Dream On.....

There was little reluctancy to get out of bed as there was promise of waves, though not exactly spry I had come to my wits quickly and began to coordinate an exit strategy. Went down stairs and fired up the old van, she usually stutters a bit before coming to her own much like myself. Popped the lock on the garage and lifted the door open upon the sleeping bundle of water boards lining the walls and piled in the corners. In a selfish way I picked the newest one, the one whom I had not shared a lot of special moments with but sure was hoping I would get to in time. Being a 9'11" I also grabbed another much lighter and smaller craft, the epoxy one with the plywood keels on it in case in fact there was a curling face on the wave. That board and I had been getting along great lately. I picked up my rubbery armor and pungent towel off the floor and shut the door on the rest of the willing sticks. I hobbled back up the stairs to forage for some munchables quickly before I was discovered, I had to escape the lair before she woke up and enticed me with tea and delicious, hot, cooked versions of munchability. If I was caught undoubtedly my resistance would be nill and would therefore delay my departure as well as my arrival time to the place, and all I wanted to do was get to the place......quickly. Unaccosted, I made it back to the van with a handful of fruits and a granola guy in my pocket. Rolling out of my driveway there was always a blurry recollection of the buoy and swell reports i'd read the night before fumbling around in my head and faint, self directed questions and answers like, " I wonder if there's enough tide for....... well, no that's what happened the other day...nahhhhhhhhhhh...but Kev said it looked pretty good yesterday maybe i'll scroll up there'' No matter what these contemplations formulated it was unlikely they would change my routine. A creature of habits loves it's habits and I was most definitely a creature, a tall, lanky, toe headed one at that. Passing under the bridge to the coast highway and leaving the wretched world of 9 to 5's and gridlock lunch break traffic that exists in the opposite direction always gives me a tinge of pride and self reassurance about the pawn I play in the whole thing. My existence played out on a six mile stretch of beach land with no need for a freeway or mega store unless provoked by a broken coffee pot or a flight out of town. I hung a left on the coasty and strolled slowly down the highway through some stop lights, laughing at the usual crusters who are yelling and swaggering about with their 80 0z. seven eleven coffees and mangy dogs. The exercisers were about everywhere, people stirring for foods, funds, and fun emerging from their nests to enjoy this beach haven. I glance over in a moment of serendipity as I see that the front row parking spot is open in front of my joint. I meander in after a few "mornin guys" and "what's happenin duders" with the patio laxers. Grab a cup of my favorite black stuff and pick out the doughnut. The honey one. I love that one. Carina or Cesar usually have something funny to say as they ring up my purchase which is consistantly pennies on the dollar as I have had several come and go stints of employment at the establishment. A couple blocks behind the bistro I can scope the spot, from the north side, intently disassembling the conditions and crudely trying to make what seems like a very important decision -Boneys or not? The tide is high and will be waxing for a little while more and without much swell the choice is not the place. The creaturely habits direct the bus on down the highway to the place where they put that funny looking metal sculpture that kind of looks like a surfer. Yeah that place. Well, I surf there cause I don't know why, today I'll surf there cause I don't know why, I guess it feels comfortable. Oh yeah and I can secretly spy on the Creef making sure its not working really good and if it is I'm a short paddle away. I think the long board thing is the the reason for my sometimes ill searched surf squanderances. When you ride a longboard it always seems fun, you don't worry about if the waves are going to be good. Just paddle out and slide around. Simplifying things has become more and more attractive to me these days, logging dilutes the seriousness of what you're doing out there and how ripping everyone thinks they are. At least in my case I feel some sort of odd satisfaction by being viewed as garish and kooky by all the disillusioned, shortboard riding, red bull hopefuls who jog up and down the beach in between losing their board trying to punt stink bug double grab airs. Then again, my intimate moments of weightlessness in dablings of trim on two foot surf probably gives them as much stoke as driving down to San Diego State for their next communications class. Well, we all live in an evolving summation of what we've seen and what we've experienced first hand, most assumptions and deductions refer to only what we don't fully understand or are not willing to try due to how somethings been marketed and who it's captured to embrace it. My theoretical imbalances are often weighed in the water while waiting for knee to waist high mole hills. I spot an oddly wedging little slant forming across the way and stroke earnestly toward it, somehow innately knowing this is going to be the one wave of the day that will actually have a little bowl. I sweep in left and swing my board drastically to the right, slightly stalling me in the bottom of the crest as I crouch and grab my rail behind me and bring my head close to the face of the wave. The curve of the wave is not like any of the other today, steeper and more taught, I suddenly find myself slyly hiding under a thin roof of water with four feet of board sticking out front of me and a view that will make my day a whole lot better than I thought it was going to be. Squirting out of more of a head dip than anything I coast the wave all the way to the sand honoring it's merit and that fact that I've got to be to work in about fifteen minutes. It's funny walking up the beach looking out to the line up and seeing these tiny little jib waves passing by and knowing just how much stoke you can get from a little conversation with one, it's like being part of a secret club that knows the meaning of life. I slip the log into my vanski once again and barrel down the road another two miles to the job, park in the neighborhood and grab my stuff for the day. I roll through the front door ten minutes late greeted with smiles and "Yeah Stickman, you get some little reelers?" Smiling, I'm just about summon a comedic rebutle when a faintly recongnizable sound begins to overwhelm my senses, growing in intensity........bbbrrrduduDING! bbbrRRDUDUDING! BBBRRUDUDING! My eyes peel open slowly and I reach over for the phone. "Hello?" "Hi Nick it's Chris from oncology at Dr. Conrath's office calling to tell you your appointment tomorrow has been moved to three o clock ok?" "Yeah that's fine" I mumble in haggardness. I hang up the phone and roll over and peer out the foggy window at the bird feeder. It's grey again but the snow is melting, there's a few bird buddies sessioning the feeder but the rest of the world seems asleep. It's cold in my room, always, I sit up and rub my hand over my head where there used to be hair....."I had a dream I was living the dream" I thought. It was just like I remembered.
-Bloggins-