The Year.......

"The older I get, the better I was"
 
A few things that happened the year I was born:

Brazil Beats Czechoslovakia in the World Cup
The Beverly Hillbillies and the Lucy Show began 
Jon Bon Jovi, Demi Moore and Ralph Macchio, amongst others, were born
Gas was 25 cents/gallon
Morning sickness drug thalidomide found to cause birth defects
Phil Knight develops the first Nike running shoe
USS Arizona Memorial Dedication
The Rolling Stones adopt their band name
Nelson Mandela was imprisoned
Danial Inouye elected to the US senate
John Barns elected as Governor of Hawaii
The first Taco Bell opened
Goldfish Crackers go on sale
Jack O'Neil trademarks the term "Surf Shop" (but never enforced it)

The Surfboard Chair

He went to Hawaii for a break from the wretched northern winter.

His girlfriend at the time backed out of the trip: a break-up, so his roommate was glad to go instead.

He took a surf lesson and was entranced by the whole experience: Floating in the Pacific, undulating waves rocking him as he sat on his longboard. He never really caught a wave, but the experience was breathing in him. He wanted to bring something back with him to keep the fire alive, but a proper surfboard would have no purpose in the land-locked never-lands of Fargo

When he finally bought the chair, shaped from an old fiberglass longboard, cut into 3 sections and shaped into an Adirondack-like chair, he could not believe he bought such a great piece of furniture. It was impressive. It was different from all of the other chairs he had seen in North Dakota. He half thought it would unfold itself and reform into its former longboard shape. His friend said, 'that'll look great on your porch!" It was an impressive work of art and functionality

It was packed up and crated back to Fargo. It was too big to fit in the jeep.  In those days,  he could fit everything he owned into his Wrangler, but the surfboard chair changed all of that.

After he married, a year or so later, nothing would fit in the jeep.  He got a bigger car, a new job, children. The surfboard chair moved with him from house to house, state to state. All that moving around took its toll on the surfboard chair. It looked worn: the paint chipped, the point of the nose broke off. It went into the attic of the new house.

Just before the divorce became final, when he was moving to an apartment, his wife said "take this goddamned chair". He put the longboard chair on the porch before he unpacked anything else.

It seemed impressive, almost too big for his apartment. But, it looked good. He could not believe he bought such a great piece of furniture

A Poem: The end of quiet surf session

12/6/2013
The time has come to say goodbye: our satisfaction for the small session is finished. You, who stayed to my left, balding middle aged guy, and you 'goofy-footer,' on my right, though we barely spoke, I feel our kinship.

My bruddah, you were steadfast in passing me your ball of board wax when I needed it. You were gracious in offering me a few waves that you could have taken yourself. Although they were small in size they were large in bliss and contentment.  No surfer can ask for better companions.

The session is over for all 3 of us, as we paddle in. Life's  responsibilities are now to take over. We are leaving behind an unusually empty surf spot.

We will go our separate ways, not a fond embrace, but perhaps a relaxed shaka. It is unlikely we will meet here again, but perhaps, we will: paddling in the sun, the gently rolling swells, catching sweet, soft unhurried waves, glancing at  the Ko'olau mountains in the distance, not completely impeded by the skyline of Honolulu, and in between sets, sitting quietly, saying nothing.

Stoke Atrophy

Modified from Surfer, The Magazine, editorial:


Learning to surf has not always been easy: it is certainly not an automatic, pre-programmed process, at least for me. The stoke ( to wit, i.e. the 'passion') grew from the depths of a previously unknown and uncharted spirit. The paths to the line up have been, and still are, peppered with obstacles and deterrents. If it is not one's own physical health, then it is something else: offshore winds, box jellyfish, low tide and high coral, kona winds, the crowds, and yes even the surfer chicks have chuckled at me. There are times when these encounters can get in the way, and they can gain strength in overcoming one's desire to surf.  My gestalt therapist noted that if one lets them win, those otherwise petty forces can be effective at keeping you on the land

And if that happens, other  pressing responsibilities of life tend to take over: you are not so eager to leave the 1 1/2 hour meeting at work, the broken closet door beckons your attention,  and eventually, riding waves takes a back seat. An otherwise uninteresting colleague invites you golfing, you possibly take on another hobby, you tease the cats more than usual, and then you are not interested in having the puka in your board fixed by Kimo, you are no longer following the used board section on Craigslist searching for the next addition to your quiver. You can talk yourself out of the 3 minute drive to the south shore beach because the tide is too low, and the guys at the line up will just shoot you the stink eye once you paddle out, or without mentioning a word, they will gnash and claw at what's left of  your faith in humanity.

