I gratefully spent a few days at the sea this past week. So much to look back on and to write about. First some time with good long-time friends, sharing a place up north of Bodega Bay, off Wright’s Beach. A wonderful quiet time of good cheer.
Then I drove down to Santa Cruz, music blaring, with a short detour through San Francisco, over the Golden Gate bridge and down to the ol’ (now closed) Cliff House. I was excited to see there my favorite SF artist / friend with his wife, his art displayed and all set up to sell. And I got something new for my wall. Eduardo Guzman titles it “And all nights, be nights of passion.”
I headed down the coast on Highway 1, shocked to see the fire devastation north of Santa Cruz, and stopped in for a pedicure next door to Mission Safeway. You know you can never have too much fun.
I met up with the family at the hotel for the next few days. Part of Saturday morning I spent at the Farmer’s Market in Aptos with Dana, my great friend and fellow March 1st birthdayer. Coffee and snacks and once again, we forgot to get a selfie together. Story of our life. Such slackers.
Morning came early on Sunday. The Bagelry bagels for breakfast and out the door as soon as possible, strolling across the parking lot to where the fun was.
The rest of the family inside the Casino Arcade took off to play Lazer Tag. Noah and I hung out together, skipping from one arcade game seat to another. He thought he was playing, but not one token went into those machines. It was so noisy in there and soon enough, I decided it was time to go outside where it was warm and sunny, quiet and peaceful. For both our sakes.
Noah could run and roam along the concrete walkway, without big crowds of people to blast into. I could keep up with him, while still getting a fine memory-filled glance at Fisherman’s Wharf.
This is when the real story begins.
We strolled past a little boy, about 2 years old I guess, a few months older than Noah. The boy was doing that 2-year old stopping and sobbing thing, fingers in his mouth and staring at his parents seated patiently waiting on a little picnic bench. The boy was upset about something.Probably being told no.
Noah looked at this short fellow human being, seemingly assessing the situation at hand. He stopped for moment and then walked away from me, back to the boy and stopped to communicate with him. No words, just a look, or a hundred. I watched as he checked out the boy’s parents, 15-20 feet away.
The boys stood there for a while, either looking out at the surf and sand, or at the boy’s parents, or briefly, at each other.
At some point here, I asked the parents if I could take a picture – so cute – and they agreed. I realized later I didn’t keep my camera out near long enough.
After a time, Noah started to walk forward, his arm and hand held out as if to say, come on! The little guy didn’t move, just looked the other way. Noah raised his arm as if to say, “Come on.”
So Noah turned back and slowly moved to grasp hold of the little boy’s hand in his. Giving the other boy some time, Noah waited before slowly beginning to lead the little boy over to his parents.
About that time is when I started tearing up and yelled out, “This is our world!”
After walking over to the picnic bench, hand in hand, the two of them stood there looking at each other.
When I called to Noah, he dropped the boy’s hand and toddled over to me. And then he stopped, turned around to see the little boy still watching him.
Noah sped back over there and again, they stood appraising eath other. Then they were shaking hands. And then.
They’re high-fiving each other.
Not a word between them the entire time.
And I’m a blubbery mess.
So quickly they learn our world. Let’s all of us teach them the kind way.
Writer Paints 