Whiskey Was The Word

I won't get into it all, but lets just say last week(end) was not wonderful. Two funerals, a lot of whiskey and some sleep left us exhausted come Sunday evening. We'd driven from Federal Way to Port Angeles following the second service and were eagerly anticipating our dinner date with Angel and Quinton. My mother was in town all week and traveled north with us on Sunday evening. After eating and drinking, we all took a seat in front of Angel's tiny television to watch Invasion! From Planet C for the umpteenth time. And while we drank whiskey and ginger syrup and talked about all the bad things that had happened that week, my mother tucked her self into Angel's refurbished guest room, and somehow slept through all of our silliness.

Monday morning we ate bagels for breakfast before heading west in search of surf. We skipped the first spot in favor of the second, and found two of our friends slipping out of their wetsuits as soon as we arrived. There were waves. Reasonably sized ones. But the tide was too high and the swell was reflecting off a steep shelf, creating that baby-in-a-bathtub effect. We paddled out anywhoo, and found a few fun ones. My mother snapped a some photos, poking her head out the passenger side of Fargo every few minutes as to avoid standing in the rain. We kept it short and sweet, donned the Cloak of Stoke and headed back toward Seattle sooner than I would have wanted. It was a rough week, but a salty dip in the sea made everything feel a bit better.

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