Tickled Pink with my New View

This is my week for antiquated language.  Here is my tickled-pink story. For you young’uns, tickled pink means you are really, really happy.

OMG! Do I have some news today! For thirteen years next month, I have owned a beach house in Monterey county, at first with my husband, now by myself. It sits just two blocks from Asilomar State Beach and the Pacific Ocean.

The house has always been on the wrong side of the street for an ocean view.  The backyard faces east, so I never thought much about getting a view until one day . . .

. . . my handy woman went up on the flat roof to clean off the pine needles.

“You can see the water from up here,” she said.

No one else had ever been able to see the water from the roof (I, myself have never been on the roof). I remembered that the same time I was getting my large pine tree trimmed last fall, the neighbors across the way were having their forest of Cypress trees trimmed.

Could it be that because of that, the ocean was potentially in view from up above?

I thought about putting a deck up there. But the house is 90 years old, and the foundation wouldn’t be able to handle the extra weight. I talked with my contractor about maybe building a platform with its own foundation. Talk is cheap. Of course I never did it. Too expensive.

Yesterday I noticed that one of my live oak tree volunteers on the north side of my front yard wasn’t looking too good. I decided that it wasn’t getting enough sunlight between the magnolia to the south of it and the wooden fence to the north of it. I decided to trim back part of the magnolia to give the Live Oak volunteer, which now stood ten feet high, more sunlight.

Today, while looking out the master bedroom window, with the Magnolia right outside the west-facing window, I saw it, off to the right, through the neighbors’ trees.

A slice of blue. It wasn’t sky — a deeper blue, the sky more cloudy white. It was . . .


The magnolia branch had blocked it.

Who knew?

I used to write in the dining room. Now I write at a small table with a tall chair, both moved from other parts of the house to the master bedroom. I can type a few words, gaze out the window at the blue ocean, and then resume my writing.

One small change to help a tree, planted by a bird or the wind, to grow. One branch sawed off to reveal the surprise of the decade.

It took a sunny day and some serendipity to get me my million-dollar view, no matter how small it may be.

And it didn’t cost me a penny.

Friday, the 13th is my lucky ocean-view day. I guess I’m not really tickled pink. It’s more a hue of blue.

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