Friday, March 23, 2007
These are links to my other personal blogs:
Deconstructing Elisha , Leaving London 1999
Marooned on Tortola , Becalmed in Marin
In the Land of the Locust , Elisha's Boston Tea Party
Deconstructing Elisha , Leaving London 1999
Marooned on Tortola , Becalmed in Marin
In the Land of the Locust , Elisha's Boston Tea Party
Monday, March 19, 2007
The picturesque City and County of San Francisco
Having lived up to neither my financial nor social expectations, I was eventually forced to consider a change in personal venue. I had at first considered, though for only a brief moment, a relocation to points south, the City of Los Angeles perhaps, as I do have some very good friends and associates in that area, but alas, it's all a bit complicated and I tend to avoid complications when life permits. Thus I looked toward that mysterious land of myth and money north across the 'Gate' to strike out anew and make it mine own.
What wonder-filled adventures or misadventures awaited, I could not say, but surely 'Terra Marin' would play centre stage in my life's next chapter. But where precisely to land my storm-tossed self in that marvellous region? Certainly it must hold a clear view of Pacific Blue but not be priced so dear as to compromise my personal habit of eating regularly. That combination presented me an almost insurmountable problem in social and economic navigation to new lodgings. As in so much of my life, there could be no room for error for I had precious few reserves. Not a single undamaged sheet nor extra ounce of courage remained in my personal stores, though the emotional baggage was burdening me to the waterline.
I took a final sighting on my situation and through the auspices of a friend of a close acquaintance who had once met someone in a bar over in the Castro (essential a young woman searching for a date one Wednesday evening) my landfall in Marin was secured. That dear woman's experience lead me in short order to a very reasonably priced shared living situation located in Muir Beach. I was beside myself with Joy - that actually being her name - Joy. Our relationship was based on timeworn principles: so long as I was able to deliver my portion of the rent promptly the first of every month, I should remain with Joy. My heart was ablaze!
Having lived up to neither my financial nor social expectations, I was eventually forced to consider a change in personal venue. I had at first considered, though for only a brief moment, a relocation to points south, the City of Los Angeles perhaps, as I do have some very good friends and associates in that area, but alas, it's all a bit complicated and I tend to avoid complications when life permits. Thus I looked toward that mysterious land of myth and money north across the 'Gate' to strike out anew and make it mine own.
What wonder-filled adventures or misadventures awaited, I could not say, but surely 'Terra Marin' would play centre stage in my life's next chapter. But where precisely to land my storm-tossed self in that marvellous region? Certainly it must hold a clear view of Pacific Blue but not be priced so dear as to compromise my personal habit of eating regularly. That combination presented me an almost insurmountable problem in social and economic navigation to new lodgings. As in so much of my life, there could be no room for error for I had precious few reserves. Not a single undamaged sheet nor extra ounce of courage remained in my personal stores, though the emotional baggage was burdening me to the waterline.
I took a final sighting on my situation and through the auspices of a friend of a close acquaintance who had once met someone in a bar over in the Castro (essential a young woman searching for a date one Wednesday evening) my landfall in Marin was secured. That dear woman's experience lead me in short order to a very reasonably priced shared living situation located in Muir Beach. I was beside myself with Joy - that actually being her name - Joy. Our relationship was based on timeworn principles: so long as I was able to deliver my portion of the rent promptly the first of every month, I should remain with Joy. My heart was ablaze!
At first glance Muir Beach is an unremarkable and small sleepy ocean-side community in the south and west of Marin. My new home being set somewhat high upon a south-facing verdant hillside overlooking inlet and beach. If it were located in England's Cornwall it should undoubtedly have been called, 'Muir Cove'. Though I must say that 'beach' is much better at conjuring up delightful images of frolicking swimmers and beachcombers seeking shells, rather than rude cadres of 'wreckers' scurrying amongst rocks in hope of retrieving washed up casks of rum.
