Ride or Dive?

*Disclaimer: I am not a surfer, so don’t use this as a surfing lesson. ..and that is NOT me — YET!

As I watched the surfers in Hawaii, I wondered, “how do they decide whether to ride the wave or dive into it”?  Sometimes they see the swell, paddle like hell, and just when you think they should stand up and shout, “COWABUNGA”, they dive right into the smooth underbelly of the wave and live to see another day.  Other times, they stand up, yell “COWABUNGA” and ride it like they own it.  “I’M KING OF THE WORLD”.

All right, I’ve never heard them actually yell “COWAGUNGA” or “I’M KING OF THE WORLD”, but I know they are saying something in their heads.  Probably some combination of swear words about your momma.  

“Cowabunga” is for baby boarders, or never-boarders, like me. . . It’s probably a “no” on the “King of the World” shout out as well.

But, I digress.

The real question is, do you ride it or dive?  Daily, if I have the sense and wherewithall, I will ask myself, “Ride it or dive, Heather, which will it be”?   If I am particularly ballsy, I will ride.  It is crazy scary up there, but very exhilarating and worth the risk.  If the wave is too big for a rookie like me, I will dive and avoid the bodily and/or mental harm.  Sometimes I see people that have chosen to ride, when they most certainly should have dove.  (Is that a word – dove?)

Obviously, I am not talking about surfing.  There are sharks out there, for God’s sake.  And swimming is required.  I’ve never seen a surfer with water wings.  That would be shameful.  Even the sharks would be embarrassed for me.  They might just eat me out of pity for the other surfers.

I am talking about daily forks in the road.  Left or right.  Yes or no.  Ride or dive?

Should I go ahead with my latest invention plan?  I have a couple in my head.  I’ve been diving, not riding.  But, after my last birthday when the scales have started tipping toward the latter part of my life, I’m thinking I need to start riding that wave.

Should I get involved in my daughter’s latest friend issue?  Seems like an obvious dive, but I am inclined to ride.  Only a crazy person would ride.  I justify my meddling with the fact I believe that I have so much I can tell her that would help.  But, most times she doesn’t listen.  If I ride, I am sure to be eaten by a shark.  (The sharks, they are always circling in my world.)  Or worse, face her when my advice goes wrong.  If I paddle like hell, then dive, it won’t be worth the energy I exert. In the end, it’s her wave; I think I have to let her have it.  No diving or riding, just watching.

So, there it is -- a third choice. One that has taken me many years to discover and embrace.  Keep my place in the water. Quietly paddle. Watch, breathe, wait. Some waves need to be claimed by someone else while some waves are neither yours nor someone else’s.  They are just waves.  Either way, there is no action required on my part, except to still myself. Breathe. This approach is very tough for me, but often the wisest. Those that do this might be the best surfers, the ones that let some waves pass by.  Even paddle out of the way, to avoid it.  When I am all grown up, I want to be that kind of surfer. One that knows when it is time to float on the board and enjoy the wave as it passes by. And maybe even learn a thing or two from more experienced surfers.

I’ve heard they have some very attractive water wings these days. I’m goin’ in! COWAGUNGA!

Smooth operator

Do you know that person who is so socially smooth that you are sure they have never said or done anything awkward? 

I hate them.

That is a little strong, I know, but how about throwing the girl a bone?  I have had some moments in my life that are so lame they make me laugh every time I think about them.

The Neighbor Incident:  I was talking to a friend in the street,  yucking it up (cuz that’s “what I do”), when a new neighbor approached us and introduced himself. Things were going well, we were having a normal exchange.  And then it turned on me. 

As he was leaving, he said something like "see you later". 

So I yell out (so he can clearly hear me), "Nice to meet me". 

Why? My friend and I were stunned. What had I done? “Nice to meet ME?”
The guy turns to look at me.  What can he say?  There is nothing to say.  Eleven (11) years later, the neighbor still lives there. I think he might avoid me, but I am unsure. What I know for sure is that was the first and last conversation we ever had.

