magazine on a surfboard

Sometime around 2015 I found myself on the North Shore of Oahu, Hawaii. I found myself on a surfboard, in my one and only surfing lesson so far these 75 years.

My surf instructor was a woman named Karen. She was deeply tanned, Hawaii all over, and she hooked me up with a “rash” jersey from the Surf N Sea surf shop, her instructor home. She loaded two boards in the back of her pickup and after a while of on-land instruction we were in the water off Haleiwa Ali’i Beach. The waves were small.

After a couple of tries I crawled up on the board and managed to act and look like a surfer, arms out, all-in, for maybe five seconds. Life is filled with thrills.

But this tale speaks to something else. On the way back to the shop from the beach she needed to make a quick stop, pulled into the dirt driveway of a large rather rickety-looking house she shared with others, and conducted brief business for the magazine. Her magazine.

It turns out my surf instructor was the sole creator and publisher and doer of all things with and for a magazine she had dreamed up, and was making happen. “The Paumalu Press.” We talked a little the rest of the way, and I said I’d like to support her and this love of her North Shore, magazine style. The subscription was $15 and I either paid it then or back on the mainland. I’ve been sending another $15 every once in a while since. It’s sort of a once in a while magazine.

I received the latest copy Saturday. My ongoing connection with a piece of Oahu, USA and Karen and her love for it. It seems to me life gives me, perhaps all of us, way after way to connect with one another. Be with one another. Maybe even be one another. I think it’s an eyes open, paying attention thing. And saying “Yes” to any day’s most interesting invitations.