RMJ 114 June 9

MONDAY, JUNE 9 ● Los Angeles, vs Dodgers

It was sunny this morning, and we decided to go to the beach. Even though Mom is in low spirits, she couldn’t resist. Dad didn’t like cold water, let alone the cold salt water of the Pacific Ocean. He wasn’t real wild about sand, either. I suppose his antipathy traces to his youth in Pittsburgh.

Mom grew up in Southern California. She is a fine swimmer and a beach-lover. It has been many years since she has plopped down on a towel in the sand and enjoyed the salt air and the soothing roar of the surf.

After a while, she went walking with Susan. Rick and I went, like lemmings, to the sea. The water was warm for these parts: 72 degrees. The waves were sort of choppy with the onshore wind, but we managed to ride a few of them anyway.

Just when we were about to swim to shore, a school of dolphins passed by. In all the years I bodysurfed at Zuma Beach, I never saw a dolphin. But Rick says he sees them occasionally near his home up the coast in Oxnard.

I was a little scared at first. Who wouldn’t be, with those fins slicing through the water? But he saw them about the same time I did and said, “Hey, look at the dolphins. It’s our lucky day. They’ve come to surf with us.”  They didn’t stick around for the rides, though; they just kept heading north.

I don’t get to bodysurf much anymore, and I doubt I would enjoy it as a daily ritual as I did in the summers of my high-school years. But I still enjoy the rough-and-tumble, rollicking rides. The cold water invigorates, the rolling surf captivates, and the sun anneals the experience so that you will remember later on when your trapezius tingles.

 

On the way home, we stopped by a crab shack for lunch. Mom ordered clams, but she didn’t eat many. Rick, Susan, and I had squid sandwiches, and they were great. It would be difficult for me to lose weight by swimming. When I jog or play racquetball, I am not hungry afterwards. After swimming, I am ravenous.

The conversation was lively. We laughed a lot, and Mom was right in the middle of it. Later, Rick said it was the first time she has shown any zeal for life since Dad’s stroke.  It was good therapy.

 

The night did not follow the course of the day. Chris Holt was sluggish, and the Dodgers clubbed him hard. It didn’t help that we also played shoddy defense. We took a 3-2 lead in the third inning, but it didn’t last long. The final score was 8-3.

When I got home, Mom was still up. We talked for a while, and then she went to bed. Rick and I adjourned to the yard — me with my cigar, both of us with wine. Susan likes to taste cigars. She has to get there for the first puff, however, as she is, for some unknown reason, repulsed by the slobber. She stayed up just long enough to get a whiff of my Fuente 8-4-6, then she hit the hay.

 

We lasted another half-hour, talking mostly about Dad.