Not being presently in possession of my own car, I enlisted a good friend's help in ferrying myself, assorted bric-a-brac and other remnants of my life across to new quarters at Muir in Marin. Not much of a burden really, as all I own may readily be packed into garment and shoulder bag along with four pasteboard cartons borrowed from the Safeway. The brief trip was uneventful save for the actual crossing of that beautiful orange-painted span set over the channel opening bay to sea: the true 'Gold Gate'. And what a wondrous experience it was too, having never before managing to cross this scenic portal. Certainly as a metaphor, it was perfect - crossing a new bridge into a new part of ones life is a sobering experience indeed. Would I return again one day? I for one have never felt 'burning' ones old bridges was ever a good idea, though in truth I seldom ever retrace a path once taken.
That first glorious morning in my new lodgings I awoke respectfully late in my new home at Muir Beach only to arise to the panorama of a brilliant blue Pacific set across my very flat screened and ultra high definition bedroom window! I felt certain it was a 'program' I'd gladly turn to in rerun for many a morning to come. Now for my first cup-of and I'd be in heaven.
Joy, my sweet dear sleep-in, though not 'sleep-with' companion would definitely be a new learning experience for me. As our shared lodgings were somewhat space constrained, I decided to take an approach that had worked for me in the past while cruising - that is to say keep overlapping watches short and get out and on deck whenever sea conditions permit. In retrospect this seemed a stroke of genius as Joy turned out to be, for the lack of a better term, a rather complicated proposition. As Joy had already fully occupied both the kitchen and bath with various of her personal morning projects, I felt compelled to manage my escape forthwith. After essentially stealing a quick shower and morning tea, I shot from the residence for a day of personal discovery.
It being Sunday, I was imagining dropping over to a nearby chapel for some morning song and services, but as this was Marin, after all, I decided instead that a stroll down to the beach was more in keeping with the local godless theme. When in Marin...The residence was set betwixt a marginal service road and apparently the communal footpath leading towards the ocean's shore below. Morning 'beaching' would soon become my constitutional. Down and downward the path traced its way to a beckoning sea far below. Finally, as I emerged after what seemed an interminable flight of crudely made and managed steps, there at the end of the path I was greeted by an incredibly low tide revealing a wide and pristine sandy beach. The brilliant and warming sun reaffirmed the correctness of my decision to abandon life in the City. I felt I would definitely enjoy living here.
Ah, yes. This was going to work out perfectly, I was imagining to myself as I stooped for a moment to fetch a thin piece of driftwood for use as my contrived walking stick. I strolled to sit for a moment upon some nearby rocks and remove my sneakers so as to better enjoy the reaches of this very favourable low tide. I had just placed my sneakers upon a rock when I became aware for the first time to the presence of three very hansom young women stretched out upon blankets quite nearby. One was applying sunscreen to another's back and all were gloriously and exquisitely naked.
How provincial I seemed to myself at that particular moment regaled in sand coloured Capri's and linen blouse complete with neck scarf. I was glad I hadn't managed to bring my hat as well. I thought back to my years living on the island of Tortola in the BVI. Yes, visiting tourists very often treated the white sand beaches as clothing optional bathing venues, or at the least, female 'tops' optional, but the indigenous locals never indulged. It was their world and community after all and life as a nude sun worshipper was not one of the career options available to them. In any event, the intensity of the Caribbean sun would have soon rendered such a lifestyle as unmitigated folly, skin-wise. Sun tanned breasts are certainly stylish, but never ever sun burnt, as I learnt from personal experience early on during my stay in Tortola. I usually tend to follow the learning's and customs of the locals, though perhaps only for today I was determined to finish my morning stroll clothed as I was, but the future is always a dubious construct in any event.
As I later discovered, I had emerged on the northward section of Muir with its small resident bathing section unofficially set aside as clothing optional. The rest of the beach area towards the south over and around some rock obstructions was the 'standard' beach attire section where only small children and the odd Labrador Retriever went au naturel. As in my previous home, I would most likely follow the examples of the locals over time.
