I should start by saying that school has only just begun and work hasn’t, so I might have just a wee bit more time in my schedule then is to be expected.  So don’t diss when I say that I started the day off with a hike, then headed to the beach (foggy) to study and capped it all off with a lovely and jovial visit with two dear ever-so-long-ago roommates of mine.  And all I will say about the beach is that the idea was to study there, I was quite chilly, and it was lovely to watch some en masse long-boarding.  (Long-boarding has got to be one of the loveliest water sports.  Though, all water sports sans motors are lovely to me.  The long-boarder scene seems so down to earth, congenial and lacking ego.  Kids, young and old, men and women, round and lean…Good stuff.)  I’m getting ahead of myself though.  

The hike.  Three of us, the RN, the meteorologist and I, headed up to the foothills for a bit of exploring around and the chance to catch some views.  We just drove north a couple miles until we hit the foot of the hills and started walking.  It was not as majestic as the drive into the midst of the San Gabriels, but it was fun in a nostalgic sort of way.  And the smell of oak brush! The scenery was dry and and russet-y and the trail was thin as a sliver.  We got to jump across an intermittent creek here and there, but the best part was scrambling.  

After following a trail that thinned down to about the size of my ankle and grew more questionable as we went along, we turned around to head back.  Now for the record, I think that that questionable trails are some of the best kind.  I don’t mean that I’m looking to add to erosion by tromping along through all of God’s green earth like a mule in a garden, but I just really enjoy my trails not too certain or pretty or sure.  So I was mildly disappointed when our weather woman decided our path was looking more like a precarious wash out than a trail.  But on the way back said hiker suggested we scale this crazy incline of dust and roots to try to check the view from overhead.  Delightful.  Please ask me to scramble up the least accommodating terrains or send me bouldering along a rock face over the incoming tide or send me on any errand that requires any sort of crawling, contortion and grappling about like a raggedy nine year old.  I’d be so pleased to oblige.  So with a combination of dousing ourselves in our kicked up dust, clutching breaking sandstone, and grasping the gnarly oak roots that held what they could of the hillside in place, we made our way up and down the hill.  Did I say delightful already?  

Why go for a run when you can scramble?  Do you think that scrambling could make it into the olympics?  I bet it would be kids favorite sport to watch.  Mine too.  And then when kids came home covered in dirt with rips in their new pants and their hair full of twigs, the could just say “I was training.”  And their parents would be so proud.  

On to more “adult” things.  I had the treat of going out for the evening with old roomies of my early college in SB days.  I don’t think Pam and I had seen each other for at least 10 years.  Nutterbutter.  I’ll just say it was so sweet to sit and laugh about past antics.  We talked about kids and jobs and future pursuits and financial decisions and all that less scrambley more grown-up stuff.  I’m digging both ends of the spectrum.  How cool is it to find old friends in new places.

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