officially tradition

A bit late, a brief log of the June visit to Seaside: Eight days, seven nights, twelve women, and one adventurous man. Three dips down to Cannon Beach, one breakfast at Gearhart's bakery, six anchovies flung at the aquarium sea lions, one free pass to the Astoria column, and two stops for road work at the peak of the Astoria bridge. One forgotten novel, a clutter of trashy magazines, one prepped syllabus, and three pages of coloring book filled in. One game of Celebrity, four games of Quiddler, two games of Cards Against Humanity, and one sick celebration for Dumpers the hobo clown. Five long walks in the surf and one glorious bonfire.

On the first true Monday of summer I took the scenic route to meet up with Kriste, my Junior High conspirator and still most reliable meet-up coordinator. While friends and family came and went for a night or a few, Kriste and I spent the whole week two blocks from the beach, in a house across the street from the one we rented last year. The old House of a Thousand Windows had been fine for our first exploration of Seaside, but it left several amenities to be desired. The new Governor's House -- with its open kitchen, double dining room, four bedrooms, three bathrooms, park-like back yard and spacious deck above the garage -- was a major improvement. Most of the week was cloudy, but such a comfortable good time was had that we agreed, regardless of weather forecast, this should be the summer kick-off every year.

Kriste had already well-appointed the kitchen counter and her private downstairs room when I arrived, and as I was unpacking myself into the sprawling master suite, my friend Rebecca appeared with her mom and sister, who set up camp in another upstairs room. They had come from Seattle early that morning and explored Seaside all day, so they were ready for rest, while Kriste and I were ready to get out for greasy snacks on the fondly remembered main drag. As we stepped out the door, my friend Midori pulled up and joined us to stretch our driving legs before even setting foot in the house herself. The short walk to Broadway was warmly familiar -- same casual kids in the street, same wind chime collections and flower pot sculptures in the tumble-down front yards. Dinner at Sam's Cafe was forgettable, but back in the dining room of the Governor's House we had a riotously fun night of games and wine that reached towards 2am. I was asleep without a thought the minute I hit the Cal-King bed in my huge room. 

I came downstairs Tuesday morning to find a note that Rebecca and family had already gone, back to Seattle with mom feeling a touch of the flu. Midori was battling a migraine and Kriste was out for a run. I sipped my tea and dug into the stack of US magazines on the coffee table, lounging in the quiet sun-buttered living room and then on the shady upper deck until mid-afternoon. Midori joined me for the first beach walk, and though I missed the meditation so memorable from last year's solo walks, I loved learning more about my scientist colleague as we zigzagged through the tide, examining the jelly blobs that multiplied at its uneven edge. There were a few frolicking mutts to dodge, but the beach was mostly ours. It was breezy but still warm as we sat in the sand for a couple hours, trading work grumbles and aspirations, before going back to see what Kriste was up to. Very little, it turned out -- it was a typical first whole vacation day of low-key recovery and recognition. We made a vegetarian taco bar and watched JoJo dump Vinny on the Bachelorette, and were all back in bed around 10pm.

Neither intoxicated nor exhausted now, I found that my master suite was actually cavernous, creek-y, and full of macabre prospects. There were nowhere near enough warm bodies in the big house to feel fortified or snug. I slept eventually, but not well, and woke relieved on Wednesday that my step-mom Cheryl was on the way. I knew she would sleep in the giant bed with me. 

While Midori wrestled with post-migraine sickness that morning, Kriste and I drove a few miles down the 101 to Cannon Beach. The main street was a chain of charming shops with seagull statues on their porch railings and barrels bursting with happy hydrangeas in blue, pink, lavender, chartreuse. The vibe was notably more refined and full of itself than Seaside, but we were happy to window shop, and ultimately acquired coffee, jewelry, a rain jacket, and two bottles of gin and rum from the Cannon Beach Distillery.

Midori was still asleep when we returned, and Kriste's mom, Penny, arrived close behind us, so we put her bag in the other bedroom and took her on a beach walk. I detoured back to the house ahead of them to wait for Cheryl, who showed up minutes before my sister, Katie, who showed up minutes before Kriste and her mom came back. By the time all five of us were gathered in the kitchen, reuniting in overlapped chatter like a swarm of hummingbirds, Midori was roused and ready to join us for dinner. We walked down Eucalyptus-lined Columbia Street to the Osprey Cafe where a patient, easygoing waitress served us each a customized pub meal. I was delighted by the threads strung across the randomly-gathered women at our big round table, all relocated to the PNW from Southern Cal, some surprised to find they knew the same high school teachers or the same nonprofit board directors.

Katie was spending her first two nights of the trip at a hotel on Broadway for an educator's conference, so she returned to her work group after dinner. The rest of us gathered in the dining room for a Quiddler lesson. Although the game stretched on and on when old friends and distracted drinkers were playing, it was a favorite right away. Midori rebounded and the mom's were sass-tastic. When we turned in around midnight, I got not only Cheryl protecting me in the cavernous suite, but Midori in the big bed with us for a delirious giggly hour, too.

On Thursday after a long morning coffee refills, movie reviews, and more reminiscing in the living room, Penny took us all to lunch at Pelican Brewing in Cannon Beach, and then she continued home to Corvalis from there. The remaining four of us went back to Seaside and pondered the riddle of a certain purloined coat for much too long. Cheryl and I walked the gray beach and got sprinkled on, sad that the weather was not right for a bonfire (with all my gourmet s'mores fixins languishing on the counter) but still so grateful to be at the ocean. As evening descended and highway traffic presumably thinned, Midori reluctantly hit the road, and then (again) there were three. We set out a smorgasbord of leftovers, dealt some more Quiddler, and called it another early night, with Cheryl-slumber-party-talk rocking me to sleep.    

