a Thursday report

I went into the water today. I’d missed out the last three days, working with the kids in San Marcos Monday and Tuesday, then understanding there were strong rip currents from big swells rolling into the San Diego beaches. Yesterday I brought my board to the ocean but left it on the sand and waded out to about shin high, standing there like that maybe 20 minutes, staring out at waves forming far from shore and heading in, folding over – some with little barrels like you see in movies (Lindsey Lohan, the end of “Soul Surfer”). I experienced something between a mesmerized state and so consciously filled with gratitude – the way I imagine people feel in church, or an art museum, or maybe being interviewed on “American Bandstand”. You remember those kids – “I gave that wave a 75. You could dance to it.”

Today I ran into Brad on the way down to the beach. He works for the city as a life guard, and this includes him being in a motorized wheel chair. We talked about the water and he said he’d been at it – a life at the water’s edge – so long he could come pretty close to guessing the exact temperature of the water from the feel of the wind blowing in. He said to me, don’t worry, I wouldn’t chicken out from cold or leftover rip current, I’d get wet.

And I did. My rides were mediocre, the waves folding over farther out than my comfort limit, so mostly white water slides and glides. I’m happy I live near the ocean again, who knows know how long I will, and I’m living a fantasy as sort of beach bum, scraggly struggling writer, gypsy child, and worshiper of coffee – especially in to-go cups at Pannikin.

This has been a Thursday report of my personal milieu in Encinitas.