Of Sand, Surf and Freezing One's Bewtox

Before hitting the Dusty Trail toward the beach and MFC (Meliza Family Camp), I had one last

hurrah in civilization with my old friend, Jenn.

Not that Jenn is old. (Please don't kill me, Jenn!) Jenn is not old. Jenn is young. It's just that Jenn and I have known each other for more years than either of us cares to admit to.
Bygones.

Jenn and I met for coffee and a chat and had a generally brilliant time. Because we are awesome like that.
After coffee, Jenn dropped me by Ellen's B & B so I could meet up with my parents for the trip out to the coast. It was a mostly uneventful trip other than the "traffic". Apparently anything more than 3 cars on the road is akin to a traffic jam in the minds of my parents. Though in future this would all become clear to me (as to WHY they considered such minor traffic a "jam"), at that moment I found this hilarious. After all I come from, well, London. And anyone who has wandered the streets of London more than once knows that Portland traffic ain't got nothin' on it. Even the worst traffic jam in Portland history can't hold a candle to an ordinary commute in London.

We managed to make it to Tillamook Head and MFC in time for a quick chat with my cousin, Jerry, and to meet his kids for the first time. We also got the tent set up before the sun went down. Well, the elder generation got the tent set up while Bonnie and I stood there and shook our heads.
It brings to mind the old joke: How many Melizas does it take to put up a tent?