In Memory Of GrandMa

1936: Grandma, Isa & Aiti (my Great-Grandpartents)

Minnesota

While I was in my upper thirties my brother, Mom, and I moved our Grandma to So. Cal. from Seattle. Grandma's only child, my Mom, felt it was better that she live her remaining years in Huntington Beach, close to her immediate family. In the end, California is where Grandma died, but, that's not where she's buried. 

Grandma was an only child who grew up in a small Finnish community in Minnesota. She went to a very small school, married, and eventually left for Washington State. 

Mom & Grandma

When I came on the scene in 1960 Grandma was married to my Grampa who was a verbally abusive man when he drank, which was all the time. Grampa owned a Texaco gas station where my Dad worked for a short while before he met and married my Mom. One summer when I was five my brother and I were playing with matches behind my Grampa's Texaco station and got caught. Grampa slammed our heads together so hard I saw stars. I had instinctively placed my hand between the two headed slam and broke the fancy Go-Go ring I was wearing. The ring left a dent for days. Looking back, I understand completely that my brother and I deserved it.   

Another time, while my brother and I were in Seattle for the summer, Grampa held a knife to my brother thumb threatening to cut it off if he didn't stop sucking it. My brother squirmed in his lap screaming and crying, "No, no, no!!!" Finally Grampa let him go and my brother ran out of the house on Queen Anne Hill peeing his pants. I ran after him because I sucked my pointer and thumb together! I'm not sure that was deserved. 

After the Texico station Grampa got a job at Boeing.  Then one day he had a stroke on the job and died. I don't remember the funeral. 

After Grampa passed away Grandma became our only custodian while we were in Seattle. She was easy going and didn't like disciplining. Grandma also maintained the nastiness kitchen in all of history. She didn't cook much, so, she had stale food in every cabinet. There were countless times I'd find a box of cookies, or other sweets, and excitedly grab a handful only to find they expired a year ago. "Yuck!" I'd shout. 

Once a week my brother and I would pick fresh berries from the trails behind Grandma's house and I'd bake pies. I was a good cook. From the time I could reach the stove I was cooking dinners for my Mom and brother because Mom worked all day, I also cooked in Seattle. I'd cook what ever I could find that wasn't growing fungi or was as hard as a rock. I also kept the house clean while my bother and I were there. All Grandma had to do in compensation was to put up with all the jars and boxes of critters I kept in the house over the summer. 

Grandma's view on Queen Anne Hill

One year Grandma retired from the Bon Marche after mega years of employment. They gave her a bouquet of flowers. After that I remember her sitting on the couch watching TV game shows and drinking Vodka and grapefruit juice. She was a good humored person with a lot of grace in her understanding, but, she during this time she nurtured the fears she had been taught over the years of abuse and lack of appreciation. Grandma became a homebody with a little white Spaniel and a pissy black cat. It was soon after this that my brother and & stopped going to Seattle for the summers. I was around 12.

Years after Grampa's death Grandma remarried. After Grandma's second husband died she remodeled her basement and rented out the space. One of her renters rob her. Along with other things, he took all the jewelry my Grampa made during his rock finding days. I'm still upset about that. It was at this time I started realizing she was full of dispair and depression, but, I was involved with my own teen-age life and rarely visited. I kept up with her through letters. She'd write me, in her failing handwriting, about all the card games with her neighbors and Elks club dances she'd attend and get drunk at. They were the only times she'd get out of her house.

                                                                                                       My Mom's Austin Healey

                                                                                          Aiti in the back, Mom in the driver's seat,

                                                                                                  & Grandma in the passenger seat

A long time ago (when I was around five and after my Great-grandn parents moved to West Palm Springs Florida) my Isa tried to teach my Aiti how to drive. While pulling the car into the garage Aiti stepped on the gas instead of the breaks and drove the car through the back wall of the garage. Isa died from the injuries and Aiti never drove again. When Grampa tried to teach Grandma how to drive he shouted so much at her she developed a phobia behind the wheel. It wasn't until years after his death that she finally got a license and a Ford Taurus, but, she still had her renters drive her around in her own car. They also used her car for their own needs taking advantage of Grandma's hospitality. It was my Mom who turned the tides on driving. She broke the cycle and bought fast cars like Mustangs and Healeys (she's had two Healeys, an Austin and a Jensen, and she's had numerous Mustangs). Mom was all about road trips and rally races. I'm grateful she changed the course of my impending history with cars, because, the truth is, I drive just like her. 

