DATELINE: November 15, 2020, from Lady Proverbs, somewhere on the Oregon Coast

A King Tide is an extraordinarily high tide that comes only about three days a year on the coast in Oregon. It brings with it tidal surges that don’t follow the normal pattern and progression of the in and out of the tide. These come in fast and powerful, bringing logs and sea debris, and keep going and going. Kind of like a mini tsunami.

As I watched the King Tide just now meet a river at the shoreline, the two waters met and fought each other, a turbulent battle which the ocean seemed to win hands-down. Only an inch of surging water can carry a log so heavy that a machine would have to lift it. People get hurt and killed by rolling logs and surges and smashing waves almost every year on the coast. Sometimes they are never found.

Life, too, has storm surges I’m re-reminded of lately. My siblings and I are the family of logs, tossed about by Dementia Mom and her adventures in Storyland (it could be a new ride at Disney Land for seniors!!). She made it back to memory care place yesterday from her hospital respite, relaxed through the miracle of pharmaceuticals. We’re all somewhat afraid to call the place to see how she’s doing. Her Storyland can sometimes be a Stephen King novel that none of us have the courage to read. Hopefully no broken angel statues against her neighbors doorknobs (who she was saving from something that was bringing harm to that person, unbeknownst to them), or escaping with James Bond like moves through windows, despite being 91 and 117 pounds.

Everyone has periods of turbulence, and it’s our old friend resiliency that helps us get thorough it mostly in one piece (if we’re lucky enough to have some of that), but not necessarily without bumps and bruises. And then there’s the stomach ache that might come with the sturm und drang, or the headache, or eating or drinking or toking or smoking or staying up watching Inside the Actors Studio too late at night on You Tube. I can certainly say that I’m looking for any and all available distractions so I don’t have to keep thinking about the current list of sturms that drang me.

Also thinking that I’m so fucking fat right now that if I don’t do something soon I won’t be able to find myself under all this not-so-pleasingly plumpness. I wish I was one of those marathon, do yoga and run 40 miles every day type women who can still prance around in a thong. Well, not really. But prancing is certainly a goal, hey girls?