I’ve been 24-hours at 60 years old. No discernible difference re: life and stuff. Altho Dennis points out that now when I take a survey or some-such, I’ll be checking a new bubble range (60+). Weird. But anyway… the last week was a great way to not think about surveys, except I did fill out a good amount of reviews regarding our accomodations. Travel is back, my people, and it’s really interesting to see the various and sundry ways folks are rolling with the Covid-careful, personal-choice issues in the places we passed through.

A 6.30 AM flight to Seattle started me off. It had been so long since I’d traveled that I was nervous. I had my vaccination card at the ready. No one asked. Everyone looked tired. Palm Springs Airport is very small, which is great. Going through security, I almost knocked over a stretchy-rope lane separator because I’d clearly forgotten how to roll my luggage successfully. Anywho, no one yelled at me. I got on the flight. Everyone was masked (yay), I had a two-hour flight and thought about napping. By the time we’d touched down I remembered that I’m not a napper. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I try and just can’t seem to let go into nap-land. Dennis was still working and meeting me at the place we were staying, so after I failed to nap, I wandered around the neighborhood of Greenwood. Found a consignment store and bought some clothes while listening to You’re Wrong About, a podcast my friend Windy turned me on to. (So good.)

Once Dennis showed up (in person after five weeks away. Oh.Mi.Good.Gawd.), we made up stories about the people who live in the home-exchange house we were staying in. There were no clothes in any of the closets, so that confused me, as this wasn’t an Air B’n’B, but a real person’s house. Anyway, I got over it, we went out to an excellent dinner (Gainsbourg), got a good night’s sleep, got to see Dennis’s sisters and one brother (I missed the other brother whose house Dennis was working on. He and his wife are in Bellingham–up the coast not down).

Next up, Florence, OR, where we Air B’n’B’d it in a place with a hot tub, a sauna, and a guy who did massages. Oh my-my, it was that whole idea of downshifting. The room smelled like eucalyptus, patchouli, with a mix of all-good vibes. Even when there was a brief power outage and an extension cord sparked when the electricity came back on, it was nothing but mellow. We all stared at the charred carpet, then worked out what time our massage would be the next day. Something in the air. Speaking of…

As we drove into Ashland, OR, the next day there was smoke. The Bootleg fire had just begun to grow (and still is growing over a week later, only 22% contained. Fire season has started early. Of course, it has. No joke, humans, the crisis of climate is coming faster than the predictors—otherwise known as scientists— predicted). Ashland is the location for the Oregon Shakespeare Festival, although they haven’t quite gotten up to speed post-Covid. It’s a great vibe and we were staying in a home-exchange house, so were treated to an amazing space filled with choice modern art and a very cool garden with plants and sculptures. This was the kind of place where I could really sense the people who live there: Retired, drawn to a place with culture, walkability, etc. (I mean, I kind of make this stuff up, even though one of the owners and I have had some email conversations.) Then there were the deer. Wowza, they are literally everywhere. A mom and her two littles in a yard next to a four-lane main highway (think Park Avenue with the median in the middle). Terrifying, yet they wander. Eat out of the yards. Maybe attend the shows. who knows.

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Next day we were off to Eureka, CA. Driving Highway 101 through the Redwoods. At 3.15 we turned up to snake our way through and found out the highway shuts down Monday through Thursday from 3 to 7. Really this was our only way to get to our next destination without a five-hour drive back the other way, so we went to a fishing town nearby, ate some food, then got in a line of cars inside the forest to wait until the highway reopened. The cool thing was that they let you drive six miles into the forest, so you’re actually in this beautiful space waiting. You’re also with many many dozens of other cars also lined up, with people inside. I imagine this is what it’s like to queue up for a concert, then get to know your fellow travelers while you’re stuck in line. I mostly observed the happenings: a guy who was desperate to get people to play quarters with him (making money on the side?), the couple in front of us got out of their car and just plunged into the forest. I was a little scared for them, but this is apparently what hiking on trails means!?!? A golf cart with park employees came by with water and granola bars. They were very friendly and all-in-all it was good. Dennis and I meditated. A car played very loud music, we continued to observe our breath. Just regular life really. When we started to move, we were rewarded with a stunning view of the sun setting on the Pacific Ocean with majestic trees in the foreground. I mean…come on.

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Next up: San Francisco. Yo. It’s cold and damp there. Have I gotten spoiled by sun (or seasons)? Yes, probably. But also I think I’ve been ruined for other cities after New York. We’ll just leave it at that. Our neighborhood had a great hole-in-the-wall Japanese place. I had some awesome ramen, Dennis had some tempura, we drank hot sake. San Franciscans are on their mask game. One-hundred-percent covered inside and out. I appreciated that. Even in Golden Gate Park, it was masks up. We spent a whole day walking…again, I am spoiled by my NYC. I mentioned to my dad, how did SanFran become all that. He said, Gold. Right. That would do it. We wandered into the Haight neighborhood, went to a bookstore and a Goodwill, where I bought a sweater because I was cold, found a silly restaurant, prepared to take off the next day.

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To Morro Bay where there sits a majestic rock. I cannot really tell you much about the rock, but it’s pretty cool to see! The drive down Highway 1 is ridiculous. It’s like all those movies you’ve seen about the California coastline. And there are actually some houses built on the side of cliffs, which doesn’t seem altogether smart, but really these people are richer than Croesus, so I got nothin’. We listened to Jeff Buckley and Led Zeppelin. This made sense to me somehow. And we drove and drove and found our Air B’n’B, then found an amazing restaurant where everyone knows everyone else and they all have dogs and we sat outside and sipped wine and it was pretty great. This felt like California livin’. Then we left yesterday to travel on down to Redlands.

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A really great way to spend my first day of 60, traveling along the coast, remembering some things from family vacations spent in Carmel and Ojai and Alisal ranch in Salinas, from teenage beach days (of which there were very few. How did I not take more advantage?), from seeing these views as a kid and appreciating their beauty but not quite ready then to slip into the majesty. I was ready yesterday to do that. And even though we hit traffic from LA to our Inland Empire home, that’s part of the landscape. An unfortunate byproduct of all us humans taking up this space, but yet having traveled through Redwoods thousands of years old, a shoreline with cliffs and rock formations equally historic, the realization of being a speck in time was just the right kind of reminder on this milestone day.