The Half Taco

 

Six months ago yesterday, David and I went out on our first date to our neighborhood CarnicerIa.   We got two plates of tacos to go.   So yesterday we celebrated our Half Taco.  Between my chemo and David's two jobs, including being the new Head Coach of the SRJC Cross Country Team, we did little planning.  My parents took Luna and Olive, we packed up the car with camping gear, and hit the road toward Point Reyes National Seashore.  All of the SF Bay Area beat us to the first-come, first-served camp sites in Marin County so we stepped into plan two: rambling around doing whatever the heck we wanted the rest of the day with the goal of using a whole tank of gas and seeing as many new things as possible.  First destination:  Mount Tamalpais. 

 

I was not up for a long hike but I was determined to get a view.  We scrambled up to a shaded knoll along Mt Tam's crest. The day was so clear that you could see the top of the Golden Gate Bridge peaking above the Marin Headlands, San Francisco, Alcatraz, Sausalito, and all of Oakland and Berkeley across the bay. To the west you could see 100 miles into the Pacific and every sailboat, freighter, and fishing vessel dotting the sea in between us and the horizon.

Next we found our way to Bolinas. This hidden, unincorporated surfing town was built on a spit of land going into the Pacific.  I had read years ago that reclusive locals took down all road signage so as to make it more difficult for outsiders to find their town.  I can see why. The main street street has an eclectic combination of a historic saloon, oyster joint, cafe, community library, grocery and mercantile.  There were lots of friendly, unaccompanied dogs roaming about that clearly new every inch of town and every resident.  We walked to the end of the peninsula were the quiet Bolinas Lagoon meets the roiling Pacific demarcated by a fleet of seasoned surfers of all ages.  The Inn above the Saloon was booked so we headed north on Highway 1. 

In Olema, a few miles from Point Reyes Station, we stumbled upon the most delicious and messiest grilled fish tacos I've ever eaten and sealed our Half Taco anniversary celebration. 

We continued north on Highway 1 and skirted the northeast shore of Tomales Bay.  The sun set producing a spectacular color show, the likes I have never seen since leaving New Mexico.  We stood on Bodega Head as the wind whipped and night fell over the Pacific. 

 

We took Bodega Highway back to Santa Rosa and ate each component of S'Mores one at a time while listening to David's mix CD he made for our adventure.  Now the sixth time played that day, we knew all the words to all of the songs.  And we sang. 

In residency, every day was full.  And although each day was hard, when you got to go to sleep, you went to bed knowing you had really lived that day, even if things went terribly wrong or were frustrating.  I relaize now there was a certain satisfaction in that. And maybe that is what keeps residents going even though as a resident, I remember longing for just one unfull day.  Now I realize that what I really needed was an unplanned day.

David and I went home and pitched the tent in our back yard.  We left the rain fly off so we could see the stars through the meshed ceiling.  Traffic on the 101 whirred in the distance.  We heard someone playing the bongo drums then later a steel guitar somewhere downtown.  A jet flew silently overhead.  A mess of stars glinted above it all.  I remember no day more full of unplanned beauty and laughter.  I can't wait for the Full Taco.