Beyond Cuckoo

Hooked up at Westport Beach

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Red wing blackbirds, scrub jays, towhees, gulls, doves and a few turkey vultures vie for food scraps throughout the encampment. The campground hosts are tête-â-tête with a couple across the way arguing about what spot “Debbie” was promised and rented to someone else by accident. Prime real estate is in huge demand, especially for those sites with unrestricted beach access and view. RV world—so like brick and mortar neighborhoods.

We arrived last night (Wednesday, April 19) and “hooked up” (no not like that—think sewer, power and water connections) as the first sprinkles dripped from the fast-moving clouds. It is our 43rd wedding anniversary and more like 44 years since we first did the other kind of hook-up. (Read Balanced on the Edge of the Crowd for the sexy scoop.) Back then, we camped in a 1966 Chevy camper that had the highest tech sound system available—an eight-track tape deck. We had lucked out and borrowed a tape recorder that allowed our entire vinyl collection to come along on the trip. To this day, whenever I hear certain albums, I expect a “click” between tracks on some songs. We now have a wi-fi connection, streaming music, two computers, digital cameras, full kitchen and bath, and thankfully, a motorized awning, which protected us from the soon-to-arrive full-fledged downpour.

Did we despair? Hell no. Weather brings adventure. And miraculously by the time we were ready to cook dinner, the sun came out. Debbie finally arrived, with family in tow, and an animated tale of Bay Area traffic. Apparently, the drive from Sacramento did not go well—bumper-to-bumper throughout. The campground management had finessed the site relocation to everyone’s satisfaction and all parties accepted a cold beer as a peace offering. Conversation turned to laughter as a rainbow crystalized above. I’m thinking, “Now this is a world more suited to my temperament.”

Today (Thursday) welcomes us with such picture perfection that I’m sitting here typing–in the shade, with pooches napping at my feet.

“Good morning,” yells a teenager from the sandy path to the beach. He’s skipping, jumping and waving. His t-shirt matches those of his companions. He has long hair, the other two—buzz cuts. Whatever club or church-group they belong to must be fine. I wave back.

So, what’s the plan? Evolution until we run out of time. Forty+ years ago the songs brought revolution consciousness. Today folks are planning to celebrate the “Summer of Love” as if it’s something only possible in the past tense. Anyway, none of us remember how it was for real—right?  Nostalgia is fine for some, but the past bores me, when there’s so much more to do—especially in today’s political and economic climate.  Back to the Plan—there isn’t one—not really. My guess is that we’ll do, what we do, when we do it, until we can’t do it anymore. Anyway, enjoy the pics of this wonderful place and stay tuned for some fictional reality and poetry down the road.


About the Author:

Elaine Webster writes fiction, creative non-fiction, essays and poetry from her studio in Windsor, California—the heart of Sonoma County Wine County. “It’s easy to be creative surrounded by the beauty of Northern California. We have the best of everything—good wine, food, art, culture and sense of community.”
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