Finally Friday!

by Pa Rock
Weary Traveler

The wedding is history now, and Nick boarded the plane home this morning - so my life is becoming my own again. I didn't want to let this week end without memorializing a couple of other things that happened during the week of Molly and Scott's wedding.

The only descendant of mine who wasn't in San Diego was my grandson, Boone. He stayed in West Plains, MO, and had a big Thanksgiving dinner at his Grandmother Margaret's house. I did talk to Boone a couple of times on the phone during the week. He is into heavy-duty reading - things like the novels of Stephen King. That is fairly amazing for a nine-year-old fourth grader! I will see Boone next weekend when we all meet in Noel to watch my Dad serve as Grand Marshall of the Christmas Parade.

Molly and Scott's wedding was on a very public beach, and, not surprisingly, life on the beach kept right on happening even with the solemn event occurring at the center of the maelstrom. One notable competing event was a game of beach paddle ball that worked its way right up to the edge of our little group. I guess that we didn't bother them because they never quit playing! Then a company-sized unit of young military men ran by in formation heading north along the beach. They were wearing shorts, t-shirts, and military footwear. Ten minutes after that a similar group ran by headed south. It was hard to tell if they were the same unit or not, but if it was, they had lost their shirts. My guess is that they were marines, and running on the sand was preparation for Iraq. But whoever and whatever, they are now a part of the history of Molly and Scott's wedding!

My Dad's older brother, Wayne Macy, died of leukemia in San Diego in 1956 at the age of thirty-five. He is buried in a military cemetery on a beautiful piece of land that juts out into the Pacific just north of Coronado, a place that we could see clearly from the beach. His widow and daughter were at the wedding. So Wayne Macy was a part of the wedding also.

My Dad is too old to travel - or at least he thinks he is, so he stayed in Missouri and did not attend. I called him from the reception and he was able to visit with the happy bride, her brothers, and my Aunt Mary and Cousin Janet. So he, too, was a minor character in the wedding.

After the reception I wanted to make sure that my kids had the opportunity to visit among themselves and to talk with other people there who are important in their lives. To get out of the way, I drove to Imperial Beach, ostensibly to see the new sixteen-foot statue of a surfer that was unveiled on the beach this week.

I got to the beach community shortly before the sun set. I drove down the same streets that I had walked last May, taking note of the yard full of roses that had resulted in my making a new friend during my last visit. I stopped at several different beach access points, but never did find the statue. I did sit on the rocks until well after dark watching some surfers riding the waves. A storm was blowing in off the ocean, probably making their waves better, and definitely bringing a welcoming calm to my life. I guess that I had forgotten just how wonderful the solitude of the ocean could be.

Peace is the ocean soothing a beach in the moonlight - and if lightening is dancing across the dark horizon, that's all the better!