It was a long day.  The Ex requested that I return my kids a few hours later than normal which meant I had time to be flexible with scheduling meals and planning out our day.


This Sunday I was up early before the kids so I made an assortment of breakfasts to greet each one as they stumbled out of the bedroom: leftovers for myself from last night's dinner and for them scrambled eggs and toast served with cut pineapples and grapes.

We got ready and went to the store for I don't remember what but there was still the typical diffused glow of a LA morning that said nothing of the previous day's rain. Mother Nature can be so Hollywood sometimes, quick to change scenes and always looking camera ready. Then it was Laundry Time! (I mention doing laundry a lot - I sort of love doing laundry) as the kids did their homework and when that was done we watched bootleg Invader Zim episodes online, a show I now totally love but loved even more so this downtime with my kids.


With the Dad stuff out of the way we all got a little antsy so I decided to drive as far as we could from my place, straight down Wilshire Blvd while pointing out the various streets my daughter was to run for the LA Marathon.  We drove until the road ended at the cliffs of Santa Monica then with a right turn, a left turn and we veered down California to PCH.  Windows down, music up, we all sang along:
Telephone yapping
foot gas tapping, singing to the radio
Song it’s blasting
chorus lasting, and she doesn’t even know….

It felt like a weekday, traffic light for a Sunday.  We parked on the north side of the Topanga River and walked down a path to where the hill jutted out closest to the shore. Watching my children make their way to the ocean I realized that I've been here on these same rocks before as a kid myself, one long ago vacation away from the Bay Area.

red, blue

Looking over the river outlet on the left was the lifeguard building, para-sailers ahead, and below me was this rock outlined heart:


And below me on the right was this heart:

broken heart

I stood in the middle.

with the wind sculpting my hair into a large, frothy q-tip,
the rocks that break up the beach,
the pockets of sand, the brittle top layer still there, much like hardened chocolate syrup.
Between a whole heart and a broken one





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