From earlier this morning.
Went to Cow’s End for a hearty Christmas Day breakfast: an everything on it bagel with salmon, cream cheese, capers, onions and a tall double-shot latte made with unsweetened coconut milk. With my hunger assuaged and half my cup still full, I strolled down to the Venice Pier to see if anybody I knew was out surfing. Nobody was. But it was gorgeous nonetheless.
The morning air today was suitably crisp for Christmas Day. Chilly but not cold. Warm enough for shorts but not quite ample for just a tee. It’s sunny with blue skies and that seems to bring out the smiles in folks anywhere I’ve ever travelled. And Venice Beach is certainly no exception.
While it used to amuse me as a stage for both edgy and creative characters, today I don’t much appreciate the freak show part of Venice Beach Boardwalk anymore. It seems as if there’s more emphasis on freaks than on showmanship and real talent these days. Or, maybe I’m just being a curmudgeon. So, I tend to mostly hang around the area that has the pier as its epic center.The sound of the ocean has always had a hypnotic effect on me. Especially here. At night, when traffic dies down on Pacific Avenue, I can hear the ocean ever-so vaguely from our apartment. Or, maybe someone is just heavy-handed on their vaping pipe.
I really love falling asleep to the sound of waves as they reach the shore and gently crepitate into silence. I’ll typically doze off somewhere between two waves rolling in.
In my childhood, a few years before my parents broke up, they rented the bottom floor of a two story wooden house right on Malibu Beach. This is back in the late 1960s – long before Malibu became a reservation for today’s abundantly/astronomically wealthy. Anyway, the beach house had a small porch four or five feet above the sand. At high tide, I would sit on the very edge with my feet dangling over, watching the ocean sweep under the house, give the sand a dark hue and leave golden strands of sparkling seaweed wrapped around the porch’s stilts. What a care-free time it was, indeed.
Despite being a metropolis with millions of mostly struggling urbanites, Los Angeles’ beaches tend to be amazingly empty this time of year. Which is just fine by me. Less is more, as the saying goes.