Blame the suspicious woman
I’m going to blame the suspicious woman. Little proof, mainly circumstantial, but today suddenly got too bright for comfort, and she was there.
I’d gone over to the laundry shelter, intending to check the state of world affairs on FB, and I’d taken my sunglasses off to see where I was going. Disttracted, sure; that’s not the point. When I returned to the campsite, my sunglasses were gone.
We did the logical thing. Emptied the car. Checked inside the sealed pockets of the luggage. Moved the car, just in case. My niggling feeling that she was responsible remained. And, finally, we headed on down to the big city where replacement shades were available. Turns out that the woman had an accomplice, who might suffer from dementia, and she was probably covering for his habit of setting things down in laundry rooms.
Anyhow, life goes on. Spotted someone with a kayak on wheels. Seems like a practical solution to some problem. I’ll figure it out, soon. We attended the potluck meal and met a professional photographer. Not unlike the rest of us with large camera conditions, except that she gets paid for having fun. Later, we met people that had come here from away, just because.
The ocean has been silent for a day now. I’m worried. Is something wrong? Will the surf return, or am I going to have to plug my ears and listen to the sound of bloodrush?
Still working my way through the Stephenson trilogy, entranced by his yarn of life in the palace of Versailles.