Eventually my Mom decided it was time to move Grandma to California. She was going blind and deaf, and had stopped cleaning her house, cooking food and washing her clothes. Grandma rarely got off the couch for anything. She had gained lots of weight and lost lots of muscle, so, around 1998 my brother, my Mom, and I flew to Seattle to help pack her boxes and bags. 

My brother & I at Grandma's house

Going through Grandma's house was interesting. As we pulled out old and funky items Grandma would tell us a story about it. There were so many memories in her boxes and closets that bought laughter and tears to our small intimate family. When I pulled out an old softball glove of mine Grandma told me of my first game at 7. I was asked to fill in for a friend of mine who lived down the street and who was sick. She played in a Seattle summer league for 12 year old girls. I was assigned left field and took to it like a natural. Catching fly balls became one of the funnest things I did. Grandma told me that once the coach taught me how to hit a ball I was hitting them out of the park."Then you ran like a Chita." she told me. Grandma was always proud of me. I loved her for that. I played softball for that team every summer I was in Seattle after that. 

Once all her 'keepers' were loaded up, and her house placed up for sale, I looked through her living room window for the last time. Grandma had two large windows that came together at the corner of the room and house. When you looked through them it seamed there was a chunk of corner missing from the house. Though them were the spectacular views of King County Washington. As a child I would stare out these windows for hours. Sometimes birds would slam into the glass and drop to the porch. The sound of the bird hitting the glass echoed through the house. It was an awful sound. When I heard it I'd go running out to save the stunned flyer. Sometimes I had to bury it. As I said before, Grandma always understood my compassion for nature and never argued when I'd bring wildlife into her home. 

My Grandma's one car

When we moved Grandma to Calif. she knew she wouldn't need her car. There was no way she was going to drive in So. Cal.! So, Grandma sold her chaperone vehicle to my son Shaun. Mark and he drove it across the lower 48 to NC. In this picture of her Ford Taurus the trees in the back ground were planted by my Grampa from seeds he brought back from Finland. I put this in the blog because the trees are unique to the area and are flourishing...much like my memories of Seattle. Before I left to go back to NC I took a couple of pine cones from these trees and tried to plant the seeds from them in my yard. They never sprouted. 

Grandma died years after we moved her to Calif. and Mom took her back to Seattle to bury her. I didn't recognize anyone at the funeral. "Once they moved her to Calif. she went down hill fast." I heard a lady tell another lady. No one talked to my Mom, my brother, nor I. 

When the service was over I went to say my last goodbye to a wonderful woman who didn't know how to make her own life exciting because she had so many fears, but, could make the lives of two young kids completely adventurous. When I saw her face in the coffin it didn't look like her, it was bloated with hardener and layered with makeup. I touched her hand and found it cold like marble. I knocked on her arm and heard a sound much like one would hear while knocking on a door. I was inwardly relieved at the sight. The body was only shell, the Soul is not. If Grandma was standing beside me, (and I believe that's possible) she would have agreed. Then she would have said like she always did, "You're all right Tammy." 

Grandma will always be alive. She lives in the hearts of those she left behind like me. The truth is, that even in all my Grandma's depression, fears, and sadness, she somehow found a way to make me laugh. And I believe that if she saw herself looking like a bloated plastic mannequin she'd have a good laugh with me. "Bah to it all." she'd say.

Grandma didn't care about the flesh, she believed the tabloids, she said sex was only for the birds and the bees, "pooh-who to it," she'd say. And she didn't care about God. Grandma cared about my brother and me. She cared enough to tell us all the time "you're good kids" and we believed her. Aiti gave me a love for baking, Grandma gave me assurance that I was someone interesting. What a gift! Thank you Grandma. 

                                              

Mark

me, my brother

Shaun, Mom, my sister-in-law

my Mom's husband, Grandma, Sarah

& my niece. 

Grandma: You disappeared from before our eyes, and we turned back grieving, 

only to find you in our hearts forever,

breathing. 

1998 The Kure Beach House, Calif., South Africa, & Bonnie

The Cove

One day Mark and I drove to CB to talk to our Salty Hammocks rental agency. We needed to discuss what supplies and repairs were needed for our condo. While we were chatting the Realtor told us about a newly built house in Kure Beach that was up for sale. 

