wash my feet in the waves


The heat has broken and thank god for that. I’m currently celebrating the thermometer dipping back down in the 90s by not being a miserable bitch, not getting sweaty-faced forehead zits, not eating cold sandwiches for every single meal, not being forced to go to the grossest spot on the grossest river just because it was close—desperately seeking heat relief in brown, toddler-infested waters. Diapers floating by. Ugh.

You see, I’m more of an 80s girl, temperature-wise.


In other news, Lady Coulon and I drove out to the ocean yesterday where it was a breezy 70 and the sky was azure. First stop, Cannon Beach. Streets packed with sheet-white tourist (fanny packs, floppy hats etc) and the driving was slow going. Arrived at the skatepark, did our thing for about a half hour until we were asked to leave by a pimple-faced ranger on a bike due to our lack of helmets. On to Seaside, more skating, then a long meandering walk on the beach (a concession to our third passenger, Noot). It was all kites, crashing waves, and families of the obese roasting in the sand. Next came lunch at a corner café: a beer and a giant salad with artichoke hearts. Then: a relaxing drive back into the hot haze of Portland.


Ok, so in fact there was a bit of coastal fog, just on the beach, though.