Bermtopia by the Sea: The 36-Hour Edition

One of the many advantages of being retired is the ability to pick up at a moment's notice for an adventure.

Well, not exactly a moment's notice. . . finding a Ben-friendly hotel in Cannon Beach proved somewhat vexing for my date. And took a couple days. Largely because when the website of said hotel said it was pet-friendly. But wasn't. 

But that's neither here nor there. We found The Guest House Inn and took off with Ben Wednesday for an overnight at the beach, or as Ben calls it, The Place of Noisy Water.

Ben: Sweet. But I won't get my paws wet.

Although Arch Cape is our go-to coastal sweet spot, we landed in Cannon Beach because of the plethora (or so we thought) of dog-friendly hotels that will book one night with you. Of course, it helps it's February -- the lowest of the low season on the Oregon coast  -- and the middle of the week. We packed for a windy, wet overnight trip -- and were rewarded with balmy shirt-sleeve (well, long-sleeve/sweatshirt) weather. 

Fat Bastard and I are having such a time of it, figuring out these mild climes.

Upon arrival, we beat feet to Ecola Seafoods for clam chowder. My date ordered the bread bowl and promptly sent a cell phone pic to the Number Two Son. Simply to torture him.

I ordered a side of pickled herring. Simply to torture my date.

Then on to the Cottage at the Guest House Inn. Just steps from the beach, it's a tidy little place, fully equipped with a serviceable kitchenette, electric fireplace and -- ahem -- the biggest jacuzzi tub I have ever seen. 

In the living room.

Use your imagination. 

*sound of crickets*

On to the beach. You know it's going to be a good walk when this is the first thing you encounter:

Don't tell Ben, but I have an inexplicable obsession with pugs.
This 14-week-old puppy cemented it.

The rest of our walks over the next 36 hours did not disappoint either. Especially a chance encounter with a South Korean choral group who took approximately 8 zillion selfies with Ben. A sweet soprano's voice guided us home Wednesday afternoon.

It's good to be retired.

Bermtopia-by-the-Sea: Chasing sunsets

   

True confession. I nearly burned The Miz's artisan bread on Christmas Eve. I'm pretty sure my daughter-in-law would have forgiven me. I had a good excuse. I was out chasing sunsets.

We are here on the Oregon coast, once again, for the holidays. Yes, I know. It's getting to be kind of a habit, isn't it? A good habit, I'd like to think.

This is my view as I type. 

It's been like this since Monday when we got here. In all the years I've been coming to Arch Cape (and I'm talking 55+), I've never experienced the sun in a December like this on the coast. It's magical.

But back to burning bread and chasing sunsets. . . .

An obvious dividend of these clear, sunny December days is the fact that you actually see the sun set each night.

Each one starts out so differently.

Sometimes with a silvery splash. . .

That keeps getting better. . .

and better. . .

It's hard to know when it's perfect. . . because it's pretty much perfect all the time. That's how I managed to almost incinerate our Christmas Eve bread -- standing out on the lawn, trying to get the most perfect of perfect sunset shots instead of attending to a 475 degree oven.

Last night, the late afternoon sky blazed at first . .

Before settling down and dusting the horizon with a soft, shell-pink ribbons of light. . . 

And in the south, the sky was nearly teal. . .

Until darkness fell. . .

Hushing the waves below us.

Bermtopia-by-the-Sea 2.0: The Thanksgiving Edition

Prologue

Most of the time, the time-space continuum and I generally leave each alone. I basically ignore him, and he's obviously so busy keeping order in the universe that I matter very little. But occasionally, the time-space continuum likes to swing around and slap me upside the head. Like Saturday, when I realized,  "Holy crap, I've got to get organized!"

Because Saturday the time-space continuum was kind enough to remind me of this: We leave for Portland, the Oregon Coast and Thanksgiving in a week. 





Does this have a familiar sound?

Yes, another beach holiday. But with a twist. We're sharing it with the Seattle Poopheads -- my date's sister and her date -- and their (grown) kids! We have houses right across the street from each other.

Seems The Numbers and The Cousins cooked up this plan over karaoke one night. (Surely a few barley pops were involved as well.) And here we are.

There will goofiness and gaiety, hijinks and hilarity, small children and wet dogs, walks on the beach and books by the fire. We could be buffeted by wind and rain, or beach comb in shirtsleeves under the sun (did both last Christmas). We will cook for vegetarians, vegans and Hoovers (Like the vacuum, Hoovers consume all in their path. If you haven't already figured this out, I am a Hoover.). We will be mindful of nut allergies and pretend calories don't exist.

Above all, good food and good company will be the constants in each of our days on the coast.  

But before our coastal adventures begin, I think I should introduce you to the cast of characters. And what characters they are.

At our house, The Retreat, meet:

Really. They could be twin brothers, I swear to god.

My date, of course

My mom, The Mom Unit, also doing business as Gram Ellie. The only difference between Martha and The Mom Unit is that my mom has never worn prison orange.












The Number One Son and his lovely wife The Miz. He's the knucklehead on left, below.

 

The Number 1 and 2 Knuckleheads Sons.

But, someone will be missed this year -- The Number Two Son is off conquering Corporate America in his new job (health insurance!)  as a web developer (health insurance!) in Seattle. As such, he's low man on the totem pole (health insurance!) and couldn't get the time off (health insurance!). Monopoly games just won't be the same without him. 








Across the street, at The Big House, there's

The resemblance is amazing

The Good Doctor and Milady Poophead
















The CeeKavs -- Ms. CeeKav is my niece and one of The Cousins (and you might know Mr. CeeKav from over at Pants on a Raccoon), plus their two kids M and Q, also known as The Critters, pictured here.