The builder and the owner couldn't agree on something so the owner put the place up for sale on a whim. The Realtor drove us down Hwy 421 and turned right about 1/4 of a mile north of Fort Fisher State Park and Civil War Museum...and grounds of one of the finest left point breaks in NC; the Cove. We bought the KB house within the week. We put our Wilmington house up for sale and it sold in less than a month. The drive into Wilmington to do business became longer, but, we were now across the street from the beach. I could literally do the radio surf report from my bedroom window...and I did.

Q, Shaun, Sarah and I in HB Calif.

This year I made another trip to California. I took Q so he could surf the West Coast. One day we got up early and drove South looking for waves. There was a 6 to 8ft. swell rolling in but the winds were threatening to be on it early, along with the rains. By the time we pulled up to Cardiff the bad weather had begun. Conditions were getting worse every minute so Q decided he wanted to paddle out at Cardiff-By-The-Sea. I was too picky to surf big blown out chop. Kneeboarders have a tendency to bounce around like flying skipping-stone on any-size chop. We can't absorb bounce as well as stand-upers. Our knees are bent for other reasons. On big, big waves I'm stoked my knees are already in praying mode. 

That day of bad weathered winds Q paddled out by himself. While I watched him from the rental car all I could think about was him downing. He was the only guy out and if something were to happen I wasn't sure if I could get to him in time. After he took a few waves and rode them with confidence I relaxed a little and enjoyed the idea of him experiencing something new. About an hour later Q got out of the water all stoked. When it came to surfing, he was easy to impress. 

We drove farther down to check out Blacks. It was choppy and not worth the hike, plus the rains were intensifying. It was a shame the weather was so bad because Blacks had good size. 

"Oh well," I said to Q, "at least you see it's potential."

On the way back we stopped at every surf spot we could that he had seen in the magazines and movies. Even though that day wasn't very good for surfing, it was good for geography. During the rest of the trip we caught nice waves in Huntington and Newport. 

My kids didn't surf, so in Calif. they occupied their time with horses and music. One night Shaun, Q, and I went to a Punk Rock concert at a small place in the heart of Santa Anna. I was a little nervous (and old). Because of my thin muscular physique sometimes young people think I'm a cop. People in other countries think I'm a pro volleyball player (or soccer) until they see me with a surfboard. Either way I get checked out and it makes me nervous. I didn't drink because I learned, in the worst way, about getting too dizzy to think and/or react in a pushy situation while intoxicated (or drugged up). I guess this is why, in certain crowds, I seem to give off an unapproachable vibe. Truth be told, I think this crowd thought I was undercover. 

This In-The-Hood concert place was packed. I chatted with a couple of people but it was hard to hear so I just smiled and kept my eyes (like a bodyguard) on my two responsibilities who were up front with the band. I'm not going to lie, I was glad when the concert was over and we left at 2am without a life changing event. Even though Santa Anna was a place to hear up-and-coming yet still underground bands, it isn't a place for outsiders. 

This year Mark decided to take me to my dream right point break...Jeffrey's Bay South Africa. I had always wanted to surf the spot ever since I saw it on Endless Summer. My whole life I thought J Bay was the perfect right point break. On this trip the waves were 8 to 10 to 12 feet of balls-to-the-wall racers. I didn't realize how fast J Bay waves were and I found myself constantly riding high to make sections. The place was crowded too! I spent a lot of energy dodging and bobbing. The crowd reminded me of Huntington Pier or Sebastian Inlet. The surfers were so revved up and crazy with shark tales too.  

While I was paddling out people would yell at me for splashing with my flippers. "You're attracting sharks." they'd yell at me. At this time So. Africa was experiencing a high number of attacks. In '97 Ian James Hill died from an attack while surf-fishing Pringle Bay. In '98 bodyboarder Anton Devos died while at Gonubie Point. In 1999 14 year old surfer Hercules Pretorius would die while surfing Buffels Bay. I had never been so shark spooked then when I was surfing J Bay. It was kind of creepy.  

