Greetings from Southern California

Apologies for the silence in the last few days, dear readers! In addition to visiting my mother in her long-term care facility twice a day, I've been helping my dad with various household tasks as well as taking him to a doctor's appointment. I've also been working on a lot of writing assignments.

So, let's backtrack to Sunday and take you along on the trip. I left around 7 am and drove to the nearest airport (three hours away), and got there early enough that I was able to do some writing on my AlphaSmart. The first leg of the trip took me to Seattle, but unfortunately I didn't have a window seat so I couldn't take any photos of the journey.

In Seattle, I had enough of a layover that, once again, I was able to get a fair bit of writing done. Beyond that, of course, there was a lot of twiddling of thumbs while waiting for my connecting flight.

Seattle isn't as frantically busy an airport as, say, Chicago or Atlanta, but it's still pretty busy.

My flight was delayed by about half an hour, but finally we boarded and I had a window seat, yay! As we taxied into position, we passed this huge jet apparently solely dedicated to the Arizona Cardinals football team. I know absolutely nothing about football (which has its advantages), but if any Arizona Cardinals fans wonder where their ticket prices are going, this is part of the answer.

Rising up into the air as we left Seattle, we got a bird's eye view of the evening light on the abundant water. Seattle is located in Puget Sound, so there are endless inlets and waterways in the region.

We reached cruising altitude soon enough, and the lowering sun cast lovely light on the clouds.

(Note to self: Clean that big black spot off my camera lens.)

Far below us, an unknown river traced a meandering path.

It was a bit over a two-hour flight to my destination, during which the sun started to go down.

At one point, it lit up some thin low-lying clouds, which must have been a lovely sight from the ground.

It cast a red hue into the interior of the aircraft.

Finally it set in a blaze of color...

...leaving some beautiful hues on the western horizon.

Glimpse of the ocean.

City lights on our descent.

My youngest brother picked me up from the airport, and as you can imagine it was wonderful to see him. He took me out to dinner, and then drove me an hour into the town where Dad lives. I can't tell you how much I appreciated him doing this, because he had an hour's drive home and then had to start work early the next morning.

Dad and I stayed up past midnight, yakking. Because he's hard of hearing, often it's difficult to have long conversations with him over the phone (even though he has many electronic enhancements for communicating), so being able to catch up on all the news in person is hugely enjoyable. In fact, each evening after dinner, we linger over a glass of wine. (My brother kindly laid in a stock of chardonnay for me.)

Dad lives about two miles away from Mom's care facility and he visits twice a day to feed her lunch and dinner, so off we went the next morning. She recognized me the moment I walked in the door, and started crying from happiness. Although the stroke robbed her of her ability to communicate, and brought on a certain stroke-related dementia, her mind is still there.

The excellence of care she receives at this facility is hard to underscore. Because it's associated with an adjacent hospital, it has both a rehab side and a long-term care side (where Mom resides). The CNAs are dedicated and skilled. Since Older Daughter has become a CNA, I've become far more aware of what the job entails as well as the level of "calling" this field requires, and I can say without hesitation that Mom receives a superb level of care.

One long-term resident was a man in his 50s or 60s (blind and in a wheelchair; I'm guessing cerebral palsy?), and one day he was in the dining room, to the delight of the other residents. Apparently he normally takes his meals in another dining room among residents who don't require assistance with feeding, but on this day he was with us. He's known for his groaner jokes (sample: "I'd tell you a joke about a circle, but there's no point") which kept the other residents and CNAs in stitches.

This typifies the sort of camaraderie that springs up among both staff and residents. With my dad's partial deafness, he often misses some of the details, but he SO enjoys the chatter and buzz of conversation in the dining room.

Dad's routine is to feed Mom lunch, then we go to her room and watch television for about an hour or so. The same pattern repeats itself for dinner: The meal, then some television. There isn't much "conversation" per se – Mom can't really converse – but he's always there, if you know what I mean. He tells her things, he smooths her hair or rubs her hand, often he'll roll her wheelchair to the activities room if there's an entertainment taking place. My parents celebrated their 68th wedding anniversary in late August, and the vows my father took in church on that long-ago day still shine as brightly today as they did back then.

I told Dad (who turned 91 in July, by the way) my goal during this visit is to make his life easier in any way I can. He had a short list of chores he wanted me to do, such as replacing a water filter on the refrigerator (which requires getting down on one's hands and knees to pull out the old filter, etc.) and putting the garbage can out to the curb. I've also done a bit of grocery shopping for him.

Dad has gotten very used to living on his own and takes extremely sensible precautions – always using his walker, for example, and not having any tripping hazards in the house. He and my youngest brother have a sort of "code" phone call every morning in which Dad just checks in to confirm he's fine. (If he misses that check-in call, my brother will call 911.) Dad also has a sort of "smart" watch he wears at all time, even in the shower, that will alert emergency services if he falls or otherwise has a medical situation.