Pretty adorable, eh?

and

My other niece, Ms. LMP, and her date, The Rahlinator. They round out The Cousins. Do you think we should give the Divine Ms. L a heads-up that most of us left our Polaroid cameras on the Ark?

And two of our most important guests -- Ben and Sasha! (Sasha is a CeeKav, btw. Did you see the resemblance?).

So there you have it: Bermtopia-by-the-Sea 2.0: Thanksgiving Edition. We'll be sure to write. 

But would you excuse me now? I need to go make a list. My 23rd of the day.

Bermtopia-by-the-Sea: Saying good-bye

December 27

It was inevitable.

It was time to leave Bermtopia-by-the-Sea. Check-out -- 11 a.m.

Arch Cape seemed to know. We woke up to wild winds and driving rain as if the beach was asking, "Do you REALLY want to put up with this?" Despite this, Ben lingered over every rock and piece of drift wood on our morning walk. I think the answer was "Yes."

We'll stay longer next year.

We waited till the very last minute to pack up our brave little Christmas tree, Young Bob Flynn's Christmas gift to our band of merry men (and women).

In between gathering up Christmas presents and dirty socks. . . cleaning out the fridge. . . and fussing with the last loads of laundry and dirty dishes, we each took time to perch on the couch and chairs by the picture window thoughtfully watching the rioting sea.

It was a good Christmas.

And then there was nothing to do. Bags were packed, boxes topped off. I slipped on my coat, grabbed my camera and disappeared down Sally's Alley for one last moment with one of the places I love most in the world.

It was wild -- the wind grabbed rain and white caps and tossed them up like some crazy coastal confetti. And then, the Number 2 Son was standing silently behind me. Moments later, the Number 1 arrived.

We stood, buffeted by wind and rain, for a few moments before the N2S looked over my head to his brother and said with a trademark crooked smile:

"So, what do you think, Robert?" and tipped his head toward the surf.

Our outdoor educator, the N1S, raised his eyebrows, looked toward the sea thoughtfully and grinned.

This would be when they looked toward shore, gave me a wave
and did a full body dunk.

Were there any happier holidays than this?

Drier maybe.

But happier, I think not. We are lucky people.

Bermtopia-by-the Sea: The art of freezing fog and last-minute Christmas shopping

The evening of December 23

Wireless at The Mom Unit's apartment is just a tad temperamental, hence we've been a little tardy with our reports from Bermtopia -- now known as Bermtopia-by-the Sea. But here goes -- a tale of sound and frozen fog, signifying a near riot at the Beaverton Bakery this morning.

But first. I'm sitting at the dining room table at Sally's Ally Retreat, the rain blowing sideways till just 30 minutes ago. Now all is calm. Gingerbread is in the oven. Crab, steamer clams, prawns soon to be consumed. 


The Number 1 and 2 Sons and The Miz have commenced an already fierce Monopoly game. . . 


Number 1: "Body Odor Railroad. . . 200 bones."


Number 2: "When do people start paying me?"


Number 1: Just won 2nd prize in the beauty contest -- ten bucks, baby!


Number 2: Sings the theme from "Reading Rainbow" and announces, "I like the idea of everyone owing me something." My little art major cum web developer.


The Miz: Silently laying low, ready to bring The Numbers to their fiscal knees.


It's so foggy and stormy, we THINK the ocean is out there somewhere.


Heaven.

How we got here:

The Wonderfully Patient Spouse, Ben and I launched ourselves toward Portland about 10:45 a.m. Wednesday, Dec. 21 -- on one of the most spectacular December days I've ever seen in my little corner of The Palouse. Nevertheless, some things never change: When a road trip involves more than 100 miles, our car ends up looking like like Cousin Eddie and Jed Clampett were our trip planners.

Don't ask me why.

Ben was mortified

It was really quite spectacular.

Ritzville, Wash., was a jaw-dropper. Normally, a scratch ticket water stop for us, this quaint little farming town is pretty nondescript most of the year, but a week of freezing fog had the local city park looking like it barely survived Attack of the Christree Tree Flocking Machine.

And just kept getting better.

Ben is a rawther

nervous traveler.

I dig my potty breaks, though.

Thursday and Friday, December 22-23

Nothing strikes more fear in my soul than the four words, "Last-minute Christmas shopping." And, of course, we had some to knock out in Portland. Most went relatively well -- especially when we were in and out of stores before 10 a.m. or  after 8 p.m.

I was feeling pretty good about mankind. Until. 

Until we stopped at Beaverton Bakery to pick up some fresh sour dough bread Friday. Now you would think this would be about the happiest place on earth, given the fact that chocolate and butter are involved in almost every aspect of business. 

It was just a TAD busy.

And out of focus

We all took numbers and waited patiently, watching a delectably fragrant parade of pies, cookies, coffee cakes and dinner rolls go out the door. 

And then. One lady missed hearing her number called. 

When she realized she was about to be relegated to the back of the bread line, she had a little massive holiday meltdown. In front of about 20 of her newest nearest and dearest friends. The lady standing next to me and I exchanged glances, smirked and rolled our eyes.

Meltdown Lady got her cookies. And we all lived happily ever after.

And then the Wonderfully Patient Spouse and I split a delicious breakfast burrito at Shirley's Donuts next door. We watched them make donuts the old-school way. And decided we absolutely needed to split a buttermilk bar. It was still warm.

The end.

Which brings us to Christmas Eve.

I think this pretty much sums it up.

Have yourself a merry little Christmas.