Clearly, someone has to move.

The Hot Dad Incident:  I am in my house, looking mighty fine (NOT), and taking care of my lunatic puppy.  She just had spay surgery and I had made this funky dog suit  (aka “dogatard”) for her so she couldn't get to the stitches and pull them out. She was secured behind a gate, but still very visible. The doorbell rang; I was expecting a parent to come and pick up a child. Low and behold when I opened the door, I was surprised to find a fairly, (ok very) attractive dad.  I reflexively realize I have clown hair and my new friend can see my dogatard- wearing-puppy.

No, I am not weird, really.

Again, the interaction started out normal – good looking dad vs crazy clown hair Home Brau.  No big deal.  I can roll with this.  I am married.  It’s all good.  And then he noticed the dog. I lost all sense. I started to explain, then blushed, then I'm not sure what happened. But I started talking. Words came tumbling out in a very irregular cadence.

"I made that for my dog. She just got,...had…surgery. You know....so she won't have puppies.....because ..that is....what...I do...".

What the hell? "That is what I do?" I make dogatards?  I have surgery so I won’t have puppies?  What?

There was no way to save myself. He just stood there and stared at me and I stared at him. Please, I would go to hell right then.  Into the fires.  Anywhere else would have been better. But I was trapped by the kid that wouldn’t come down the stairs.  Tick..tick..tick..  Face is blazing red like a fireball.  It is unknown how much time passed – something near to eternity.  Finally, the kid comes downstairs.  Out. Out. Out you go.  I smile at them.

Bye bye now crazy lady!

Humiliated, I shut the door behind them. 

Thank you God for helping me to stay married, because if I were single, I would not have a chance in hell.

Grocery Store Fumble:  I am in Hawaii. What could go wrong?  It is sunny and I’m on vacation.  Hakuna Matata (sounds Hawaiian?).

I go to the store to buy stuff – like you do when you need some stuff.  And you have to buy it.  So, I am at the refrigerated milk section.  As I get my milk and I turn to let the door shut, someone bumps right into me.  I look up to see a very buff and tan guy.  Good Morning Doctor! 

Of course, he says, “Oh excuse me.” 

And I reply, “Oh, Siri”. 

Siri?  Seriously?  I guess that is my game. My lame game.  I cannot think of anything to cover my inane outburst, so I sort of mumble something (who the hell knows what), and scurry off to find my daughter.  As I run away, I think to my crazy self, “maybe he thinks I am from another land”.  Right, what land says, “Siri” instead of “Sorry”?  Crazyland, that is what they call that other land.

I am not saying these incidents are common, nor will I say they are uncommon in my life.  What I do know is that they can happen at anytime anywhere.  All three of these occurred in the presence of men.  Curious.  I am not dating, nor looking to date.  I am married and plan to stay that way.  So, if you see me on the street, and you are a man looking for a good laugh, stop and say, “hello”.  Watch and see what you get.  Chances are, I won’t merely say “hello” back. I’m a smooth operator and that is what…I …do.  

Two thumbs up,  Susan Boyle!
(Another example of a smoothly awkward woman)

A Cougar from Another Mother

A couple nights ago when I was taking my dog out for her last potty break of the night, I heard an owl hoot. Very cool, right? I know. We also have raccoons, deer, bear, coyotes but the latest addition is a cougar. (Not the kind that uses lipstick and lots of hairspray. This cougar doesn't  take off her animal print when she drags her "prey" to her den).  I have seen all of the former and thank you God, not the latter. Never a real live jogger-eating-cougar.

WTH?

How's a girl supposed to go running? That's exactly what I was thinking too! That is why I haven't been running in 3 weeks. That, and I don't want to.

 But let's focus on the important thing. The cougar.

The dirty little devil

You could die if you are running and a cougar attacks. Seriously. Die.

