There are still no waves (see above picture of Summerhaven this morning), so I dusted off the bike. I haven't been riding much lately. Too much of my time is engulfed with this whole cookie thing. I talk a lot about it, and make that face like, woe is me, how can I keep up and have a life, but the truth is, my life is cookies and I like it that way at the moment.
I can remember standing in that kitchen in Pasadena, 7400 Hibiscus Street, or was it Way? Anyway, when I was around 15, I liked to stand in the kitchen while cooking and pretend I had my own cooking show. I suppose it is in my blood. I had just started surfing, had access to our old green VW bug now and then... spent hours listening to Canned Heat and The Beatles Sargent Pepper album in my bedroom that used to be a garage, staring at pictures of surfing in worn issues of Surfer, and wondering when I would surf again... and about all the waves that were out there in the world.
Had I known then, that I would surf many great waves around the world, and still be surfing at this age, I probably would have never believed it. I also would not have believed that my mom would die of cancer just short 29 years later.
As I rode along A1A this morning, I decided to just slow down for once. I am entitled to slowing down at this age. My bike computer wasn't working, the dial had faded, needed a new battery, and I thought, screw that, I am just riding for the sake of riding. No need to pressure myself into keeping at a certain average speed, that would only defeat the purpose of enjoying the ride.
I noticed a group of green parakeets, about seven of them, sitting on the telephone wire, and wondered about their life, a life of constant movement and struggle to survive. Right now, though, they were just sitting in the morning sunshine, some of them snuggling into the wings of the one sitting next to them.
Love the one you're with.
I passed Quail Hollow condos, and looked back, like I always do, at that corner condo where mom lived for a few months after her cancer surgery and before she moved to North Carolina. It always fills me full of regret, longing, wishing for those days to return, so that I could have spent more time with her... and less on a business that still runs on without me, that commercial endeavor I would abandon completely only a handful of years after she moved away and then left this earth forever. That was the closest she would ever live to me, and it feels like a squandered the gift.
As I rode along the bridge at Matanzas inlet, straining my eyes to imagine there might be a wave out there that I could ride, no, not even on the tater, I saw a black crow sitting on the bridge rail, oddly hunkered down, staring back at me. It fluttered its wings, daring me to stop and stare so it could take flight and thwart me.
Onward, I went, the July heat not too much a concern, the sun felt good on my skin. My ankle was covered up by my socks, but isn't really looking much better. I am determined to take ALL the antibiotics, this time, after failing to follow though like I always seem to do. Mom always said doctors were prescribing way too many antibiotics, and that we would pay for it one day. That stuck with me. But, I suppose I need to right now if I want to keep my leg. Because without that leg, there will be no more surfing. If the surf ever does return...
What do you think, cousin? Looks like a monster with teeth to me.
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