in the air. The vibe is good. They emerge from the water with blissed-out glows on their faces. When it’s not big, only the long boarders are still in the water. The rest wait.

There are plenty of things to do during the downtime. We are living here, after all. There is still laundry to do. Endless sand to eradicate from floors, beds, butts. Dishes. Meals to prepare, shop for, clean up after. Rats to untangle. Babies to nap. When enough work is done, there’s the hammock…We each do our daily dose of suspension therapy.

Evenings are easy. It’s beer, bathing, sunsets, and food. Not a whole lot more!

Don Pancho's

I have found myself at the end of the road. Well, I guess it’s not exactly the end of the road. In fact, the road does keep going. I notice several trucks a day loaded with locals or surfers going past this place. It’s hard to imagine where it must continue, and I keep promising myself that one of these days I will go see. But for now, it’s the end of the road. This is as far out as I am going to get on this journey. At least, physically.

I am settling in to a routine of sorts. Mornings come early. I watch the light come through my bedroom window from my pillow. Usually a child or two has found their way into my nest, and together we watch in awe as the colors of the new day emerge. Woods will have been up already, coffee brewed, meditation in progress. But me, I must witness the unfolding of at least two, maybe three false crescendos before I tear myself away from the snugglefest to step outside and watch the rising sun at it’s peak. This moment can be elusive, hardly scientific. Earthy? Yes. Orgasmic? Almost…