Memorial at the Siren
Memorial at the Siren
The Siren — cafe? Canteen? To me, just known as The Siren — Stinson Beach, CA (NorCal, not to be confused with the SoCal alternative state.)
SoCal isn’t an alternative state — it’s an altered state.
Beach food, surfer kind of paradise, just a few minutes north of San Francisco?
Set at one end of the — this place a Federal Park? National (something) Seashore? Guess so. On the pathway to the Siren, there’s a National Parks badge.
Strangest thing I’ve seen this trip?
Fire Department truck with a Fire Department surfboard. Not sure that beats Texas with cowboys and long boards, or the grocery store that carried longboards — Flour Bluff — but certainly close enough for comfort.
Friday at 6, at the Siren, a celebration of life. The good times, the bad times, the challenges, and the big wins in life. Brilliant stuff.
Did I mention, even against my august Austin tastes, the Siren’s food is well-nigh on excellent?
There’s a hodgepodge of housing at the other end of the beach. A lone — looked like a common enough Red Tail Hawk — glided by, almost eye-level with the housing. Across the way, a single sea gull perched on a thin, tin chimney.
My experience is so eerily similar, in a way, with coastal towns and their ebb and flow, not unlike the tide itself, with maybe a couple of hundred residents during the week, sweeping to the tens of thousands on the weekend, as office workers and other cubists escape whatever hell city life is like.
The small community really rallied, and it got to the point where I met hundreds of people who claimed to be next door neighbors. Cool to see a community like that, and nice to see it rally for a beloved’s departure.
Siren on Friday.
Well, any day is a good day to visit the Siren.
Hat tip to the cardinals, Libra and Capricorn.
