amusedIt started out that I was taking a friend of mine from home on a visit to Patrick's Point, a splendid sandstone-walled beach in Northern California where my family used to go twice a year. The detail was pretty good, a brilliant summer day, lots of people taking the trail down the sandy, brushy cliff to get to the beach itself.
My friend and I were in a hurry and rounded a bend on the path too quickly. She wasn't expecting the sudden switch from path to narrow sand ledge, and slid and started rolling down the cliff. I reached for her and came tumbling after.
It wasn't that far down, and we weren't really hurt at all. We both climbed back onto the path at a lower point and went on towards the beach.
Somewhere on the way was this beach house, very shady and cool inside, and we stopped to rest. I wanted to find the first aid kit, because I'd scraped my knee and torn a bit of skin off the back of one thumb. There were bandages lying out on the table, but I couldn't find antiseptic wipes. I had just reluctantly decided to just flush the wounds with water when the house owner showed up--a petite Asian-American woman. She informed me that her husband was sleeping and the rest of the first aid kit was in the bedroom. If I would wait a bit, she could get it out for me then.
I don't remember the transition bits, but my friend and I did wind up on the beach proper, which is where I met Sam and Al. Al was upset about something (I just watched MIA, go figure), Sam was being very pragmatic about it all, and it all ended up with a weird thing where Al and Sam were both tunnelling through the sand like the sandworms from Dune. Yes, I know, very strange. :-)
Anyway--my dreamlife for your perusal.