While at my birthday lunch, I asked my very physically fit friend if she was afraid of the cougar. She isn't. That is just another reason she is physically fit and I am not. That, and she does want to exercise.

She suggested I tie a piece of meat to me as I run. I'm not entirely sure why, because obviously I couldn't outrun a cougar and I would die. Seriously. Die. Maybe she is just jealous of my slovenly ways and she wants me gone. I don't really know - we were drinking champagne at the time, so there may be more to that story than I can remember. It's a little confusing.  Maybe we were talking about Lady Gaga.  Anyway, the meat shirt seemed right out.

When the cougar was sighted in a nearby neighborhood, my friend’s husband was going all Elmer Fudd.  Come out of your hole, you cowardwy cat.  (He didn't go hunting, but I can appreciate the sentiment.)  

When I told my husband about the cougar and that the reason I couldn't fit in my clothes was due to the cougar sighting, he just raised his eyebrows and said, "huh".  That's it. No big deal. Just a cougar in the back yard. He did ask questions like, "What's for dinner? Did you call that guy about the sprinkler?"  I guess possible cougar sightings take a back seat to all the lives he saved at work, his stomach and nicely watered grass.  The neighborhood cougar did not make the cut. 
He did suggest that I could run on the treadmill. 

Really? Like that would solve the problem.

He obviously has forgotten the cautionary tale of Jungle Book.  Mowgli was in great danger until he met Baloo. I need a Baloo. Or an Elmer Fudd.  But, these are all cartoon animals.  This cougar is “realz” (as my daughter would say). Maybe Mr. Spock/Husband of Mine is right.  I could run on the treadmill.  That is not illogical only painful because that would equal exercise – the animal I really want to avoid.

Tonight it is all quiet outside. No owls hooting or raccoons fighting. Just my dog, my meat shirt and me. And, oh yeah, a cougar who is out there somewhere that I am dying to meat.

Don't be distracted by the blue steel pose—looking like he is just gazing at the sky.
No, that is not what is happening.
He's using cougar reverse psychology.
Still NOT your friend-wants to eat eat eat you.

Birthday Remorse

Yesterday was my birthday.  It was a happy occasion -- as long as I didn’t think about the age thing.

I got the say in everything.  What to eat, where to go, and I got to do whatever I wanted and it was all      A-OK.  And, you can issue all kinds of proclamations; so what if they expire at midnight.  I thank my family for that.  That is how we do birthdays.

But, I was so busy having a birthday that I forgot to relax.  Now it’s over.   I don’t want to wait for a whole year for that kind of control again.

I could ask for a birthday redux, but, frankly, I think I exhausted my husband (not like that!!) and he is not going to go for my plan. And, what if he asks for the same when it is his birthday?

I could run away from home and relax, but who would do the laundry?  I think the dog would miss me too.

I am sad with my hand propping up my head.

And my hair stylist is sick today.

See how sad this is?

Maui Waui

Some things I liked and miss about Maui: 

-The hot Hawaiian dudes who climb the coconut trees at the luaus. It's a little phallic and that is weird since he is a dude. But I like him because he can, not because he did. Oh and those muscles are really quite something.

Possible Joke:  Why did the Hawaiian guy climb the coconut tree?  Who cares?  I just know that I was there and witnessed it.   

Jeez Oh Pete, somebody ring the alarm.

-My balcony with a cup of coffee in the morning. There aren't any Hawaiian dudes hanging out in the trees outside of it, but it is lovely nonetheless.  

-The little girl at the pool,  who says to her older sister as she jumps in the water,  "I'm a mermaid with 2 legs".

-Sunrise.

-Sunset.

-Sunrise.

-Sunset.

My balcony, in the afternoon,  with a mai tai mixed fresh by my loving husband.  Sorry Hawaiian dudes, I've got my own stuff going on now.

