We entered California waters very late last night in the middle of a deep, dense fog.  Nancy was asleep below.

Soon after we crossed the border we were approached by a small rubber boat painted with bright, flourescent flowers.  The man running the outboard had stringy hair and was plainly dressed in faded jeans and an embroidered work shirt, but the lady in the front of the boat was wearing a flowing blue peasant dress and had a wreath of flowers holding her long golden hair in place.

“We don’t have any citrus,” I yelled.

“We’re not here for your fruit,” she answered, softly.  Somehow she was aboard the vessel.  “I’m here to check your aura.”

“My wife is below, sleeping,” I answered, gruffly.  “She needs her sleep.”

“We know of your wife,” the woman answered.  “She is welcome here.”  She took the flowers from her hair.  “Please give her these in the morning.”

I took the flowers and just sat there, bracing myself against the waves and shivering in the fog, while she closed her eyes and waved her arms at me, wiggling her fingers.

“We worry about you,” she said.  “You need to chill.”  Then she handed me a small card, climbed back in her boat, and was gone.  Thinking back, I don’t remember the sound of the outboard.

I found a flashlight and looked at the card.  It was a California medical marijuana card.  Under “Diagnosis”, it said: “Needs to chill.  Inadequate mellow.  Over-extended ambition.”

This morning, as the fog lifts, I can’t find the card or the flowers.  They must be here somewhere.

Anyway, we’re past Cape Blanco and Cape Mendocino.  Both were boring, which is good.  Both were cold and damp, which is better than violently rough, so I’ll try to not complain.

We just missed another whale as big as the boat.  Those guys ought to be more careful.  We’ll stay at sea and continue on south, I think.  Dunno.  Making for Pillar Point or Monterey.

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