Playing tag with the incoming surf and tide
I retrieved my sneakers after playing for what seemed the better part of the day with the Pacific Ocean and decided to further my explorations of what would now and for some time to come be my neighbourhood. It became increasingly clear to me just how unique a place Muir Beach actually was. This small enclave of residences was an island of sorts sitting tucked between the Pacific Ocean to the west and the never to be developed uninhabited expanses of the Gold Gate recreation area to the north, east and south. Muir Beach, I imagined, as most American 'communities' , would lack for everything save television and garages. In this I was soon to be pleasantly proved wrong.
My walk away from the beach area followed a small tree-lined road which wound its way through a shaded valley. As I emerged from the wooded area, I came upon a sight I could hardly believe. Suddenly and quite unexpectedly I was met by what for all the world appeared as if it were a misplaced country inn plucked straight from a lane in England's west country. It's exterior of white stucco, slated roof and leaden glass windows mimicked the original to perfection and I was to soon discover its interior was complete with functional pub accurate down to alcove set aside for darts. I had never imagined finding such a delight in this remote corner of California's coastline. I'd have to explore this apparition further for this might surely help make my stay at Muir Beach more civilised to say the least. Obviously this would soon become my own 'public house'.
I returned home a bit latter than I'd anticipated at the start of my day, having lingered at the newly discovered inn. But I managed nevertheless to have encounter enough excessively earnest and ingratiating 'gentlemen' to fill a dance list had I been so inclined, though the majority seemed to my mind more at home in an American 'Denny's' restaurant rather than a lovely English country inn. But of the best, I managed to tease out one whom actually owned his own set of flights to game with me, with the inevitable outcome. I certainly don't shy from darts, though that is not to say that I'm completely incorrigible at such times. However this being the first evening at my new lodgings up the hill, I decided to place my 'final orders' a bit earlier than I otherwise might have done. I can clearly recall their dear but very puzzled faces as I quickly got up to bid them a good evening, retrieve my impromptu walking stick and briskly strode out the door towards home up the hill.
I arrived home just as a brilliant Moon was just beginning to peer above an eastern headland. My heart was once again being filled as it had not since leaving Tortola many months before. I suddenly felt I needed to celebrate the success of my first day in Marin, so returning to my bedroom I oft my beach-combing uniform and immediately began replacing it with the very last remnants of my previous existence in London so many years ago. That perfect little black dress had somehow managed to survive years of storage and transit across seas and continent, as well as the 'incident', and amazing, so had I. In many ways this small and slightly out of style garment carried with it all the happiness and pain my life had accumulated over the many intervening years. I slowly and meticulously dressed myself as if in preparation of meeting someone very dear and for the very last time. It was a personal act well beyond that of lovemaking.
I was just finishing the application of makeup when I suddenly recalled a last bottle of good 1999 California Cabernet I'd set aside some months before for just such an occasion, though in truth, I'd perhaps imagined having had some company to enjoy it with. As Joy had gone out of my home for the evening and none of the gents I'd managed to amuse at the inn were bed-able, least-ways tonight, I'd have to entertain myself and so that's just what I did.
As I opened the vintage it felt like the end of times and perhaps it in many ways it was. I poured a large healthy glassful of the fine vintage and held it up offering a toast to... but to what? Better times? Surely there would be better times. There were always better times. But no. To what then, absent friends? I thought of JJ and the others I'd known in London. I even recalled 'one' from a time even before that. A small tear seemed to well up at the corner of my eyes for a brief moment. No, this toast would be presented by and for myself.
"Here's to you, Elisha!", I spoke aloud to myself, then slowly sipped at the glorious, almost spiritual offering whilst standing at the centre of my small bedroom. It became my universe filled from horizon to horizon with only myself. "You must promise to be good to yourself my sweetest of loves."
I pulled back the lace curtain of my room's Pacific window and realised at last I had arrived at the very edge of the earth. It had taken me oh so very long to arrive at this spot - alone.