I took Dad to a dermatology appointment in a nearby town yesterday. This particular doctor is an old friend of my brother's, and a flippin' amazing dermatologist. He looked over everything on my dad's body, zapped him in numerous places with liquid nitrogen, anesthetized and then removed a worrisome section from the top of his scalp, and told Dad which spots to keep an eye on and which spots were not to be concerned about. He was also hilariously funny with the same brand of somewhat sarcastic humor as my brother, which makes their friendship understandable. He was in an out of the exam room in fifteen minutes, leaving behind an impression of a deeply knowledgeable whirlwind. (As Dad put it, "This guy knows his sh*t.")

The timing of my visit became doubly helpful since I can change the dressing on the top of Dad's head twice a day. "What would you do if I wasn't here?" I asked as I clipped the bandage to adhere it to his scalp. He said he has local medical resources who could do it on a walk-in basis, but it's much easier having me there to take care of it.

Of course, during my stay here, I had to go see the ocean. The area around the town is flat and heavily agricultural.

A couple of miles beyond these fields, the road crests over some low coastal hills, and the ocean becomes visible.

This was, literally, the first time I'd seen this beach without the marine layer that normally swaddles it. In fact, according to the television news I'd seen, temperatures were 15 degrees above normal for this time of year. It was 86F when I went to the beach, and I was glad I'd packed a pair of shorts for the trip.

While the resulting sunshine was lovely, there was one factor I hadn't considered: How brightly it shone off the water. It was literally blinding.

I took off walking down the beach for about a mile, squinting. Finally I had to move further off the shore (rather than letting the water wash around my ankles) because it was so painfully bright. I had a visor on, but had left my sunglasses in the car. It was like walking across a mirror.

I watched this couple throwing a Frisbee for an insanely enthusiastic dog.

Maybe it was the time of year, but I saw very little bird life on the shore. At sea, I saw (I think) some cormorants, but between squinting in the sun and their rapid diving, I couldn't snatch a photo.

I saw a few sandpipers.

I liked how these snowy ploves stood reflected on the water.

Something fairly large and immobile caught my attention from a distance. You can see it on the water's edge.

As it got closer, I saw it was a Western grebe, just sitting on the sand.

It seemed to me to be behaving unusually. I skirted around it, but it didn't move. It didn't even move when the couple with their dog got close (though I should make it clear the dog in no way was harassing the bird; on the contrary, the couple called their dog to a heel near the grebe).

Sometimes water washed around it, and still it stayed put.

I thought perhaps it was injured, but at one point – when a higher-than-normal wave broke and the bird became awash in about a foot of water – it reared up and began paddle-dancing across the water, which is what grebes do during courtship displays. (It happened too quickly for me to get a photo.) Then, as the wave receded, it sank back down to the sand and resumed just sitting there.

So it didn't appear to be injured, but nor did it seem inclined to avoid people or dogs. Weird.

I walked about a mile up the coast. The beach seemed unusually empty of debris.

The reason for this, I believe, is the recent storms which have ravaged Southern California's coastline. I could see the effects even on this calm and warm day. The beach was scoured clean, all the way up to where the sand dunes started. Normally it was possible to pick through beach detritus such as piles of kelp and the remains of velella (also called "By-the-Wind Sailors"), but now ... nothing except foam.

The occasional solitary rock or shell left its mark from a receding wave...

...and I left behind a line of footprints...

...and that was about it until I hit this low wedge of sand. There were two of them bracketing an empty channel, the remains (I presume) of a seasonal creek emptying into the ocean.

Then I turned around to retrace my steps. This time I was facing away from the sun and it was much better walking.

I could let the water break over my feet without feeling blinded.

I stood for quite some time, just watching the waves crashing on the shore.

After leaving the beach, I visited an adjacent coastal park with a walking path along an estuary. This took me past some sandstone hills.

These were dramatically layered.

On a boardwalk along the estuary, I saw some interpretive signage ...

...including this one featuring the Western grebe.

The information included how difficult it was for grebes to walk since their legs are set so far back from their bodies for purposes of better swimming abilities. My suspicion is the grebe I saw on the beach got washed ashore from an unusually high wave, and is likely stuck until the tide comes back in (unless it can "paddle dance" its way back out to sea).

Just off the boardwalk, some creative  soul(s) had created this rough structure made of driftwood.

Out in the water, I saw brown pelicans diving for fish.

I photographed this bird but can't quite identify it. I thought at first it was a loon, but the markings don't seem right. Anyone know?

By this point it was getting late enough that I needed to get back so Dad and I could go see Mom.

Anyway, that's what I've been up to over the last few days. I'm still trying to write my daily NaNoWriMo word count as well as work on a magazine article due late next week, so my days are busy.