Zuma Beach

Another day at the beach. The water you see is the Pacific! Daniel, Alwyn, and I went to Zuma Beach, north of Malibu, today, to get out of the heat and into the sand and the sun. When we got there, it was almost crowded, enough to remind me of Crane Beach and Singing Beach. It was 20 degrees cooler than inland, and the wind was high, but in true beach bum style, we set up blankets and umbrella, and I immediately lay down in full sun. Yes, I did spray on sunscreen, this time (my back and shoulders are still peeling from sun two weeks ago in Murphys Diggins pool).  When I came out of the most wonderful sun bath I've had in years, I sat up and the beach was as you see it - completly clear! And cold! Alwyn is wearing a fleece jacket zipped to the chin, while I, hardy soul, have a sweatshirt around my shoulders. We are shaking the sand out the beach blanket and it was a kite, full horizontal. Doesn't my darling daughter look like a movie star? Then supper at Malibu Seafood - Dungeness Crab Salad for me, Alwyn had a squid steak sandwich, and Daniel had snapper - all wonderful but surprisingly the squid won. Earlier in the day, we met Maggi for lunch. I've known Maggi since she and Alwyn were three.


I was so tired last night (still jetlagged from the six hour north-south drive?) that I slept without writing about the wonderful string quartet we saw yesterday afternoon. They played a Mendelssohn that I'd never heard before that was just beautiful, perhaps the most beautiful ending of any quartet ever. Then Beethoven's Quartet No. 7, his last. It was quite short, because, as the program notes said, his publisher didn't want to pay him enough. Okay he said (in perfect German), if they circumcise my ducats, I'll circumcise their quartet. This and the next quartet, the American by Dvorak, are both very familiar to me, and beautifully played. After, we went to The Vegan Plate (gave the Juicy Ladies a miss, sadly - next time for them) for an amazingly wonderful dinner. 


I am living the life of a well-loved princess.