geezer on a bench

That has been an unstated goal of mine for years -- to be one of those old guys who sits on park benches and worries the pigeons.

I now live somewhere that I could do that as often as I chose, but by the sea rather than in a park. It sounds like an even-better bargain.

Seven years ago when I moved to Barra de Navidad, my doppelgänger Rod told me that each morning he would stroll downtown, buy a coffee, and sit by the ocean sipping his caffeine. His word picture was appealing. I almost retired at Pacific City in Oregon to live such a seaside life. Why not do it here?

It never happened. I usually see the ocean only on my re-enactments of the Bataan Death March. I walk to burn up calories. Stopping to smell the brine simply does not fit that goal.

Even the photographs I take on my walks are the very essence of snapshots. I do not have the time to pause for such technicalities as framing or focus.

Speaking of my revived walking routine, it is going well -- though I have started slipping more miles in each day. It is the curse of being obsessive. But, my intake of calories has been reduced to the essentials, and I am burning them (and their stored relatives) quickly.

My glucose is already in an acceptable range, and, even though my weight loss has plateaued, it will start falling again. As it always does.

The only health issue that has concerned me was my blood pressure. I measure it in the morning and the evening. For weeks, it has been good. Then, four days ago, it jumped. By a lot. And stayed there. I had several theories. I hoped it was a failure of technology, rather than a failure of my circulatory system.

I was concerned enough to go see my doctor yesterday evening. She tested my pressure with her cuff. It was perfect. The problem was my monitor. So, I bought a new one from her.

She had not yet arrived in her office when I first stopped there. I had an hour to kill that I could by either by walking four more miles or by walking down to the jetty to catch up on my reading. To my surprise, I chose sitting on the jetty.

So, there I was, sitting on the pier like some Lancashire geezer enjoying James Joyce's "snot-green sea" in Blackpool. Though I had reduced myself to a literary cliché, I fully enjoyed the experience.

It did not take me long to close up my telephone and simply sit in serenity watching the sea and its moods. The large waves we were experiencing in the morning had been replaced by a less-tempestuous sea, but a rough one caused by strong winds from the west where a couple of storms were launching themselves toward Hawaii.

Some people here enjoy walking to the beach each evening to watch sunsets that could warm any soul. I do not do that. If I walk to the beach, it is part of a much-larger walk.

Having now spent an hour in my role as Geezer on a Bench, I may have to reprise it in the future. Topping it off with a sunset would not be a bad idea.