J Bay So. Africa 

I wanted to take the kids to South Africa because they were born and being raised rich-like in the South. I wanted them to understand the true meaning of the word Oppression. The Blacks in America haven't a clam on oppression like the Blacks in So. Africa. I wanted my kids to see that, and, what class distinctions can do when money provides motivation and fear. As we drove around So. Africa we saw shanty towns behind barb-wire fences full of Blacks while the Dutch built houses and businesses around them. When we'd go to a place where a Black So. African worked I noticed they wouldn't look us in the eyes. When I said "thank you" they'd be surprised. I was uncomfortable with such distinctions. To me they're my equal. God taught me that long ago.  

My goal for the trip was for my children to somehow form empathy by what they saw. Empathy is better  than sympathy in my book. Empathy moves fences while sympathy is passive. I also didn't want my kids believing that the African Americans in the good old USA are oppressed with their multiple TV's, complete with cable, microwave ovens, cell phones, and cars with pimped out chrome, just to name a few things US taxpayers pay A-mer-I-c(see)-an opportunity type people. 

I was excited to drive a car with a left handed dashboard 

The funny thing about driving in So. Africa was that one can look like a tourist without even getting out of the car. All I had to do was turn on my blinker (which I'm in the habit of doing) and when the window-wipers came on they screamed "tourist!!!" Turning corners was a contemplated experience too. Nothing says sitting duck like a car stopped in the middle of an intersection with its wipers (complete with water) going off in storm mode while they try to figure out which lane to turn into. 

I watched people notice my kid's different hair color in So. Africa. Shaun was sporting blue and Sarah's was bleached with dark streaks. When we drove around Kruger Park the kids were as popular as the wildlife. The Blacks hardly noticed because they rarely looked up, but the Whites would stare, grab their kids and point. I think some of them thought my kids were suffering from some rare American disease. Personally I found their reaction amusing.  

On our last day there we went to the Hard Rock Cafe in Johannesburg. After dropping the rental car off we took a cab through town. The driver told us that there were only 6 police officers in all of Johannesburg and not to go out of the fenced in area around the restaurant. 

"I'll be back in an hour to pick you up. Stay inside the place until I come to the door." the cabbie said as he dropped us off. On the drive I noticed hundreds of concrete walls with broken bottles plastered on the top like barb-wire. The walls were around the houses like deadly office cubical dividers. 

In the end, with all the wave close-outs, Great White sharks, and potential for violence, my dream right point break had the penumbra of a nightmare. But my kids saw a country in the mists of civil disarray and yet on the edge of racial  repair. It was a place and a time in history schools could never explain like actually seeing it. I'm glad we all went.  

This was year Hurricane Bonnie hit. After surfing Holden Beach we sealed up our new KB house, packed some bags and spent the night at the surf shop. While Bonnie pounded us with record breaking rains Mark, the kids and I camped out in sleeping bags entertaining ourselves with books, games and the weather radio. We had a full cooler and a big bag of snacks. We also had plenty of water, gas, and a generator. By now Hurricanes were a way of life. 

After the wet, windy, window leaking commotion subsided we loaded up the cars and headed back to our new beach house to assess the damage. It was still raining but the winds were pretty calm. About 1/4 mile from Snow's Cut Bridge we saw the line of cars. The authorities weren't letting homeowners on Pleasure Island and wouldn't be for a couple of days because of all wind and rain damage. Pissed we were missing all the good surf we turned around and headed back to the shop.  

It took the officials three days before they let us back on the island. In the mean time rains were leaking through  our roof and soaked the insolation in the attic. It eventually fell through the ceiling upstairs in our bedroom. Because we were unable to get to it for a couple of days the insolation stained the floor. It was a big mess.

Bonnie's Aftermath Controversy: Even though authorities were not letting homeowners on the island they were letting construction and repair workers on to clear the roads and fix down wires. Local law enforcement from other counties were allowed access to the island also, along with people who had boats. While they were thinking about our safety houses were getting broken into and businesses were being looted. I decided it was going to take a pretty big hurricane to get me off this island again....then Floyd hit in '99. 

1997 Costa Rica, Tavarua, Pain, & Color

A pilgrimage is a journey from point A to point A...only once taken you will never look at point A the same again.

