Moments in Monterey

I'm currently in Monterey, CA, for those of you who are interested in following my windy, nonsensical path through post military life. The last day I spent here was in June of 2008. Driving down here from Sacramento, I could barely contain my excitement in my car. I sang, I laughed hysterically, and I'm sure I looked crazy from the outside looking in through the windows of my blizzard torn Rav4 as I tossed my head around frantically to Luis Enrique.

I got in on Tuesday afternoon, heading straight to Marina to switch out my broken GPS and pick up my cargo carrier. (My GPS died after 3 days..I'm a slave driver!) Then it was straight to Monterey. The first night was great. Dave made some fettuccine, and I just hung out, relaxing, and planning for the next few days.

Yesterday was even better. I woke up to birds chirping through the mist. The mist. I forgot about the fog and the mist of Monterey. Misty blue. No. Misty grey. I stepped outside and could almost taste it. It's a wonder anyone can walk through it. It's opaque, almost solid. I wanted to scream down the desolate, wonderfully manicured road leading to the bay, "THERE'S SOMETHING IN THE MIST!!!"

I didn't. But I seriously thought about it.

I drove to Palo Alto, and in the process, left the heavy mist of Monterey in my rear view. I stopped at Nisene, parked, and proceeded to run without direction or worry. The only thing I brought with me was my voice recorder, a smile, and an uncannily peaceful feeling. I pounded the earth with Mizunos. The damp leaves were pressed into soft mud, leaving little prints in my wake. Every hill I encountered was approached with a renewed vigor, every downhill the same. I cruised around corners, onto little overgrown paths, back onto large, semi cleared trails. I ran, I lived, I smiled.

I hit a river, dropped my shoes, and soaked my legs a spell. Refreshing.

Back on the trails, I ran out of the park by mistake. After exploring a nearby neighborhood, I regained the path. Up and down, left and right. Around redwoods, over rocks, under boughs, through the most vivid greens and deep mahoganies.

I love running. I love Cali. I love life.

When I finished, I attempted to enter a nearby bike shop. Luckily for me and for my checking account, it didn't open for another hour. I took that opportunity to head to Santa Cruz. I had a 12:00 appointment at the Well Within. I stopped at a quaint bagel shop along the way, ordering a scramblewich (yes, that's really what it's called) and a tomato bagel. Yum.

I entered my room at the Well Within, stripped down, showered, and immediately entered my spa. I melted on the spot.

"Brrrrrrrrrruja, Bruja, Brujita! Tu me hisiste brujeria. Brrrrrrrrrruuuuuuuuu, demonio!"

Sorry, I digress.

Salsa. YES!

Back to the Well Within, salsa to follow.

A spa, a sauna, a zen garden, a shower. An hour of pure bliss. Pure recovery. Pure pleasure. An hour of being alone with my thoughts, my voice recorder, and myself.

I needed it. I took advantage of it. I left smiling and excited for the rest of the day.

When I returned to my car, I realized I had a little more money left on my meter, so I added another quarter, and took a walk down to the Wharf. I ran into a pack of homeless folks. I gave them the change I had and sat down on the bench with them. I learned about their stories, and why it was better to be homeless in Santa Cruz than anywhere else in the world.

After my stint with the homeless young people, I took a round about route back to my car. I drove back to Monterey, and stopped downtown for some Jamba Juice. Of course that ended with the purchase of a new toy (not THAT KIND!!!).

A tripod!!!

Not for a weapon. Never will I have one again.

For my camera! YAY!

I returned from my wanderings, stopped to visit with Melina in PG, then proceeded to Cat's place. Debauchery ensued.

The wine bottle was mostly empty by my arrival, and I guided myself in by her laughter. I started yelling in the street, "I HEAR YOU, CAT!!! WHICH ONE IS YOUR APARTMENT!!!?!"

We sat around laughing about the past, lamenting about things lost, and sharing stories of the present. Ideas for the future. I love these people. We followed dinner with 2 hours of salsa. I haven't danced like that since before my deployment! I forgot how much I missed it.

There's something to be said for a moment on the dance floor. Unlike life, when you have a million things going on at once, a moment on the dance floor has one. Just one. The music. Nothing bothers you, nothing CAN bother you. It's as if your troubles are flung from your person in a head whip, a hand flip, a kung fu dip. So simply, so carelessly, they spring from your outstretched fingers as they extend. They are tossed from your hair as it slices through the air. Gone.

Then you have a clean slate.

I have a clean slate.

After my cleansing, we went downstairs for greasing of the wheels, some artery hardening, some pizza. I had two bites of a piece donated to the unemployed, homeless salsera fund. We stayed there for almost two hours, playing live percussion, awakening Cannery Row.

Steinbeck would have been proud. Maybe he was dancing in his grave.

We played, we sang, we laughed, we lived. It's a moment that is lost in the past. A moment I can never live again. A moment I will remember for the rest of my life.

A moment that defines why I love my life.

Viva la salsa.