The sound of the surf

This is a topographical map of Hermosa Beach.

See that crumple of hills, a few blocks inland? Well, we live just east of that crumple.

Which is to say there is a hill between us and the beach. It's not much of a hill, according to my Strava the summit is about 90ft above sea level. The walk (or run) is just a couple of minutes up a shaded, woodchip path. And at the top there's a reward in the shape of this view:

From that point the walk to the beach is all downhill, and takes maybe another three minutes.

As a result we do feel that we live close to the beach. It's less than half a mile away. Which is, however, not as close as when we lived 20 miles up the coast in Malibu.

Much as I love the Sugar Cube House, I do miss that deck over the waves, and the fact you could hear the crashing waves of the Pacific throughout the apartment. I guess it spoilt us for life, since anything else just doesn't feel as beachy. We were as 'coastal living' as it's possible to be, without being an actual dolphin.

So when TLOML tells me, with an entirely straight face, that when we have the windows open he can hear the sound of the surf at night, am I to believe him? I don't mean, believe that it is the case - but rather, believe that he really believes it?

Extensive research and personal experience allows me to state with confidence that what he hears from our bedroom in the Sugar Cube is not the sea. I'm guessing the soft sshhusshhing he hears is a combination of the wind in the trees, wildlife in the aloe and ice-plant covered slopes behind the house, and the less poetic hum of distant cars and air conditioning units.

On balance I think it's nicer to live with someone who hears the sound of the ocean, than someone who has been told it can't be so. There's a rhetorical question I've heard posed about marital disputes: 'would you rather be right, or happy?' In this case, I'm going to go with being happy that TLOML is happy - whether or not he is right.