It's Day Five of the great housepainting escapade. Everything I own is either on the deck in piles and boxes or swathed in plastic in the middle of the house. I leave each morning at 8 and return each night at 7 and the crew is still here. They're sanding and patching and taping and priming and they're doing great work at a very good price and yet all I can think is, all this chaos and they expect me to pay them? Yesterday, though, the first colors went up. It seemed like maybe it was going to be OK. Living in a remodel, you get to the point where you can't quite remember why this is all happening, what the point was. It's like being kidnapped, but without the comfort of Stockholm Syndrome.
In the meantime, a few other things have happened. A catamaran owner from Marina del Rey anchored overnight in the Cove, only to discover yesterday morning that the tide had gone out and left his boat stranded on these rocks. Baywatch was called and a group of beach walkers gathered to gawk and lend a hand. As the tide slowly rolled in, the cat lifted. No damage to the hull. Here's Baywatch, towing the lucky sailer safely out to sea.
Also, the New York Times' "Escapes" section touts Oxnard as a thrifty alternative to Malibu. Ummmm, OK.