I spent last night at a friend’s beach house in Manzanita, Oregon. We drove out from Portland yesterday, took a walk on the beach in a wind so bitter it made my Minnesota-raised eyebrows hurt; grabbed juicy, delicious, happy-beef (no hormones, no antibiotics, lots of exercise) burgers at the San Dune Pub that were most unfortunately accompanied by cardboard-like onion rings but most fortunately paired with glasses of chocolately Guinness and eaten next to a roaring fire; and went to bed early. We woke up to big, fat, white Christmas snowflakes droppping like so many bleached feathers from the gray sky. I have never seen waves crashing into snow. It is a marvelous thing to behold.
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