Somewhere we found with a boat in Costa Rica

Mark and I made another trip to Costa Rica this year and I noticed more changes had taken place. Both Jaco and Tamarindo had gotten modern. The crime rate had more than tripled and hotels were popping  up everywhere. Highway 1 had been paved so the driving was a little better, but we were getting pulled over more. My spanish was still sketchy and it didn't help us out much. Funny thing, the pictures of our kids in my wallet helped out more. 

After our typical head-smashing surf session at Playa Hermosa we drove north and settled down in Tamarindo. We spent ten days searching for waves with boats and we found quite a few. A lot of them were fun, but my two favorite places were still Ollie's Point and Avellanes. Playa Negra was real good on this trip and would have been one of my top ten surf spots in CR, but the crowd had gotten aggressive and I kept coming close to the rocks trying to dodge people. By this time CR reminded me of Upper Baja. There were a lot of American's buying land and building houses, making the place an odd mix of Ticos, Hippies and surf parents with their agro surf rat kids. The locals were going western crazy and started begging for cloths, sunglasses, and watches. The village nights were full of disco fever and drinks ran the risk of drug enhancement. I decided next time I wanted to go to Nicaragua. 

Avellanes

After the Hot Wax Challenge Mark and I went to Fiji again. This time the waves didn't get as big as it did last year but it was still fun. At some point Cloudbreak got so flat we snorkeled the reef and I was excited at what I saw. The ocean bottom was beautiful! I even found a Rip Curl watch. During the flat spell we spent a lot of time fishing for dinner. The locals liked it when the guests brought in fresh fish to cook. 

During this time on Tavarua the huts were small and we had to shower outside. We also had to walk down a path to the lounge, board shack, and restroom. The island was fairly primitive so when the waves were small all there was to do was read, drink, chat, and play card games. My brother ran up a $600 bar tab waiting for surf.

Home for two weeks. The shower was out back.

Where boards go to die on Tavarua

The trip wasn't a total bust. At the end we got a good swell and the Rights went off. Cloudbreak was medium size and a guy who was on the island with us, who rode a longboard, paddled out. The tide was a little low and he ate it into the reef. He hit his head so hard he needed to be airlifted off of the island. When the end of the trip came I was happy to leave with no blood lost. However this would be the year of physical pain. It would come from the mountains.

Tavarua Rights

Over the Christmas holidays the kids and I went to Boone NC to do some snowboarding with a couple of ex-Sunday School kids. I had a bad cough and the first night I almost over-dosed on cough medicine. I didn't mean too, I just wasn't paying attention to how much I was swallowing. I spent the night in the bathtub. My head felt like it was going to spin off. The next morning I hit the slopes without complete wits and while launch jumping I fell on my neck. When I heard the hoots from the spectators riding the lifts my ego took over and I hopped up like nothing happened. On the drive home my head ached so bad my ears were ringing. I was still sick (I refused to take anymore medicine) and every time I'd cough my neck would feel like someone was stabbing it with a knife. That night I was very restless and couldn't sleep. When I woke up the next morning my jaw hurt along with my neck and head. My fingers were tingling too. 

After a couple of days the pain subsided and I forgot all about it. Then I went surfing and felt the pain in my neck again. I went to the doctor and he said I had compressed my C7 into C6 which compressed into C5. This injury would be the one that would eventually start shutting my body down. Arthritis runs in my family and all it needed was a trigger. At 37 I gave it a good one. 

This injury was the beginning of an endless supply of pain pills which Mark became enamored with. He had been doing drugs behind my back for awhile now. (Yeah, like I couldn't tell when he was hyper stimulated). Mark drank a lot of Kava in Fiji. The stuff tastes like if playground mud had a tea. There's only one reason anyone would drink a bunch of coconut shells full of it. Mark felt so sick one day he missed all boats to Coudbreak. When I suddenly had a connection to pain pills all hell broke loose. He started getting different kinds of them from the internet. Personally, I wasn't interested in becoming a drug user again, but the pain was escalating the more I surfed and played softball, so, the temptation to take more pills was persistent. However God gave me a good reason not to go crazy with the meds, it was called Accountability. Mark kept the pills coming however, and, even though he said they were for me, he liked them more than I did. Eventually I turned to yoga for pain management and allowed myself one pill a day if I needed it (still do both of those). I allowed myself two on the days I surfed because the position of the neck when paddling irritated the compression. However, when I took two pain pills I took the risk of a migraine followed by nausea in the morning. God works in mysterious ways. 

