Margaret and I drove back down to Imperial Beach after lunch.  I wanted to get another picture of the Pier and to drive back to places where I once rode my bike.  Although the beaches north of San Diego are better known, I believe the Imperial Beach area, only a stone’s throw from the Mexican border, is in many ways more beautiful and is a more typical beach community than the northern ones.  There is something about the town closest to the beaches that invites kicking back and letting happen whatever comes.  The surfer statue set in the middle of a couple of other figures seems completely appropriate.  This afternoon there were not many people on the beach or on the pier, but instead of a mood of loneliness over it all, there seemed to be a naturalness and everydayness settling over the place.  The surf was higher here, yet there were no surfers in the water.  A solitary runner made his way up the beach.  A walker whom I saw up near the statues sauntered along under the pier and along the southern section of beach.  We drove across the Tijuana River to Border Field State Park and marveled at the quietness of everything there.  We went down to Imperial Beach on Interstate 5 and back home again from San Ysidro on Interstate 805.  I was pleased to learn that the border with Mexico is exactly ten miles down the road from our apartment. 

I haven’t been back home long enough to check election returns, but I’m hoping Mr. Trump is not going to win.  If he loses the race I will be eager to see if he protests still that the “system” is rigged or if he will concede gracefully.  I will also be eager to see if both he and Mrs. Clinton commit to pulling the country together.