I plan my weekends at the coast according to my physical capacity and the dictates of the weather.  Fog does not depress me, but when it settles on the seaside, I curl in a chair and read.  Blue skies lure me to the road, high on the ridge through the redwoods or south to the small towns and state beaches.

My walking stick only guarantees a few steps on a level surface.  I can’t risk falling so far away from anyone who knows me, so as I age, my trips become more about the view at sunset than hikes along the bluff.  But the beauty does not disappoint.   The heady air invigorates me even in the small spaces when I navigate the broken ground to sit on a wooden pillar and listen to the waves fall against the shore.  My egg salad sandwich tastes wonderful in the parking lot at Davenport after the long ride down Pine Flat Road from Bonny Doon.

Back at my lodging, I take a cold glass of water out to the yard just before the sunset begins.  I raise my camera to begin the thrilling process of recording the end to an amazing restorative day at the farthest edge of the world.  But the memory card will not cooperate:  Insufficient space! it cries.  I completely understand.  Same.

It’s the fourth day of the ninety-eighth month of My Year Without Complaining.  Life continues.