One week ago today, I experienced perfection in the form of a sandwich. It was a roasted turkey and havarti on wheat, with red onions, dijon mustard, ripe tomato, avocado, cilantro and dark green lettuce. I split this sandwich with my mom. We ate slowly, taking time to put our sandwich halves down between bites to grab fresh pea pods from the plastic bag on the bench. We didn’t talk much, our eyes and minds too full with the view of the pacific ocean, the delight of our perfect lunch and the rare joy of being in each other’s company.
When the food was gone, our trash bagged and discarded pods from the peas gathered for the compost bin back home, we headed down to the beach. Oregon beaches are different than any other I’ve known (and I include both Bali and Hawaii in my beach experiences). They are wide, brimming with living creatures, sparsely populated and absolutely lovely. I stood in three inches of water, my jeans rolled up to my knees, and in that moment, I knew with certainly that I had found my heaven.