Before the year ended I experimented with different looks. The whole Glamor thing was never me for two reasons, 1) it took way too long to make it happen and 2) I didn't like the way makeup felt all over my face. Heck, I just recently started plucking my eyebrows at this point.

I was doing a lot of hair color changes for my kids. I found it a good bonding experience. They were changing their hair every month or so and the colors went from green to bleached to blue to red to..whatever! It was like we were keeping up with the Sherwin Williams color of the month, only we were using Sally's Beauty Supply palettes. One day I began wondering what I'd look like as a red head. 

I wasn't impressed with the look so I tried black with red streaks. I looked so much older which was a big no no! One day I had had enough of looking at myself with dark hair and I spent $250 and 7 hours at the hair dressers getting all my blond back. Even though my dark hair didn't last long, the time spent with it ended up being a good social experiment. Its very true that people treat blonds differently. I never went another color again. 

1996 The Final Hot Wax, Fran, & Tavarua Fiji

Tavarua Fiji

While my children were young I pointed out road kill and told them...

"Oh look, that poor opossum didn't look both ways before it crossed the road."

That's were I was at...I was looking up and down the roads of my personal life pondering which interesting highway to take for the years ahead. The last thing I wanted was for anyone to get hit with something big and deadly. Then Mark cut into my thoughts and asked me..."How about we go to Tavarua this year."

"Ok!" I say...nothing big and deadly there right?

The thought of dropping into a Cloudbreak wave excited me. We had been trying to get on the island for a couple of years now but they were always booked up. At the January Expo a rep told us Volcom canceled their team's week in October. We quickly got a group together and booked the opening. We would leave right after the Hot Wax Challenge. Perfect! I counted down the days.

Our first condo in Carolina Beach

In the mean time Mark and I were making and spending money like true 30-something Yuppies. First we bought a Salty Hammocks condo in Carolina Beach. I didn't really know why that was a good idea since we lived close enough to the beach anyway. The truth was, Mark was a wealthy business man and he liked buying things.
"We can surf and then shower." Mark said. "And then I have to clean the shower." I retorted. I never used the place for that reason. We lived close enough for me to drive home and shower.
"We'll remodel and rent it out as a summer rental." Mark told me. And we did.

I liked remodeling. Up to this point I had designed two houses and three retail shops. This condo would be fun to fix up. Wallpaper was in fashion and I filled the place with it. I bought new beddings, window treatments, and I placed games and books out for the guests. We made some money renting the little ocean-front place but we spent a lot of time fixing sliding glass doors, windows, and there were constant plumbing issues. One day I drove by and saw renters in it. It was a hot July day and the renters had the AC on with the windows and doors wide open. I was so pissed because we paid the electric and AC repair bills. It reminded me of the self-centered renters we had in our little house when we lived on Bald Head Island. Truth be told, the whole CB condo-rental thing didn't interest me as much as it interested Mark at tax time. I would have rather bought a place at Snowshoe since snowboarding was a family sport for us. I would have used that shower...and more!

Snowshoe WV

This was also the year we bought land to build our own freestanding Hot Wax Surf Shop. When it was finished, we did one of our famous over night moves. After we got everything set up Hot Wax consisted of over 6000sq. ft. of surf and skate everything. Our sales were so good our worth jumped up to the Wilmington 100 status and we began going to black-tie events with the local rich and famous. Mark loved these events because I never wore undies and I drank, which I rarely did outside of a good party. We were teaching wealthy young-ones how to surf and we were dressing their moms, dads, and teen siblings. We were the place to get back-to-school stuff for at least 5 high schools, 9 middle-schools, and countless elementary schools. Mark was shaping about 100 boards a year and they were selling like hot-sticks. Life was moving so fast and changing everywhere I looked. It was exciting and consuming.

The new and final Hot Wax Surf Shop

Then in August Hurricane Fran hit. The day before it made landfall Mark and I paddled out at Topsail Beach. The waves were 8 foot and clean. Waves are always good before hurricanes hit..and right after, when the winds go off-shore. At this point we'd been through and surfed...

1984: Diana; Category 4 hurricane

1985: Gloria; Cat. 4

1986: Charley; Cat. 1

1993: Emily; Cat. 3

And now we had to deal with 2 in 1996. Bertha; Cat. 3 & Fran; Cat. 3. Both full of heavy rains and flooding.

