Tag: surfing
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Flowers
“Is she pretty?” asked Rod Stewart. I’d just delivered a spray of dendrobium orchids to him from a fan across the room. We were in Wall Street, a Hollywood night spot I frequented to sell flowers. I shrugged. Beauty is subjective. He asked me to fetch her, so I walked back to the other side…
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Godspeed
“Godspeed,” wrote a friend recently, wishing me well on my journey. Upon reflection, I realized that the speed of god is not my speed. It is the speed at which things actually happen, whether I like it or not. Impatience is a strong suit: she runs me ragged and belittles self-care. Why aren’t you heading south already? Loser! I hate…
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On the Move
Sometimes you want to do something that scares the feces right out of you. All the meditation in the world cannot help Anxiety, who has taken up residence on your left shoulder and is screaming in your ear. You can barely remember what Calm felt like, and yet you really want to do this thing…
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Cruisin’
When I was a teenager, I had a Plymouth Valiant with a slant-six engine, which made it good for drag-racing. Four on the floor, baby. But my best friend liked to cruise. Slowly. I drove us all over our hometown of Santa Monica, as well as farther afield: Hollywood, Malibu, East L.A. We checked out…
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Hurricane John
Some things you don’t get over. Death of an Irish twin is one. Hours of parallel play. Racing snails. Matching cabooses. Peanut butter on toast. Picking huckleberries. Tying towels around our necks after a bath and flying around singing the Batman theme. The flat track for our tiny cars, with the completely satisfying 3-D gas station…
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No Sweat
The enervating heat is breaking, the nights are longer and cooler. The body is more comfortable more often. I tried to acclimate, but a hundred degrees is a hundred degrees. Heatstroke happened, but only once. A more temperate climate beckons, with several months to sail there. New Zealand? A recent tropical storm dumped a bunch…
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Connection
When you connect with the Divine, you connect with All — the words appeared in my brain a few days ago. We’re always connected to the Divine, of course, but I’m not always aware of it. So I’ve been practicing. Soon after, a woman motors a catamaran into a nearby slip — calm, cool, and collected.…
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Nourishment
The frigate bird picks up garbage, hoping it is food. It never is, despite repeated attempts. I do this too, tempted by the supposed soft life of washing machines, easy food access, running water, and electricity. I haven’t left the marina since my aborted attempt more than a month ago. (See “Underpowered.”) I have a…
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An Open Letter to Patronizers
Help me, or don’t help me, but don’t assume you know better than I how to run my life. The decisions are not yours to make. They are mine. The mistakes are mine, the lessons are mine. I welcome your solicited advice and expertise. But Habibi is my boat. You are not allowed to board without my…
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2Loved2BUgly
So, I shaved my head. I look like Steve McQueen. Or a monk. Not a curl in sight. It’s very soft, though, and quite comforting to pet. But Scorn visited quickly. “You are too ugly to be loved,” she said. Fortunately my inner Pollyanna piped up. “No, babe. You are too loved to be ugly,” which made…
essays by shé 