As the sun simmered down in the second half of the first day of November, I found myself in an unplanned place - Plonked by a beach by the Pacific, and watching the munchkin looking for shells with her playmate. I was in august company - a bestie of 26 years - someone that is from a different generation and a different country. The common denominator is probably our gender and our street address. But the resonance we find in company is what makes life worth living in my humble opinion.
As the day unfolded, I put some effort into putting my outfit together and changed my purse to a disney themed Coach bag. Micky and Minnie on the front in a dance with hands interwoven. Most of my accessories align with my mental age (which is 9 by the way)
I stacked three random bracelets and took the effort to apply some mascara. The day was bright without being hot, the scene was busy without draining my social battery. Perfect as it can get.
We were in the line for a hay truck when I was invited to engage in a small talk with the ladies waiting before us. They had two girls in tow who looked like twins.
"Did you buy your bag in Disney?" The younger of the both asked.
"No it is a Disney x Coach" I responded - adding that I like Mickey and Minnie. The conversation drifted through visits to Disney land, Uncle Scrooge and Universal Orlando.
"They look like twins" I said and the mother of them said - "I get that a lot" adding "They have different fathers though" Pointing to the older one she said "He is from El Salvador - you can see it in her if you look"
The little girl's face drooped and formed a frown - her slant, exotic eyes got heavy with a veil of sadness - "No" she kept on whispering and nodding while I watched her intently - perhaps the first many blows of generational trauma being slowly and surely distilled into the offspring. I wanted to offer her a hug but I was reduced to playing the bystander.
The italian restaurant we chose had nothing vegetarian at first glance but as I focused more, I could see a sizable choice of vegetarian and vegan entrees. The beet salad I picked was served in a moulded heap - peaches at the bottom in a gradient pallet, finishing off with red beets at the top - all rested on a chilled yoghurt based sauce. It wasn't as comforting as it looked, being devoid both of warmth and spice.
I summoned for the red chill flakes and sprinkled them with the fervor of a toddler addind sprinkles to an ice cream sundae and dipped my cold focaccia into olive oil and ate away!
The second half of the day unfolded by the beach - compensating for the heat and warmth my meal had deprived me of! I played with the waves and got my feet wet. The water was warm. An adventurous 9 year old part of me wanted to taste the water, the grown up cautious part took over and better sense prevailed. I watched the thought drifting to how I tasted the salt on the beaches of Indian ocean many moons ago and caught myself licking my lips to see if I taste any salt here though I long realized the pacific air isn't as salt laden as it is back home around its Indian counterpart!
The conversation wafted around children, government, cemeteries, funerals, charity, gratitude, ambition, responsibility and a little bit of cribbing that is customary in the 'girlfriend' talk.
We got back home, harnessing our precious cargo in the back seats, enjoying the redwood punctuated roads until we hit the more familiar interstate.
November came - thus!!
Pic courtesy - I, me, Myself!
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