Camel, both days. Last Saturday and today.
I’m happy-tired. Let’s see… last Saturday was when my people had all gone off to do their own thing, leaving me with an unusual chunk of obligation-free time. North winds, tiny swell, almost drove away thinking too small to bother, but figured I’d driven all the way there, might as well paddle out. The guys had gone to CC for the weekend, leaving me only the longboard, which I can’t turn. Caught waves though. Like on a conveyor belt. Itsy-bitsy knee-to-waist high waves for hours. First time in ages I’d surfed without having-to-be-somewhere looming over me. Didn’t leave till my legs shook and my arms burned. Heaven.
Today. Scoped out Jetty first and would’ve paddled out there if I’d had a friend to nudge me. Sometimes I ache for a surf buddy. Self-motivated as I can be, once in a while, I long for someone else to take the lead, say, “Hey, Jen, c’mon, let’s go!” I’d parked by SW’s truck and knew if he was on the beach, he’d yell at me. “What the heck are you waiting for?” he’d demand. “Get out there!” I tried to channel that, but the waves weren’t quite all that, the breeze kept blowing onshore and, mostly, I thought about it for too long.
To make up for my own lack of commitment, I decided to grab Nick and haul him up to Camel. Good call! Once again, teensy surf and way too much of a crowd, but his friend was out, several of our friends were out, making for the killer grom session. Very cute. He’s loving the fishy loaner. I should’ve taken off my leash or brought the longboard again. As it was, I caught some fun ones, slid along the glittering waves – sunshiney day warming everything but the water. But the holey wetsuit and old booties let too much chilly Pacific in, stiffening me until I klutzed out. (Like I need something making me klutz out more!) Good times anyway, those two hours of surf. Wildberries on the way home – hooray for dinner specials!
Now the fire’s going and the boy is reading a book (yes, he should be in bed, but I have to check his blood sugar soon and can never demand that any of them put a book down). I’m removing myself from the computer to read my own book: Dreams of My Father by our now-Pres. Barack Obama. I said to my brother:
“I went into it self-consciously, not wanting to let the whole post-election bliss factor color my judgment — and glad it was written years ago when he was hardly known, which I felt would provide a far more intimate look than if he were to write the same story in five years, right? Anyway, it’s brilliant so far. The beauty of the prose sucked me right in, right away. Thoughtful and classy as to be expected — I have great appreciation for writers who are both skilled at the craft and have something meaningful to say. Call me crazy. I don’t read it thinking, ‘Wow, he’s the President!’ I read it thinking, ‘Damn, this guy can tell a story.'”
(Want to know where Obama stands on campaign promises? Keep track here.)