Rather uninteresting, actually

Had a wonderful day off, yesterday. The sun broke through the fog early, and I was on my way to the beach. Since we've broken the planet, it was no surprise to see that the waves were of not-great quality when I pulled up to Bolinas with my dog. Just a trickle of skittering foot-high waves, schizophrenically lapping up on the shore.

No matter. Surfing is good, regardless of conditions. Met a friend and paddled out into the heap of other green-horns, flailing around the surf with over sized, foam boards. All smiles and good energy in the line-up-- a drastic departure from most other surf spots you'll encounter.

There's something elementally relaxing about being near a large body of water. The largeness of water allows you to simply let go all your troubles for a moment. The sun filtered down through broken tufts of clouds while pelicans patrolled the beach in long sweeping flocks, diving so low to the water that we could make out the details of their prehistoric eyes as they searched for fish.

As the sun cruised lower in the sky, we bid goodbye to Bolinas by throwing the ball for the dog a few more times (a never-ending ritual). I really love Bolinas, the small herd of locals sipping cheap beer by the post office at the end of the day. The dirt kicking up in the street by stoned kids on skateboards and vagabond dogs. Sandwiched somewhere between the looming gentrification of Marin, and the quirky rural identity that has defined this outpost by the sea, I always find myself happy here. Passing farm stands and plots of withering pumpkins in the dusk as I wound my way back to 101, I couldn't help but hope that Bolinas stays weird.

I also stopped at Whole Foods in Mill Valley. What a shock. I got some chantrelles, a handful of mussels and some cream and beat a retreat. Good god.

I got home and sauteed garlic and shallots in cast iron pan. I dropped in the mushrooms and seared them off. When they caramelized a bit, I splashed some carignane in the pan, turning the mushrooms a wonderful dark color. I'd been reducing the last of some duck stock, threw that in with the handful of mussels, then the cream, then a handful of Parmesan with some pasta.

Hopelessness, and then hope

At last, the rain has arrived. After what seems to have been an interminable summer, a hot one even for Sebastopol, the glorious precipitation renews my hope, stokes my faith. My dog sits out in the mud in my back yard, in a downpour worthy of a John Cusak movie. She doesn't move a muscle, just soaking each glorious sphere of cleargrey water into her coat. What's most important to understand about this is the sheer length of summer, and the utter hopelessness I traveled through while enduring such oppressive, relentless heat. I was a broken man. I was liquefied, pureed, and spread on toast as hot as the asphalt of Hwy 101.

Perdition set in, deep in every tissue of my body. Hopelessness. Malaise mixed with a certain kind of laziness reserved for psych ward inhabitants and ousted despots. I couldn't believe that I would be here for another year. The project I had begun was quite well underway, I was committed to it for a year, there was no going back. No going back meant that I was stapled to this heat, this dry, dry heat for eternity. And for all I could tell, the heat would never ever end. I couldn't take it.

Fleas overtook my abode. Tics bit my dog mercilessly, inflicting lyme's disease through their tiny, savage fangs. Flies slowly churned the hot air. Blackberries wilted against their thorns. I took my dog on weekly trips to the Russian River where we plunged our steaming bodies into the cool, murky churn. Temporary relief instantly caked and dried on our bodies as we exited the river, returning to the relentless torment of heat soaking through our souls and dragging us hellward.

And then, it rained. Just days after the leaves on the vineyards turned color, and curled at the corners, drops fell. Big drops, plopping in ash-like dust among apple trees. Rain falling in dusty rabbit holes. Then more rain, slowly building like a terrific swelling orchestral tide. Then it really rained. I forget the exact measurement, but Santa Rosa flooded. The roof on the building where I work collapsed under the rain.

Finally, relief had come.