SURFIN' SAFARI SUMMER THREE – DAY THIRTEEN - August 5, 2021


It is Safe Mary with whom I have chosen to lock arms and engage this fruitless struggle.

Last week, she took Anna to her old haunts in downtown L.A.’s Garment District where street jobbers and shopkeepers still remembered her. At day's end she had her brushed and cleaned, and filled with vegetables and fruits. Smiling.

Took her with us to the neurologist and she correctly predicted what the specialist was going to say.

Safe Mary is more than a caregiver. She is a healer with a plan who puts the lie to the notion that someone who loves the patient is the best caregiving option.

Really, what the hell am I doing here?

Well, I AM surfing as much as any teenager and probably having more fun.

This is, obviously, a state of grace that cannot last.

You need a fairly wide alignment of elements to surf the 50 times a year I have been averaging: proximity to water; a car w/rack; board; wetsuit; time, independence.

Health.

In the instant case, Anna's illness means I can be paid by the State of California a living wage to keep an eye on her at home.

Believe it or not, I am a member of Service Employees International Union Local 2015 and have decent benefits.

And the flexible set up – intended as transitional – makes copious surfing possible.

Yesterday, conditions were choppy and windy and not the best, but I caught some waves.

It seems that is how a good surfer is defined.

The top spots are crowded with dudes and dudettes because the ride is an EEEEAZY one.

It is making something out of nothing that manifests skill.

While I did get some rides, I was more content at practicing hand and footwork that had never occurred to me prior.

Increasingly, with age, it is the process more than the ultimate goal that intrigues.

That is 13 outings. Baker's Dozen bound for Blackjack.

Thursday my sister-in-law is supposed to spell me and it was my plan to don armor and take a spot in the line-up at Topanga Beach with men one-third my age.

It can be an intimidating Schoolyard Johnny environment I usually try to defuse with something disarming as I paddle in, such as, “I'm 60!!” to avoid becoming a target as the guy with big hair or whatevers.

Now I have my own carving, cutting style and harbored no intention of giving in a single inch of ocean to those testosterone-besotted beefheads.

But my sister-in-law didn't show.

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