I roll out of bed and look out the window to measure the surf and the placid or not so placid state of the bay. Yesterday it was choppy, and I half expect it to be choppy today. Ah, but it looks smooth. I exchange pajamas for clothes and head to the shore for a closer look. Smooth water and waves coming in sets of the perfect size. I run back.
The nature and design of a winter wetsuit is to fit tight...tight like a second skin and this morning it is tighter than usual. Ooops. I struggle to pull up the back zipper but it doesn't want to budge. Wiggling, writhing with finesse, finally it swooshes into place. Nice.
I find the paddle and head for the garage to retrieve the surf kayak untouched since last fall. The struggle is to place the kayak just right on the kayak caddy. I mentally run through all the positions it needs to fit right. I turn the wheel with the stopper in front and slide the kayak into place expecting it to slide off like it always does. But it doesn't, so certainly it will when I pull it up the slope of the underground garage. It stays put.
Surely it will slide off as I go over the bumps in the sidewalk. Nope. My muscles are still relaxed when I reach the beach stairs. The kayak slides into the sand. I put the caddy, my flip flops and keys under a rock and tug the kayak into the water. Usually the waves fight me from the beginning, but my timing is in between; I glide the kayak behind me, then thrust it forward and jump in like a Baywatch actress half my age. I make it easily past the baby waves and I'm off. No burn worries as the sun is hidden by thick summer cover. I paddle past surfers on this fabulous, windless, May morning. I turn to watch surfers take a wave from the backside. It's like watching a play from backstage.
I paddle my usual length of ocean then turn to paddle the other direction, but in between, a wave is forming that seems just right. I paddle hard, catch it, ride its length to blissful satisfaction. It bumps me to the shore, and once again, I hop out Baywatch style, glide it back, whip over a few sets of waves then paddle the other direction.
When I've gone far enough, I turn around to play in the waves. Three rides into the shore later, not wanting to risk first day soreness, I'm satisfied.
I can hardly believe the fortune of my morning. It was a perfect day. Wave size, convenience, weather. How did I get so lucky? How does it all come together? Did the universe wake up and say, "Everyone in Southern California gets a lucky break." Or did the stars and the planetary bodies align just so? Or, after every 362 days of war, famine, and heartache, someone gets a perfect day? Was it my turn? Did someone draw my number? Did my father arrange for this?
Just three days earlier I was given some magic beans containing the secret to life. The secret is, to awake every morning, pull back the curtains and exclaim, "This is just the kind of day I was waiting for!!!
That people bring energy, change energy, even destroy energy by attitude and actions is irrefutable. That I may have the power to determine the perfect day by exclaiming "This is just the kind of day I was waiting for!!!"might be irrefutable too.
I am willing to try and find out, for the perfect day may only come from within.
The nature and design of a winter wetsuit is to fit tight...tight like a second skin and this morning it is tighter than usual. Ooops. I struggle to pull up the back zipper but it doesn't want to budge. Wiggling, writhing with finesse, finally it swooshes into place. Nice.
I find the paddle and head for the garage to retrieve the surf kayak untouched since last fall. The struggle is to place the kayak just right on the kayak caddy. I mentally run through all the positions it needs to fit right. I turn the wheel with the stopper in front and slide the kayak into place expecting it to slide off like it always does. But it doesn't, so certainly it will when I pull it up the slope of the underground garage. It stays put.
Surely it will slide off as I go over the bumps in the sidewalk. Nope. My muscles are still relaxed when I reach the beach stairs. The kayak slides into the sand. I put the caddy, my flip flops and keys under a rock and tug the kayak into the water. Usually the waves fight me from the beginning, but my timing is in between; I glide the kayak behind me, then thrust it forward and jump in like a Baywatch actress half my age. I make it easily past the baby waves and I'm off. No burn worries as the sun is hidden by thick summer cover. I paddle past surfers on this fabulous, windless, May morning. I turn to watch surfers take a wave from the backside. It's like watching a play from backstage.
I paddle my usual length of ocean then turn to paddle the other direction, but in between, a wave is forming that seems just right. I paddle hard, catch it, ride its length to blissful satisfaction. It bumps me to the shore, and once again, I hop out Baywatch style, glide it back, whip over a few sets of waves then paddle the other direction.
When I've gone far enough, I turn around to play in the waves. Three rides into the shore later, not wanting to risk first day soreness, I'm satisfied.
I can hardly believe the fortune of my morning. It was a perfect day. Wave size, convenience, weather. How did I get so lucky? How does it all come together? Did the universe wake up and say, "Everyone in Southern California gets a lucky break." Or did the stars and the planetary bodies align just so? Or, after every 362 days of war, famine, and heartache, someone gets a perfect day? Was it my turn? Did someone draw my number? Did my father arrange for this?
Just three days earlier I was given some magic beans containing the secret to life. The secret is, to awake every morning, pull back the curtains and exclaim, "This is just the kind of day I was waiting for!!!
That people bring energy, change energy, even destroy energy by attitude and actions is irrefutable. That I may have the power to determine the perfect day by exclaiming "This is just the kind of day I was waiting for!!!"might be irrefutable too.
I am willing to try and find out, for the perfect day may only come from within.
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