TRAIN RIDES, SUNSHINE, AND NOTES

After several weeks of tremendous heat, we have settled down to the mid-70's, foggy mornings, and late sunshine. Today, we took advantage of the wonderful weather, hopped on our local train running from 15 miles inland to the Pacific Ocean, and began our Saturday adventure.

I have just sent off my book to the pubisher, have been working on a cookbook project and have my inspirational newsletter deadline rearing its head, but thought I could take off a day from writing. Is that possible for a writer?

Of course, I have my trusty notebook with me at all times. Right there on the train I had to whip it out to take notes. The man across the aisle, dressed in below-the-knee plaid shorts and San Diego Tee-shrt, speaking and laughing loudly on his cell phone (he was meeting someone named Audrey if he could catch the Coaster (an Oceanside to San Diego train), then they'd go to visit two people in Mercy Hospital, and meet up with someone named Gary for the evening). He called Gary after we heard all of this news.

There was the gray-hair-in-braid used-up hippy who drags his bicycle on our car at a Vista stop, then realizes there is no rack for it, pulls it off, and runs it down the concourse, and in another door door while the security guard held the train for him.

A father comes in with his precious blonde daughter in cute sundress. She is so pale and he is so dark--sun dark, I find myself scribbling guesses at an occupation that would create such a color of skin. Construction? Landscaper? Border Patrol? Or merely surfer?

The beach area was out of this world. Hundreds of people under umbrellas and picnic-table shelters, BBQ's going, soft music playing, sun worshipers on towels, swimmers, and surfers. We walked the long pier, stopping along the way to speak with fishermen.
Out came the notebook again. Mexican fishermen on the surf end of the pier were catching large grouper, using mussels for bait. At the end of the pier, Asian fishermen were catching macherel (using macheral as bait) as fast as they could throw their lines in.

Off in the distance, multi-colored sails on a dozen or more boats scoot across the ocean. And as we walked back down the pier, a brown pelican was seated on a trash can, posing for pictures by cell phone bearers, and waiting for someone to come along with those fish he just loved to swallow. A fisherman came to the rescue and offered him lunch.

You do know this writer also had their camera along, don't you? I have photos of crowds on the beach, fisherman hauling in catch, a fisherman cleaning grouper, sailboats on the horizon, a pelican being fed, and two people who had a wonderful day at the beach.

You don't need to write each day. But you will never not be a writer, wherever you go. That trusty notebook has notes to go along with the photos and the day. Who knows where these characters might appear?