What is it about you and your “coast”? Why must you have “ocean” and perfect weather? Every time I embark on a weekend trip to San Diego or Los Angeles, I wish I could just stay. I would sail on weekends, walk around Santa Monica or Venice Beach (when I found parking… actually, I would just get a bike), and go to lovely coffee shops and restaurants.
But I realize that it’s easy to say how much you love a certain place when you don’t really live there. After living there for a bit, I’m sure I would complain about traffic, parking, hipsters and small dogs. Everyone seems to drive a BMW, so I would have to get one to be accepted by my new circle of friends. And how could I afford that? My life would be too expensive for my own good, and then I would have to live a half life — life on a 50 percent discount, which I would have to purchase with my food stamps.
You know you’re getting old when it’s not as easy to pick up and leave. In Arizona, I’ve gotten comfortable. No job in California could pay me enough to live in the same standard of living I’m used to here in Arizona. And before you think I’m living The Life, I assure you I’m not. But I do live by myself in a cute, old little apartment with tons of charm. I can pay all my bills and have enough to save and enjoy going out with friends. I used to think that cities with higher costs of living paid proportionally better, and while that may be true to some extend, for the most part it isn’t. A while back I was looking for jobs in San Diego, and I was rather surprised to see that in my line of work, respectable jobs paid the same as they did in Phoenix. Even though it costs twice or three times as more to live in SoCal.
A few years ago I picked up and moved from NC to AZ, with nothing more than a trunk-load of stuff. Why can’t I do it again?
While I go try and figure that out, here are a few photos from the Regatta this past weekend. Sail plan: from Marina del Rey to Seal Beach.
Morning fog makes the scenery surreal and beautiful.
We departed Marina del Rey with some fog that eventually cleared, a good breeze and tons of energy — except for Gabe who apparently expended all his making lasagna for the return trip. I was ready for some 2 – 6 – HEAVE. Not that much heaving since setting the three sails is usually aided by a grinder from the pit. I did get to exercise my guns a bit, pew pew pew.
Maura does some grinding. The hardest part is not necessarily the grinding itself (I’m telling you, my guns are here to STAY) but trimming sails requires constant looking up, and I think I developed torticollis in the process.
We got to Long Beach, mingled at the Yacht Club (Oh hay!), and then departed on the long way back to Marina del Rey. The night was cold and windy, with choppy seas. I had a total Cramer moment when the lasagna was done and I had to serve it to my shipmates. There I was in my foul weather gear, trying to hold on to anything while cutting and serving lasagna with a plastic fork, then cleaning up right after, because things can descend into chaos and filth rather quickly on board a ship. It just reminded me of shipboard life, and doing mundane things a little bit differently. I stayed on deck and eventually dozed off. For a second there I though it might be good to have watches, but we don’t organize things quite as well as SEA did, I guess!
Maura and I stayed on the boat in luxurious little cabins (at least compared to the Cramer bunks). The next day I was determined to clean the boat as best as I could, and I must have seemed like a crazy fool to Maura, with my obsessive deck cleaning activities.
Other highlights of the trip include discovering a great little breakfast place, Maxwell’s, and seeing the captain’s 3-year-old little boy at karate class.
I’m hoping to make it down to San Diego for Hot Rum in the fall. In the meantime, I’m back to the desert and everyday adventures such as the never-ending excitement of “where should I get lunch today?” and “happy hour, anyone?”