Autumn is here. And although the weather is more likely to cause a bought of heatstroke than to motivate you to slip into a sweater, it makes for a perfect “End of Summer” story.
A walk on the beach at the end of summer is soothing to the soul and to your soles. The feeling of velvety sand squishing between your toes, forming around you heals and up into the arches of your feet, is therapeutic. The smell of saline air cleanses the sinuses, and the sound of waves breaking on the shore puts the mind back into rhythm with nature. Yes, the beach is a refuge for over-stimulated city girls like myself.
I recently joined a group of friends for a bonfire night on Carmel Beach. We hunkered down near the Thirteenth Street access point, in a cove with other bonfire aficionados. We sprawled out our blankets and towels beneath the sunset-smothered sky, threw on some jackets as fingers of fog curled over the horizon, and dug into homemade caprese salad and other equally delicious and decidedly non-bonfire dishes.
It had been nearly 10 years since my last bonfire, which was a much … different … experience. That experience was one that involved too much firewater, and a frightening run-in with Mary Jane. Despite her reputation, Mary Jane did not provide me with hearty laughter or an evening of feasting. Nor did she provide me with the usual spike of ingenious discovery. Instead, our relationship resulted in an evening of chaotic mind-swirl, including an hallucinogenic episode where I had passed on to the netherworld, convinced that witches—who were walking on the waves, oh yes—were summoning me to swim out into the ocean, where my friends would aptly drown me. My then-boyfriend (now hubby), spent the evening trying to console an otherwise illogical mind. Adolescence is full of good self-advice, isn’t it?
Thankfully, this summer’s bonfire escapade took a more mellow approach. We chuckled at the teenagers camping next to us, as they practiced cheer routines and played a surprising mix of music that included both Britney Spears and Queen. We also celebrated a birthday for a friend, and indulged in the pot luck spread.
Night had fallen. The only light that breathed came from the spotty orange glow emitted from bonfires on a pockmarked beach, and from an exhibitionist moon that seemed to take pleasure in “mooning us,” jumping out suddenly from behind a blanket of clouds, then retreating just as unexpectedly. I swear I heard it snicker once while I attempted to take advantage of its temporary glow. In a cruel joke, the mood closed its cloud-cape just as I inadvertently grabbed the dog’s bowl instead, and began to eat out of it. Lucky for me, the pooch was not eating Dog Chow that night.
As the hours got on, and as water and wine filled our bellies (and our bladders), Mother Nature began calling.
Sporting the sexiest 3-way Trident headlamp you’ve ever seen, I trudged through charred-wood-laden sand with a friend, climbed the stairs (which feel steeper when you’re two glasses of wine in), and hiked to the bathrooms. After waiting my turn for the first stall and passing for the next due to the “condition” of it, I cautiously opened the door to the second, and formed a plan of potty attack. My first impression was that outhouse had been under siege by blind, hose-wielding, bandits with full body Tourettes. The odor was so pungent; it lined the walls of your nose with a thick layer of ammonia, one that stayed with you for minutes after you left. The floor was gritty beneath the feet where toilet paper and sand mixed with seawater. Soaked toilet paper lined the toilet seat, the walls dripped with various fluids, and my headlamp provided only a spotlight of illumination, which was probably a saving grace considering the decor. After deciding that the conditions were not sanitary enough to use the seat for its intended purpose, I rolled up my pants, and using the handicap bars, I hoisted myself up onto a platform beside the seat, and, as my friend suggested, I stood and I delivered. It wasn’t my finest moment, but it certainly added texture to an otherwise smooth evening.
Autumn is here, my friends. And, while there may not be many more beach-friendly holidays on the horizon, I look forward to the next bonfire escapade since they seem to provide me with a new story each time.
Bonfires, beaches, and bathrooms: all in a day’s work.
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