I always wear shoes and socks on the beach. Because I hate to touch the sand.


You remember how that Surf Punks song goes? You had on pink neon pants when you sang it and white ray bans. Oh yes you did. Shout along with Otterpop, now. My beach my chicks my waves go home go home. You know all the words.


It’s summer now, and the beaches have actual people that want to come down and use them. Imagine that. Too crowded for me when it’s more than one person including me. Everyone butts heads. We only like the beach when we can’t see actual people on it, or they are very few and far between.


Our other beach, besides rangers, has the yearling seal lions washing up to die. They’re starving, is all anyone can figure out. Sad, starving baby seals sharing the beach. Someone said it’s the global warming. Someone else said El Nino coming. Ruby and Otterpop, good about leaving them alone. We always turn around when we see the babies, and lately we switched beaches completely to one that doesn’t seem to be a baby death beach. Has the most winter big seal carcasses, but has been strangely free of any babies, just a few miles further south.


Breaks my heart to see the pups. Who are starving and shriveling and too tired to swim and just want to come up, lay on the sand, then maybe die. Not ready for the, all, “Hi! Hi! Hi! Hi! Hi! Hi! Hi! Hi! Hi!” of the manic cheerful of Gustavo and the seal watchers. Just want to be there and see no one. No dogs. No strolling ladies. No kids with buckets. No field trips. No sand castles. No volleyball. No joggers. No One.


Just need a little peace, whether not it’s for living or dying.