Collateral Benefits

I drove northward from Pigeon Point with some reluctance but also with an ease of being that I have not felt in many months.  Voices on the radio spoke to me of the juxtaposition of creativity, energy, and responsibility.  I stopped in Half Moon Bay for gas and to call my son, to tell him about the sculptor whose KQED interview intrigued me as I drove.  You’re in Half Moon Bay, he exclaimed.  We have clients there!  From a roadside turn-in, I snapped a shot of the Bay to send him.  Then I turned the rental car north again, through San Fran, and into Mill Valley.

A lithe young lady with bright eyes strode towards me in the restaurant and engulfed me in her slender arms.  Her mother did the same, grasping my hand, leading me to the table.  These are “the yoga people”, as I’ve described them to my son, Sharon Alberts and her daughter Ellen Cox, whom I met six months ago at Pigeon Point Hostel.  Few know anyone when they check into a hostel; few leave without new friends.  Sharon and Ellen befriended me, helped me learn to adapt the Sun Salutation, and now invited me to sit on a lovely bay, hearing stories of Ellen’s new job at a winery, the dawning of her college school year, and Sharon’s travels.

We shared laughter, tiramisu, Ellen’s growing wine-and-food pairing knowledge, and the happiness which illuminates their hearts.  I left even lighter and more joyful than I arrived.  I welcome these collateral benefits of a downward-turning life which I had thought I would eternally lament.

Today, I must write a letter to a company which plagues me but without complaining.  I also have to drive south for a short doctor visit which could not be scheduled on the same day as the others.  Then I will lunch with a Rotarian whom I met on  my last trip, and eventually, as the day wanes,make my way back to the Point Montara Lighthouse Hostel where I slept this past evening.  Fog lingers on the sea outside the dining room window, through which I gaze as I write.  But those damp tendrils make no difference to the ocean, whose waves crash against the rocky cliffs in endless rhythm, while I sit, small and serene, on the shore.

It’s the seventh day of the thirty-third month of My [Endless] Year Without Complaining.  Life continuously unfolds its wondrous contours all around me.

0906161327

Sharon Alberts and her beautiful, strikingly intelligent daughter, Ellen Cox.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *