PARK CLOSED ?

So much crap! I think to myself.  I stand on the curb as Ian pulls shit out of the trunk: wetsuit, towels, fins, floaties, gym bags, sunscreen…. “See the chair I brought?” he grins, pointing at another massive unwieldy plastic bag. “Should I bring it?”

            “NO!” I sigh. “We’ve got enough stuff as it is.”

            He shrugs, shifts the wetsuit from one arm to another. Hands me my fins.

            “What about the umbrella?” he gestures toward a large pointy item.

            “NO no no!” I start to laugh.

            “Well, hello there!” An athletic looking middle-aged woman has stopped on the sidewalk and is grinning at me.

            “Do I know you?” I ask. She looks like someone that maybe I’ve swam with? Or I’ve met on one of my walks? She acts like I’m her long-lost lover.

            “No, I don’t think so,” she beams. “You going swimming out in the bay?” Her grin widens if that’s even possible as she turns and gestures toward the choppy grey waters of Keller Cove.

            “Yeah, we’re trying to,” I laugh.

            “I just so admire you! Swimming in the bay. It is so awesome. I live around here and I tell myself I need to do this, too.”
            “Do you swim?” I ask. She does look like a swimmer. But she could be a runner. Or a walker. Or a biker. Or just a skinny old broad.

            “Nah,” she chuckles. “I just get in the water and paddle around.”

            “Well, that’s great,” I say. “Getting in the water is the main thing. I swim with a wetsuit cuz I get so cold, but he…” I point to Ian now overloaded with crap on both arms. … “he swims without one.”

            “I’d just jump in NAKED!” she proclaims, cracking up at herself. “If my neighbors weren’t so goddamn nosy. I’ve had it with this Culture!”

            And with that, she’s off, walking down the sidewalk away from the beach.

            I glance over at Ian. “That was funny. What culture is she talking about?”

            “Oh, the Trump Culture.”

            “How do you know? She didn’t say anything about Trump.”

            “She didn’t have to.”

            “I think it was the Culture of anti-nudity. If there is such a culture. The Culture of Prudes. That could be Trump’s Culture…” I muse aloud as we head down the path to the beach.

            PARK CLOSED

            Due to High Fire Danger

 

A big RED sign sits in the middle of the path to the beach. I pause for one moment, then walk past it, thinking how there couldn’t be fire danger here at the beach. We’ll be in the water!

            Ian doesn’t question our entry into the park. We’ve come too far now to turn back. What with the wrestling of the Wetsuit ‘zip’ for 45 minutes before we even got here. What a hassle. Ian finally was able to get it to work, but the week before I was almost trapped in the wetsuit cuz he couldn’t get it unzipped.

            That woulda been bad.

            So, today, after getting the zip to work and driving here and unloading all the crap out of the car, no way was I gonna let a little park closed signage stop me.

            Besides, there were people down on the beach. Families with little kids screaming in the non-existent waves. Bored couples blasting music from their cell phones. A man and his dog playing fetch.

            They all ignored the sign.

            Ian and I park our stuff under a tree’s shade. It is less crowded than usual. Though this could just be because of the air quality. The smoky air is trapped thickly in the hazy fog that has mostly burned off. Yet, it does smell like Barbequed Chicken.

            We plop down, start to unpack and prepare. It’s quite a process. The wetsuit is the hardest, but once I’ve got it on and Ian has it zipped, we’re home free. I don my cap, and grab my fins and floaty Penelope after applying a thick layer of sunscreen.

            Head down to the shore.

            It’s choppy and salady. The tide isn’t too low, but it’s low enough to expose seaweed tangles. I still have some trepidation around swimming in the bay. Nude Swimmer Woman had asked about the water quality. I’d told her how there’s signage that lets swimmers know the water quality. Today it had been ‘yellow’ ---caution but okay.

            Would I go in the water still if it had been red, hazardous?

            Probably. I do seem to be ignoring red hazard signs today.

            As I start my swim to the pylons, so routine now, I think about the Park Closed sign and wonder if the cops will stroll up and down the little cove handing out citations. This worry doesn’t ruin my swim, but I do think about it. What if we get back to the beach and all the people have left and the cop is just standing next to all of our parked crap with his ticket book out ready to fine us?

            I had a plan of action ready. I was gonna say that the sign said, “Park Closed” not “Bay Closed”!

            How can they close the ocean? Even with COVID, the ocean is still here and people are still swimming and the birds are still flying overhead and the seaweed is still growing.

            The cops can’t close the sea!

            Heading back after making to visit Mr. and Mrs. Cormorant perched atop the pylons, I scan the shore for signs of cops.

            None that I can see. Though I can never see much with the saltwater and sun in my eyes. I do see Mr. Ian though with his neon yellow floaty, Roger, swimming about. Ian is so awesome! Swimming with me twice a week. But he really seems to enjoy it too. Well, who wouldn’t? Unless you get a ticket!

            “Hi Ian!”

            “Hi Carol!”

            “You having fun?”
            “Yeah.”

            We both grin.

            “Ready to head in?”

            “Yeah, I was waiting for you,” he says.

            I love him so much. Waiting for me! How cute is that?

            We drag ourselves out of the sea and stagger back to our towels. A group of Keller Cove swimmers has appeared. These are the serious swimmers! You can tell. No wetsuits. Tan, sturdy open water bodies. They are laughing and greeting each other: “Hey, Dan, what’s up? Haven’t seen you in a while.”

            “Yeah, I’ve been out at China Beach.”

            “How'd you like it?”
“It was great. I had a friend there who showed me the ropes.”
“Awesome!”

            I hunker under my towels, glancing up at a small group of women right in front of me. None of these swimmers were deterred by the Park Closed sign. Or maybe the sign is gone now?
            “How’s the water?” one of them asks me.

                        “It’s great!” I beam. “But I had my wetsuit on.”

                        “Don’t let anyone ever make you feel bad about wearing a wetsuit,” one of them offers. “Everyone is different.”

                        I nod. It’s true. We are all different. And I don’t feel bad about wearing a wetsuit for the reasons they might be thinking. I just envy them their ability to dive into the cold choppy sea free of it.

                        As Ian said later, “That used to be you.”
            And I remember how I used to swim so freely in the outdoors. In the pools. The ocean. No worries about the sun. No anxiety about being outside before 4 pm or after 10 am, like my dermatologist has instructed.

                        Yeah, the melanoma did change my life. But without the indoor pools open because of the pandemic, I’m back to swimming outdoors. I have to swim. It’s who I am.

                        Ian and I pack up again. Tromp back up the path to the car. The Park Closed sign is still there. A family walks right past it, the mom scrolling on her cell phone again after barely giving it a glance.

                        No one cares about the Fire Danger. It just doesn’t make sense here at the beach.

                        COVID is more of a threat.

                        Or those nosy neighbors who won’t let you swim naked in the sea!