Whenever I am heading down the road en route to the Oregon Coast, I have a deep sense of 'going home'. Strange, really - as I've never lived there... and in fact am quite satisfied with the place I've dug my roots in. But going to the ocean feels like returning to a different sort of place. Something deeper in the recognition I feel when I finally step out of the Jeep and onto the hard packed sand of the Pacific Ocean. That's why I have dubbed this place my 'Touchstone'.

The trek down to the coast was a blur. We were due in Oceanside, near Netarts, around 3:00 p.m. so that I could take pictures of my brother and his bride-to-be before the nuptuals. My poor husband witnessed a wide eyed leadfoot of a wife as I sailed down I-5 South, trying to shave precious minutes off our 7 hour journey. Of course, once I was on the narrow, winding Highway 101 - that proved to be even more frightening!

The usual pleasure I take in seeing familiar sights on the initial drive down was forsaken for pure tunnel vision. I saw nothing but the road ahead of me, and imagined my brother suited up in a tuxedo looking at his watch and wondering when his baby sister was going to arrive, Nikon FM10 in hand. That precise scene came true at about 4:00. With the wedding starting at 5:00 - all we could do was shrug helplessly and decide to take pictures after the ceremony.

With that, we raced the few miles back to the condo that was rented for family so that we could shower and change into our dress clothes. I hardly had time to gape at the gorgeous garden tub centered in the middle of huge windows overlooking an ocean cliff. I had to settle for a quick rinse in the plain shower tucked around the corner - a far cry from relaxing in luxurious sandalwood bubbles and gazing out at the Pacific blue.

At last, we took off for the tiny chapel on the hillside. My brother looked dapper and a bit tense as he was trying to find a CD of acoustic guitar he specifically wrote and played for his bride to walk down the aisle to. Unable to find it, he thrust a camcorder into my hand, showed me where to hit 'play' on the sound system and raced out the door to find the missing music. I was now the official media girl of this little ceremony!

As the clock ticked off the minutes to 5:00 - he finally showed up looking dismayed. He couldn't find the CD. Quick arrangements were made with the pianist to play something else when the bride took center stage... and my brother grabbed his guitar case from a side room. He would still be able to play the other song he wrote for her, accompanied by a singer.

When he snapped open the case, his eyes lit up. There, nestled against the felt beneath the neck of his Gibson Hummingbird - was a shiny silver CD. Cheers all around! Things would go as planned. And then, in a matter of seconds... he slipped the CD into the sound system, queued me up with a nod, and away we went into the ceremony....


To be continued.