Friday morning the three of us drove in two cars up to Gearhart, in search of the unparalleled pastries we had found on our way home last year. After missing the turn in the drizzle and doubling back, Cheryl and I pulled up beside Kriste and dashed for the bell-tinkled door. It was not as busy in the bakery as it had been before, and the assortment in the glass case seemed more sparse and much less marvelous. We squished around a table inside instead of sprawling at a sunny sidewalk one. But in spite of, duh, never being able to recapture an exact first magic, it was nice to sit across the table from my oldest friend again in this small spot, and to watch the group of teenage girls in soccer shorts and rainbow headbands appropriate the table across the room, their sure summer laughter an echo of our own common origins.

After the last crumbs of the scones, Cheryl hugged us tight and went back home to Bend, and Kriste and I went back to the Governor's house, very much at home. Katie showed up around noon and we hung out with a bottle of wine in the cloud-covered backyard. Then she had a marathon phone call with her best friend followed by a very long nap, while I worked on my summer class syllabus. Around happy hour I whipped up another fancy snack buffet so when Kriste's pals Sue Ann and Beth showed up, we naturally gathered around the party table. I was introduced to Dumpers, the terrifying clown doll with whom those Corvalis girls play cards and contemplate portraits. It was something like Dumpers' birthday, and there were presents, and I was not allowed to look away. Katie emerged from her nap after dark, disoriented, but quickly warmed to Dumpers' company. We were in for the night, as it was still too damp on the beach for the bonfire. As a card game spooled out I monitored my phone for updates from Phil, who had, to my astonished glee, left work in Seattle at 7pm and headed for Seaside. Just before midnight he showed up, a fine rooster in the henhouse, and we welcomed him with another hour of play before one-by-one each hen retired. How lucky I was to have my most favorite person now sheltering me in the big bed.

In the morning everybody took off on their own exploring. Phil wanted to see Cannon Beach, so down the road we went, this time to see the actual beach, and take some pictures of Haystack Rock from the windy cliffs above. When we got back to the house mid-day we found Katie on the deck reading magazines and the others girls gabbing on the lawn chairs in the yard. The sun was spreading fully across the sky for the first time. Phil suited up for a cruise on his bike and I walked along beside him down the promenade. There was a Volleyball tournament on the beach and it was suddenly teeming with people. Dance music thumped from stereos and the feisty breeze stirred sand into everyone's speakers. We toured through the neighborhood north of Broadway and talked about the low-key possibilities of relocating there, wondering where -- and then whether -- the residents we saw on the sidewalks might make a living.

Around five Phil and I got cleaned up, even a bit dressed up relative to the rest of the trip, and walked with Katie to a great sushi place just past the canal. Kriste and Sue Ann joined us about an hour later and we left them to the second shift -- we were determined to do the bonfire tonight. Back at the house, Katherine had arrived, hungry, so we directed her to the sushi and then packed up bundles of wood and the s'mores cache. Beth was wary of the wind and stayed in the living room contentedly reading, while Katie, Phil and I went down to the beach. Indeed, staring a fire was no small feat. Three other groups had already claimed the best spots, but we found a sheltering log high on the sand and got to work. A pyramid of kindling was precisely arranged, lighters were cupped, gods were petitioned. I held a flapping blanket between the wood pile and the sea; Katie craned on her stomach with her hair full of sand, fighting for the tiny sparks of flame. A condescending dude approached and offered us the roaring fire he was about to abandon, and I mistakenly abandoned my family to claim it. Once I interpreted their reprimanding gestures from across the sand, I returned to them and remembered my roll of paper towels. For another ten minutes wads of it were madly shoved into the pyramid's core, and then, finally, we were cooking.   

But at the rate the wind was burning through, we knew we'd need more wood soon, so Katie and I retrieved the rest of our bundles from the Governor's yard and trudged the two blocks back with them. Phil had nurtured a blaze to be proud of, and Kriste and Sue Ann joined us just in time for the week's best sunset. The mile-wide tide was awash with gold and the water felt warm. Even with the wind-swept sand burying blankets and tipping cans of champagne, it was a wonderful evening. After the s'mores, Phil threw some enchanted powder into the fire, turning the flames to rainbow, and Katie played Elvis and Kenny Rogers on her phone. When the wood ran out we packed our trash home and regrouped in the dining room to show Phil Quiddler. It was a late night again, and the fullest house yet with seven happy souls.

Sunday I snuck out in the dawn and at last took my solitary walk along the misty morning shore. After coffee and a muffin, Phil left for Seattle with the sun again pushing through the clouds. It was a whirlwind excursion for him, but I was so glad for it, and now would enjoy a day with just my sister. Sue Ann and Beth departed around noon and Kriste was knackered, so Katie and I went to the aquarium, fed the sea lions, got Broadway ice cream cones, and drove to the movie theater to see Finding Dori. That night we taught Kriste and Katherine the Celebrity game and made our best effort to empty the fridge with a final snack dinner. I went out to see one more amethyst-shirred sunset over the vast gray ocean, and returned to a Project Runway binge. Right on pattern, it was another early night, and I got Katie to stay in the big bed with me.

The next morning the last four of us packed up, checked all the drawers and took out the trash, and went to breakfast at the Pig 'n' Pancake, which was clearly a key piece of Seaside tradition. Then we  got in our four cars and drove away in opposite directions. The quiet Monday made no spectacle of our departure, and I liked it that way. We had made ourselves regulars now. I knew at least two, and hopefully many more, of us would be back next June to welcome summer, old adventures and new.