Cheers,
Elisha
Not being presently in possession of my own car, I enlisted a good friend's help in ferrying myself, assorted bric-a-brac and other remnants of my life across to new quarters at Muir in Marin. Not much of a burden really, as all I own may readily be packed into garment and shoulder bag along with four pasteboard cartons borrowed from the Safeway. The brief trip was uneventful save for the actual crossing of that beautiful orange-painted span set over the channel opening bay to sea: the true 'Gold Gate'. And what a wondrous experience it was too, having never before managing to cross this scenic portal. Certainly as a metaphor, it was perfect - crossing a new bridge into a new part of ones life is a sobering experience indeed. Would I return again one day? I for one have never felt 'burning' ones old bridges was ever a good idea, though in truth I seldom ever retrace a path once taken.
That first glorious morning in my new lodgings I awoke respectfully late in my new home at Muir Beach only to arise to the panorama of a brilliant blue Pacific set across my very flat screened and ultra high definition bedroom window! I felt certain it was a 'program' I'd gladly turn to in rerun for many a morning to come. Now for my first cup-of and I'd be in heaven.
Joy, my sweet dear sleep-in, though not 'sleep-with' companion would definitely be a new learning experience for me. As our shared lodgings were somewhat space constrained, I decided to take an approach that had worked for me in the past while cruising - that is to say keep overlapping watches short and get out and on deck whenever sea conditions permit. In retrospect this seemed a stroke of genius as Joy turned out to be, for the lack of a better term, a rather complicated proposition. As Joy had already fully occupied both the kitchen and bath with various of her personal morning projects, I felt compelled to manage my escape forthwith. After essentially stealing a quick shower and morning tea, I shot from the residence for a day of personal discovery.
It being Sunday, I was imagining dropping over to a nearby chapel for some morning song and services, but as this was Marin, after all, I decided instead that a stroll down to the beach was more in keeping with the local godless theme. When in Marin...The residence was set betwixt a marginal service road and apparently the communal footpath leading towards the ocean's shore below. Morning 'beaching' would soon become my constitutional. Down and downward the path traced its way to a beckoning sea far below. Finally, as I emerged after what seemed an interminable flight of crudely made and managed steps, there at the end of the path I was greeted by an incredibly low tide revealing a wide and pristine sandy beach. The brilliant and warming sun reaffirmed the correctness of my decision to abandon life in the City. I felt I would definitely enjoy living here.
Ah, yes. This was going to work out perfectly, I was imagining to myself as I stooped for a moment to fetch a thin piece of driftwood for use as my contrived walking stick. I strolled to sit for a moment upon some nearby rocks and remove my sneakers so as to better enjoy the reaches of this very favourable low tide. I had just placed my sneakers upon a rock when I became aware for the first time to the presence of three very hansom young women stretched out upon blankets quite nearby. One was applying sunscreen to another's back and all were gloriously and exquisitely naked.
How provincial I seemed to myself at that particular moment regaled in sand coloured Capri's and linen blouse complete with neck scarf. I was glad I hadn't managed to bring my hat as well. I thought back to my years living on the island of Tortola in the BVI. Yes, visiting tourists very often treated the white sand beaches as clothing optional bathing venues, or at the least, female 'tops' optional, but the indigenous locals never indulged. It was their world and community after all and life as a nude sun worshipper was not one of the career options available to them. In any event, the intensity of the Caribbean sun would have soon rendered such a lifestyle as unmitigated folly, skin-wise. Sun tanned breasts are certainly stylish, but never ever sun burnt, as I learnt from personal experience early on during my stay in Tortola. I usually tend to follow the learning's and customs of the locals, though perhaps only for today I was determined to finish my morning stroll clothed as I was, but the future is always a dubious construct in any event.
As I later discovered, I had emerged on the northward section of Muir with its small resident bathing section unofficially set aside as clothing optional. The rest of the beach area towards the south over and around some rock obstructions was the 'standard' beach attire section where only small children and the odd Labrador Retriever went au naturel. As in my previous home, I would most likely follow the examples of the locals over time.