This might be the foundation being laid in the making of surfing becoming a chore-something that you have to do instead of something you want to do. So you take a break, you stop surfing for a little while. After some time, you notice your muscles are a little less toned, they begin to shrink, becoming atrophied, and you start to wither away. Your wife is telling you to go to the doctor, because something must be wrong. You used to surf too much , she would say. Now she's worried that you are not surfing at all! Your once tanned skin is now translucent, your once broad shoulders are now a boney clothes hanger  for your golf shirt to hang loose from, Soon your surf buddies forget about you. They stop calling, the don't invite to surfing or to beach grills. You become a hermit: A lonely, translucent depressed excuse of a human being, depressed, with weak shoulders and a worried wife

 Loosing your will to maintain performance can be disheartening. Even Pope Benedict lost his stoke. But fortunately you are not the Pope,  and one day you day-dream about the reason why you had the stoke.  You tire of your wife's worrisome attention: you know it's not a medical concern. You wake one morning, you enjoy a  rare perfect cup of coffee and decide to stop being a cowardly sniveling self-involved drab of a person and you confront your unworthiness. You're going to paddle out to the line-up and smile at your salty brethren and compete for waves like a surfer should, no matter if the wind is onshore or your muscles are cramping  or you bruise your ribs.

Pass me the pliers, don't crush the cat

We are looking  for someone who can perform as a cat holder-downer while we give our grey cat "Fumo" a full body clipping. Fumo was part of the matrimony package which is all fine and well. I think if he were a guy person, he would probably work as a crusty bartender and wear python skin cowboy boots, but I digress. He is a medium hair domestic who sheds everywhere, everyday, and in every place in our apartment: on the bed, in the kitchen, in the roast potatoes and on the white couch (not ours..it came with the place). Fumo is a rockin cat, but the professional groomer was against the idea on principle. The vet offered to anesthetize him (Katamine), which requires the insertion of a breathing apparatus: too much stress on both the cat and my wife.

Back to the job. You do not need to be a professional cat holder-downer, but having experience will put you on the short-list. It is a two person job.You must obviously dig cats. He does, however, have the potential  to hiss, bite, scratch and/or otherwise maim your hands, forearms, face, and solar plexus. There is no protective equipment, so you are welcome to dress accordingly. I just saw an old style fencing helmet at the Beretania Street Goodwill that I could purchase for your reimbursement.

The job needs to be done in our apartment and we have plenty of saimin noodles, Primo beer and cool music on the stereo. You can bring a friend, but there is not that much beer.

Freaks, weirdos and pure dog lovers need not apply

More kava, please?

Fairly new to surfing in Hawaii, I learned quickly that first, one must get along, then one can play along. Surfing spots can be somewhat territorial, and in my grommet year, I must have been chased away from all of the great south shore spots: Bowls, Rock Piles, Queens, Canoes, Concessions, Straight Outs, Tennis Courts. Hooking up with Kimo and, over the months, gaining a little more well schooled style, has slowly payed off. I still get da stink eye from a few local guys from time to time, but I am no longer being chased out. Persistence has paid off and I've been befriended by a few of the local surfers. While surfing is the driving force, the gathering after the surf session is wholly just as enjoyable.

I used to see these 3 HUGE guys SUPing in the same spot if I made it there by the late afternoon, However, I've missed them lately. To my surprise today they were gathered in the grassy area near where I was hauling in. We starting chatting a bit; They are Samoan; Amosa, Toma and Kalepo. By anyone's standards, these are big 'ol boys, hanging out on da beach, late afternoon, sipping on kava. Kava? To the uninitiated, this a foul-tasting tea. Kava is derived from a pepper tree found in most pacific isles. The Samoans explained, in the past, the root was chewed by boys until it become a mass of mush and saliva, then squeezed through coconut fiber, mixed with water and consumed in one go from a coconut shell. "That's the best way to prepare kava, it's very strong that way, but now the root is ground to a pulp, squeezed through a sock and mixed with water." I am actually okay with not knowing how it is made.

Kava is an intoxicant, usually used as a social lubricant. In younger days of innocent discovery,there were many intoxicants with which to explore. By the time I entered my 30s, however, I had lost contact with friends that would call and ask if I would want to get high and spend the afternoon watching The Wall, again?

