two postcards from the Surf Motel

towards the park

A home away from home, looking out to the Strait of Juan de Fuca, where the lights of Port Angeles twinkle in the distance. Where Ogden Point breakwater angles into the sea. Where we had dinner at nearby Heron Rock Bistro and came back in the darkness to a room evocative of Patti Page, who stayed in this motel in the 1960s and no doubt enjoyed, as we enjoy, the pink-tiled bathroom, the neat squares of black and white tiles on the kitchenette and bathroom floors, and where time does not exactly stand still but finds its own sweet rhythm. And where maybe she hummed, getting ready for bed, the old song she sang so well:

I remember the night and the Tennessee Waltz
Now I know just how much I have lost
Yes, I lost my little darling the night they were playing
The beautiful Tennessee Waltz

towards cape flattery