Playing tag with the incoming surf and tide
I retrieved my sneakers after playing for what seemed the better part of the day with the Pacific Ocean and decided to further my explorations of what would now and for some time to come be my neighbourhood. It became increasingly clear to me just how unique a place Muir Beach actually was. This small enclave of residences was an island of sorts sitting tucked between the Pacific Ocean to the west and the never to be developed uninhabited expanses of the Gold Gate recreation area to the north, east and south. Muir Beach, I imagined, as most American 'communities' , would lack for everything save television and garages. In this I was soon to be pleasantly proved wrong.
My walk away from the beach area followed a small tree-lined road which wound its way through a shaded valley. As I emerged from the wooded area, I came upon a sight I could hardly believe. Suddenly and quite unexpectedly I was met by what for all the world appeared as if it were a misplaced country inn plucked straight from a lane in England's west country. It's exterior of white stucco, slated roof and leaden glass windows mimicked the original to perfection and I was to soon discover its interior was complete with functional pub accurate down to alcove set aside for darts. I had never imagined finding such a delight in this remote corner of California's coastline. I'd have to explore this apparition further for this might surely help make my stay at Muir Beach more civilised to say the least. Obviously this would soon become my own 'public house'.
I returned home a bit latter than I'd anticipated at the start of my day, having lingered at the newly discovered inn. But I managed nevertheless to have encounter enough excessively earnest and ingratiating 'gentlemen' to fill a dance list had I been so inclined, though the majority seemed to my mind more at home in an American 'Denny's' restaurant rather than a lovely English country inn. But of the best, I managed to tease out one whom actually owned his own set of flights to game with me, with the inevitable outcome. I certainly don't shy from darts, though that is not to say that I'm completely incorrigible at such times. However this being the first evening at my new lodgings up the hill, I decided to place my 'final orders' a bit earlier than I otherwise might have done. I can clearly recall their dear but very puzzled faces as I quickly got up to bid them a good evening, retrieve my impromptu walking stick and briskly strode out the door towards home up the hill.
I arrived home just as a brilliant Moon was just beginning to peer above an eastern headland. My heart was once again being filled as it had not since leaving Tortola many months before. I suddenly felt I needed to celebrate the success of my first day in Marin, so returning to my bedroom I oft my beach-combing uniform and immediately began replacing it with the very last remnants of my previous existence in London so many years ago. That perfect little black dress had somehow managed to survive years of storage and transit across seas and continent, as well as the 'incident', and amazing, so had I. In many ways this small and slightly out of style garment carried with it all the happiness and pain my life had accumulated over the many intervening years. I slowly and meticulously dressed myself as if in preparation of meeting someone very dear and for the very last time. It was a personal act well beyond that of lovemaking.
I was just finishing the application of makeup when I suddenly recalled a last bottle of good 1999 California Cabernet I'd set aside some months before for just such an occasion, though in truth, I'd perhaps imagined having had some company to enjoy it with. As Joy had gone out of my home for the evening and none of the gents I'd managed to amuse at the inn were bed-able, least-ways tonight, I'd have to entertain myself and so that's just what I did.
As I opened the vintage it felt like the end of times and perhaps it in many ways it was. I poured a large healthy glassful of the fine vintage and held it up offering a toast to... but to what? Better times? Surely there would be better times. There were always better times. But no. To what then, absent friends? I thought of JJ and the others I'd known in London. I even recalled 'one' from a time even before that. A small tear seemed to well up at the corner of my eyes for a brief moment. No, this toast would be presented by and for myself.
"Here's to you, Elisha!", I spoke aloud to myself, then slowly sipped at the glorious, almost spiritual offering whilst standing at the centre of my small bedroom. It became my universe filled from horizon to horizon with only myself. "You must promise to be good to yourself my sweetest of loves."
I pulled back the lace curtain of my room's Pacific window and realised at last I had arrived at the very edge of the earth. It had taken me oh so very long to arrive at this spot - alone.
Cheers,
Elisha
Thursday, March 15, 2007
You may reach Elisha by e-mail at: elisha.moor@gmail.com
All writings and images © Copyright 2010 by the author, Elisha A. Moor
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