oregon coast

Dear M and A,
Last night I dreamed about those damn hills next to the ocean again. I can't help from wondering if I'm supposed to live in the ocean. Opps. I mean, live near it. Or do I mean, in it? (see mafia threat "She's swimming with the fishes.")
The dream goes like this. I'm driving up and down these unimaginably steep hills. Way worse than San Francisco. They're the kind of hills that mess with my gravity. But I'm breezing up them, mostly. The ocean is raptuous ocean beside me, inhaling everything near it. It's so lovely, I want to swallow it right back.
I stop the car, because the road has ended. Any further, I'm in the sea. I pull the car over and get out. I stand beside the bottom of a cliff, so I'm standing in the ocean, but on top of something, so I'm only wet up to my knees.
I'm waiting for a wave. I know that every once in a while, a large wave will come in and envelop me. I want it to. The wave comes. It drenches me. I wait for another. I don't worry that it will drag me in.
I wait for another. It comes.
Soon my mother has joined me. She says "I'm feeling my age." She asks, "Is there anything for me to hang onto." She hates to miss a party.
I point to a rope that has been joined to the cliff, with intermittenent knots nailed into the slated rock. She holds onto it when the wave comes. And comes again. She looks at each of the waves seriously, as if she has some illusion of controlling them.
When she's ready to leave, she walks, with the rope, back to the road. She stands and watches.
There is no logic to this story only water.
Hope all is well with you,
Amy