-When a certain person in my life says, "I can't go in there (Safeway), I don't have enough clothes on".   Whaaaat?   Did I hear that right?  That came out of her mouth and not mine? And that is how the "princess" became the 'hoochie momma" for a day.  This all leads back to the fact she had to hike up her shirt and fold down her shorts so her hip henna tattoo would dry, while we walked about shopping in Lahaina. Ha! Gotta love this world I live in – a lesson which was not taught by mean old me but by the evil stares of other women!  Thank you, prudish mean ladies of Front St., your work here is done.

-The giant Hawaiian guy playing the baby guitar.  (I know it is a ukulele, but I like to call it a baby guitar because that is what it looks like.)

 -The couple making-out like fiends in an alcove in Lahaina. In the daytime.  You don't usually see this degree of “love” unless there is very bad music accompanying it and you have to pay $13.99 to see it.  But they had The Cheeseburger in Paradise musician unknowingly singing them on.  Good on you, sex crazed couple.  I’m pretty sure that they too were the recipients of some of the same evil stares that were directed at “hoochie momma”.

-Leoda's Pies.  OMG!  I have died and gone to Maui.  (fyi: Maui = Heaven)  Do NOT drive by this place - you must stop and eat pie.  No one has died in the making of these pies, except me! I'm drooling a little as I type this.   

-My family in Hawaii on vacation. They are fun and I love them. (You too, Son. Sorry you couldn't be there with us. But I know you are trying to make something of yourself at your La-Dee-Da University. Yeah, yeah. Go Huskies. But this Coug WAS IN MAUI looking at the coconut trees...and stuff.)

Did I say how much I liked those pies?

Chasing the Red Ball

I bought my 8-month-old golden retriever a red squeaky ball.  This is, by no means, her first and only ball.  But, she is crazy for it like no other.  When she gets it, she is elated.  I imagine that the way she feels about the red ball is the way housewives felt about sliced bread.  (Tain’t nothin' better, June Cleaver.)  She plays with it all by herself.  Throws it in the air, chases it, drops it and watches it roll under furniture so she can squeeze under to retrieve it.  She is over-the-moon-happy.  She will choose the ball over a treat.  We go on “ball lock down” at night because she can’t sleep if it is in the same room.

The ball is also an “all access pass”.  If it happens to roll into the shower with me, well, then, she has to pad on in and get it.  If it rolls into the bathroom when I’m in there, is there really a choice?  She has to come in and get it.  Now you can see why we have “ball lock down”.

Just an aside, right now Annie is pushing her ball on my lap, then lunging forward to retrieve it before I can get it.  I think I now have bruises on my legs from her paws. This kind of hurts. (This is the dark side of the red ball — another story for another day.)

I was trying to think about what my “red ball” might be.  (I am going to keep this G-rated, so get your mind out of the gutter).  And if, by the end of this article, I haven’t discovered what that is, you can bet I will be on the hunt. It seems like everyone should have that certain “something something” that makes you smile like a golden retriever.  You should seek your red ball, too. Just sayin'. 

Is it your job? Yeah, probably not.  OK, maybe for a couple of you. You might be otherwise known as a "freak of nature" to your "friends".  A working zealot.

Shoes? They are nice, but my experience is that the ones that make me smile usually also make my feet numb and sometimes hobbling occurs. 

Chocolate cake? You can throw that in the air and catch it, but you usually won’t want it if it rolls under a chair.

Babies make me smile, but now I like them best when they are someone else's.  (Not your baby though, I love YOUR baby. Your baby is the best-est.)

Maybe this is what we are all searching for, the thing that gets your heart going.  I will not reveal my age, but let’s just say that at a CERTAIN age, one can start getting serious about this quest. Chasing the red ball.

I think for me, it is seeing someone smile at something I have said.  Doesn’t matter what kind of smile, any smile will do. I would even take a Mona Lisa smile.  A little har-dee-har-har even. I don’t think it is my “all access pass”, but it has gotten me through some crazy times.  I get a weird happy feeling that I don’t get from anything else (again, out of the gutter) when I see the pearly whites.

Victory.  Red ball retrieved.