Letters From The Loft
Stuff From The Desk Of Chuck Thornton
We spent some more time looking at the shops. We stopped by the main souvenir shop in town, but we didn't feel any need to pick up a pen, a pocketknife, a pillow, or a t-shirt with "Morro Bay" printed on it. The shop had a whole section devoted to the classic gag items: whoopee cushions, joy buzzers, squirting lapel flowers, fake vomit, rolling eyeballs, etc. I'm not quite sure why someone would bring back a whoopee cushion as a memento of their stay at Morro Bay, but then again, I'm not an unattended six-year-old with vacation money burning a hole in my pocket. I'm 56 and the fake vomit was a much better deal.
Then we took a drive southward toward the estuary part of the bay. Sue had read about a nature walk through an "Elfin Forest". It all sounded a bit too Worlds of Warcraft for me, but if she wanted to check it out, I supposed I could endure running across some role-players in green tights.
The entrance to the trail was at the end of a residential cul-de-sac. It was one of those self-guided boardwalk trails, with periodic informational signs along the loop. For some reason, the signs wanted me to imagine experiencing this region as a small Chumash Indian girl from hundreds of years ago. I'm not sure how changing my ethnicity and gender helped me appreciate it more, and Sue made me stop mincing my walk after the first 50 yards of the trail, so I experienced most of Elfin Forest as an old fat contemporary white guy.
Here's a couple of pictures just to give you an idea:
The first is an overview of the area... you can see Morro Rock way off in the distance. The second is showing how the boardwalk takes you into the Elfin Forest. No pointy-eared guys or pots of gold here; it's called the Elfin Forest because of the dwarf oaks that populate the area. There's also lots of poison oak, but as long as you've got your healing potion or have accumulated enough health points, you don't have to worry.
When we were done, we were still full from the best fish and chips in the world, so we stopped at the local Foster's Freeze for dessert, where I had the house special: the "Oxymoron" which is basically a Diet Dr. Pepper ice cream float. Then we went back to the room, where we read and relaxed for the remainder of the day.
The neighbors fought again that night, but by now, I wouldn't have been able to sleep if I hadn't heard from them.
DAY FOUR:
It was time to check out. We got all our things packed up and out to the car, then I stopped by the lobby to turn in the keys. The hotel clerk asked how our stay was, and I mentioned the noisy neighbors. The clerk turned pale and I asked her what was wrong. She said, "That room's vacant. We closed it up years ago. No guests have stayed in that room since the Fergusons. They fought; Mr. Ferguson shot Mrs. Ferguson, then killed himself."
No, not really, but I wanted to give this journal a dramatic ending. Reality's a lot more boring: we checked out and had a nice drive back to the land where most Diet Dr. Pepper comes from a bottle or a can.
Since it was a trip celebrating our 34th anniversary, I should say something profound and/or mushy about my wife and our life together so far. But it's tough to say anything that doesn't do a disservice to the way I feel. Because we work together, Sue and I spend very little time apart, yet we haven't yet ended up like the Fergusons. I could say that we are eerily and perfectly suited for each other, and that since I believe in God rather than coincidence, I've got to thank Him for Susan Joy Thornton, the second biggest blessing in my life.
But I won't say anything corny like that. Instead, I'll offer the following picture, taken while Sue was sitting on the hotel room balcony, reading. The sun was getting lower in the sky, and she hadn't brought anything to shade her eyes. So she asked if she could borrow my hat.
This is a picture of the only woman in the world that would be willing to put on that hat while sitting in a spot visible from the street. Is there any doubt that she was made for me?