Caleb tried to book us a weekend getaway, thinking we could just get through Los Angeles quickly on a Friday and return Sunday night wiped out. Luckily, the Spectre Dive Boat was booked but could fit us in the following weekend on Friday and Sunday with a possibility of three days if they had a cancellation. We make the reservation and Caleb finds us a room only ten minutes away from the harbor. He packs our dive bags on Monday so that we have all our gear in one place and can charge all the batteries the night before.

Up for a morning walk and I’ll add my 1mm sharkskin top that Caleb gifted me probably two years ago and I have yet to wear to my bag. This is good news though, because it means we’ve only been diving in warmer water. We make sure to grab my hood and thick gloves too – I will need them. We leave the house at 930am and four hours and 200 miles later we arrive at our suite by the sea. We drive to Oxnard State Beach Park to put our feet in the grass, sand, and water.

We walk north up the beach and watch who appears to be a 35-year-old man eat kelp from the tide delivery service because his very grandparent-looking caretakers weren’t paying him any attention or at least not concerned as he wasn’t in the water. The view is nice (not enough to capture too many pictures apparently) but we are more concerned with the flip-flops in our hands, the tiny grains between our toes, the sun on our faces, and the conversation between us. The main reason for the lack of photos is that I left my camera in the car or back in the room.

To protect Caleb’s fair complexion and his tender feet we return south via the delicate sidewalk amongst the million dollar homes; using their shade and slow speed limit to admire corner balconies, shades of blue paint, and tall windows until we’re reunited with the sand and then the grass that will lead us back to the car without blister or sunburn; which is most preferable always, but especially before a dive trip. We shower upon return and I only mention this to bring up the sticky brown goo that accompanied our soles without our awareness.

The lack of wind in my hair has built up an appetite and we will walk to dinner at Toppers Pizza before the evening rush. It’s close, it’s local, and has a good star rating. We are pleasantly surprised by the salad bar; as everyone knows this is where you go to build up your immunity to snot and whatever stickiness is on the hands of the children groping for everything within reach. I’m able to tune this out while actively participating, just like anyone who’s ever stayed at a budget motel, not that the wealthy don’t know how to properly make a room disgusting and possibly condemnable too.

Anywho, I enjoy the convenience of precut vegetables that are sized for my small palate and always the addition of peas compared to the chunkiness that I chop up my carrots or beets or to Caleb’s ability to slice something in half before it’s considered bite size. We then order the poppers stuffed and topped with bacon to go with our chipotle carnitas pizza. There’s something about shredded meat (perhaps more flavor coverage area and tenderness) that adds to the enjoyment of a meal. Our dining experience wouldn’t be complete without people watching – eavesdropping on the old couple, watching the woman eat from the salad bar, and trying to determine what drugs the awkward trio are on.

Walking back to the room after dinner gets me thinking about the art of taking steps – best in the cool morning before a hot day, in the mid afternoon with shade interspersed, and after a meal to aid in digestion; it’s a bonus if you get to return home and smell the cooked aroma afresh. I’m grateful that I haven’t had a bad walking experience. If I’m very cold I walk faster and too hot and I slow down. Even years ago when I was on crutches there was a peace to be found by moving outside and I enjoy that same calm, hand in hand with Caleb now, as we stroll along this quiet street.

With our bodies and bags prepped, we wash our 28 bones and scrub our tongues, before climbing into bed to read the night away. I had just finished reading The World is Flat by Thomas Friedman and brought along an easier read about the Inside of a Dog by Alexandra Horowitz. The former is more about the spread of knowledge and technology to pull people out of poverty, not a misunderstood idea of geodesy. The latter is more about the external habits of dogs that scientist’s can monitor, just like apes and mice, to better understand the species and why owners anthropomorphize these traits.