Kind of easier to say than to do when on night shift, but still. We only have four months left on Guam, much of which will be taken up by a Baby Jacoby (!). We spend way too much time staring at the walls of our house.
The dog is depressed because we don’t take him on many walks or hikes. Even the blog is sadly neglected because I rarely feel like I do anything worth writing about anymore. Something has to give.
In an effort to find a change of scenery, a little over a week ago, we ventured out early to watch the sun rise. As we trekked toward the edge of a cliff on the northeastern side of the island to find an unobscured view, some of Guam’s less savory wildlife intercepted us. Two formidably large, large-tusked wild boars stopped on the trail about fifty feet ahead of us and stared us down.
We decided not to take them on.
Several days later, we decided to drag ourselves out to go snorkeling. A series of unfortunate events resulted in one unexpectedly large wave rolling us into the coral reef. The ocean stole my mask, removed one of my fins, and steamrolled one of my thighs into a rock or coral or something. It’s been a week since that adventure. My leg is now various shades of puffy blue, purple, and red.
A couple of days ago, we decided to try the sunrise thing again, this time in another location–a rocky, east-facing beach that promised good views. The weather seemed beautiful and clear except for a few big, puffy clouds that were supposed to make the sunrise brilliantly colorful. We found our spot on the beach and got comfortable on a big rock–no small feat with a 30-week-pregnant belly and a beat-up leg.
Then it started pouring–a thick, soaking shower from a cloud that had looked as innocuous as cotton candy a moment before. We were mostly soaked by the time we ran/waddled to the shelter of the pavilion several yards away.
Such is November on Guam.