Concerning oceans
So I spent the last few days in Lincoln City, a medium-sized tourist trap on the Oregon Coast. Having gone there at least five times before in the past, I dunno, eight years, there is little here that is new to report. The place still has the seagulls, the brine, the kelp and crabshells and gross green streaks of foam that it has had for millenia. It also has the omnipresent nautical themes, cozy beach houses and surprisingly frumpy atmosphere that it has probably had for the past century. Assuming it's existed that long; I don't know.
It sounds like I speak disparagingly of it, as if I'm sick of the place. And, I'll be honest, the town has some kitschy-ness about it that doesn't entirely agree with me. Because I'm so cultured, doncha know...
But there's something undeniably special about the ocean. Even when I'm walking along the beach, freezing because of the absurd wind and trying not to yelp as the airborne sand flays my legs, I get a kick out of it. Well, "a kick" is perhaps not the right phrase. But it always seems to pull me into a sort of pleasantly contemplative state. The sand whipping my legs, for example: it occurred to me as I was getting exfoliated down there on the beach that this was eons and eons of geological matter flying past me, getting itself all over my clothes, into my shoes, my hair. Like the centuries were delivering me a personal beating. That's a bit of an honor, is it not?
Then of course there are the waves. And the way the sea and the sky melt together into a white haze on the horizon, like it really is the edge of the world. One can easily see where people got the idea of a flat earth.
Then there's the distinct pleasure of coming inside after getting beaten up by the sand and the wind and the surf and the chill, taking a shower, flopping onto the couch in a warm living room, cracking open a can of cream soda and waiting for assorted family members to wander in so we can all turn on a movie. That's when you look up at the bizarre ships-wheel light fixture and think to yourself, "life is good."
It sounds like I speak disparagingly of it, as if I'm sick of the place. And, I'll be honest, the town has some kitschy-ness about it that doesn't entirely agree with me. Because I'm so cultured, doncha know...
But there's something undeniably special about the ocean. Even when I'm walking along the beach, freezing because of the absurd wind and trying not to yelp as the airborne sand flays my legs, I get a kick out of it. Well, "a kick" is perhaps not the right phrase. But it always seems to pull me into a sort of pleasantly contemplative state. The sand whipping my legs, for example: it occurred to me as I was getting exfoliated down there on the beach that this was eons and eons of geological matter flying past me, getting itself all over my clothes, into my shoes, my hair. Like the centuries were delivering me a personal beating. That's a bit of an honor, is it not?
Then of course there are the waves. And the way the sea and the sky melt together into a white haze on the horizon, like it really is the edge of the world. One can easily see where people got the idea of a flat earth.
Then there's the distinct pleasure of coming inside after getting beaten up by the sand and the wind and the surf and the chill, taking a shower, flopping onto the couch in a warm living room, cracking open a can of cream soda and waiting for assorted family members to wander in so we can all turn on a movie. That's when you look up at the bizarre ships-wheel light fixture and think to yourself, "life is good."
posted by James at
6:09 PM