The first time I tried kava was a quick trip to Hilo, after a meeting, on the way back to the airport. I had a large glass, served at a small convenience store, with ice. At that time I was told that kava was like an iced coffee, but it may make your lips numb. The taste is pure wretchedness, it is not pleasant. "How wuch wava is too wuch wava?'' I asked, after half a glass. "Wat wady walks wunny". The effect wore off soon, we were on our way back to the airport, somewhat queasy and no longer less than mildly euphoric. I had no idea, as you will discover, that I developed an unfortunate disrespect for its power. Apparently the stuff I had was watered-down swill. Hawaii is not known for producing reputable kava. The good stuff comes from Fiji, Vanuatu, and Tonga although it does not export well. Kava is a digestif in most of the central Pacific islands, saved for gatherings after dinner, passed around in a coconut shell amongst the guests. To true kavaheads, it is best when taken around dusk and into the early evening hours, and one would not be considered rude to wonder off and enjoy the kava on his or her own.

"Take your bowl and find something pleasing to look at".
"Why?"
"Gaze upon the horizon of the Ala Moana south shore, the Pacific ocean, the breakers you've just surfed, it is poetic. Put that image in your mind and down the kava all at once"
"I might throw up"
"Leave that part out of your poetic image"

I downed the 'high tide' (e.g. The big gulp size. The 'Low tide' is a small coconut shell). The sky was streaked with hues of blue and evaporating cumulus clouds, the shades of blue as the pacific expanded in front of me, shades changing as the water shimmered over the coral , then the deeper water of the breakers and well to the horizon.. We spoke idly of work, life in Samoa, Samoan-converted-Mormons playing American college football. I felt injected with a pleasant calmness and contentment with the world, although I think I remember wondering if it was the kava, or just the company, on the south shore beaches of Oahu. Amosa, turned to me: the boyish-faced Polynesian must've weighed in at 300 pound, and simply said "The pacific". It was not a statement, not an opener for further conversation. Just a word describing the present and it hung between us for quite some, until my witty response "yep". Alas, as the conversation faded, I had an unwavering sense that I was heading for departure time. I had lost the urge to speak as did the others, as a sense of mutism wavered in the air. I felt myself becoming as one with all the others. I think a few others had joined the communal sun set ritual. 4 of us or 10, I can't remember but it all seemed the same. I heard Amosa "hmm" and I must have pondered this for quite some time. We breathed the air of the south shore, the ocean, the sand dust: 'Like sands in the hour glass, so are the days of our lives', 'like the ocean in the hourglass..how'd the water get into the hourglass?'

Sitting there with my brothers, the stars and the moon making their first appearance for the evening over the fading shimmering pacific as the sun was setting, I retained a spot of reality, needing to get home. Leg, head, body, too heavy.... to... lift. I am blissfully paralyzed, and resolve to remain recumbent upon the the sands of the hour glass, the sands of time, the sands of the ages for now, and dream.

I actually slept for 45 minutes, and made a quick decent back to earth. When I got home, Laila looked at me inquisitively, with a slight turn of the sternocleidomastoid. I think the effects lingered on until the next morning. I was not hung-over but had a wary sense of a feeling that I traveled a very long distance over many, many years to finally arrive in my apartment.

When is the next high tide?

A wild summer, so far

Suddenly I saw it coming: The biggest most enormous wave I'd ever seen so close from the water. From the moment I saw it coming over the horizon, I knew I'd never make it through the busting closeout. I scratched the water, frantically paddling out to sea with 2 others behind me. The wave walled up all along the reef, darkened the sky as it reached its peak: Not the entire length of bowls, but aimed right at me. It was 'in betweens'. The crest heaved skyward and fell straight down on us, closing out the entire section.

Time stood still for a moment. I thought of how I actually learned to surf at that spot with Kimo. The winter months with calm seas, absent of swells and rogue waves. The nice and inviting 1-2 foot waves, the occasional spotting of a honu. Once I saw a humpback breaching, several times, while launching upon languid waves with occasional comical wipe-outs. Aaron saw me once and we chuckled at my obvious lack of sure-footedness.

And yet, now, there was this wave, this undeniable mass of water. I saw these huge waves heaving from the shore line, before paddling out. Occasionally, there were, what I thought, challenging, but ride-able bowls...Fools rush in where wise men tread lightly.

As I dove off my board, I did not know if I could swim under a wave that big. I swam down as far as I could, my ears hurt as I felt the crest of the wave impact above me. The under ocean grew gray suddenly. The crash was a depth charge sending shock waves through the ocean floor. I thought, how much time before the next beast unleashed itself? I swam to the surface through the white wash of the aftermath. I paddled to shore, my vain endeavor.

Moral of the story: On certain days, one should stay at work.