Mark had made plans to go to the Surf Expo in Long Beach Calif. and it just so happened that he had to leave the morning before Fran was to hit. His plane was the last to leave Wilmington airport. When he landed in LAX reporters came up to him asking questions about the hurricane. To this day I stand impressed on how they knew he was from Wilmington. His plane came from Charlotte NC. That's a big diverse hub.

"Aren't you concerned about your home and family in Wilmington?" they asked him.

"No. It's not our first hurricane. My family's prepared." He told them. They asked other questions and I know he loved the spot-light. It was in his nature. After the interview he called to check up on things. I was excited to hear about his So. Cal. fame and said not to worry. "We're good to go." I told him, "Enjoy the show." I didn't want him to worry, there was no reason. Personally I had defined the word Faith a long time ago, so, I knew God would keep a close eye on things around us. The kids were incredibly calm and inwardly ready for the hours of loud winds, board games, and listening to NOAA on the portable radio telling us every move the storm takes. It wasn't the kids first rodeo and they knew just what to do.    

                           

       

Hurricane day Mark's bother came over to stay with me and the kids for the storm. We prepped the windows with storm-shudders and the house with candles, batteries, extra water, lots of snacks, and sleeping bags in the living room. Then Mark's brother, the kids and I, settled in for the long come-what-may event. There's nothing anyone can do about anything during a hurricane. God has all the say. 

Once a hurricane starts it seems to last forever. There's hours and hours of winds bending trees and sending anything not tied down flying and slamming into other things. The sounds are always scary, but Fran had a more powerful destruction up her sleeve. She made landfall around dinnertime and at an unusual high tide. I literately watched the creek behind our house rise up to our porch...a whole 13 feet+! By the time Fran's eye moved over us the creek water was lapping a foot from our decks. Some of the ripples were threatening to come in the front and back doors. My Maxima was floating, rocking with the wind blown waves into the side-door steps. Some neighbors of ours had to stay in their attic during the storm because the creek filled the first floor of their house. 

I got pretty concerned when the back-side of Fran lasted all night long. I have to admit, hurricanes in the dark are really creepy. There are all kinds of noises. They sound like the world is blowing down on the house. One can literately hear trees breaking and roofs ripping apart. With the morning sun and calmness came the reality of what we just went through.   

Mark's shaping room that was flooded up to the ceiling 

My car. I'm pointing at the water-line

After the storm Allstate fixed our house which had lost a corner of the roof and rebuilt Mark's shaping room. We used the room as storage because Mark had built a shaping room in the new shop so people could watch him shape their custom boards. Allstate also replaced my car with a brand new '96 Maxima, Allstate didn't replace Mark's Toyota Land Cruiser however, which had somewhat flooded with creek-water but still ran. As the kids and I drove around in it to see all the damage Fran did to our town the locks on the Land Cruiser kept going off and on randomly and the lights flickered, so did the radio. Eventually Mark would have to buy a new vehicle because we could never get the wiring fixed after the storm. (I wonder what that Car Fax said about that Land Cruiser!) Our condo at CB needed a little water damage work and the surf shop needed some water clean up too, but neither place suffered much structural damage from the winds. It was surreal at how well we fared with all our stuff. It was true Fran was harsh, but, the aftermath made things kind of better. Life is ironic like that.  

  

My new ride. Zoom Zoom!

After the Hot Wax Challenge in October we headed across the Atlantic and below the Equator for Fiji. I was finally going to be able to surf Cloudbreak. I pack my Bible, a few other good books, and three kneeboards just in case I broke one. I was about to surf my biggest waves since Hawaii, and I was glad I was in good physical shape for them. 

  

The flight was long but the drinks were free so it wasn't too bad. When I arrived I was met with some of the nicest people. We had a group with us and it took an hour to put all the boards on the trucks to take them to the boat that would drive us to Tavarua. Once on the small island we were met with a group of locals that would be our cooks, entertainment, and boat crew for the next two weeks. 

The waves were big from the start and all of us surfers lined up for the early boat to Cloudbreak. I was the only girl who surfed on this trip and I loved it! Over the years I would be the only girl on a lot of our surf trips to exotic beaches, islands, and other remote breaks. I felt privileged...I also felt challenged. The last thing I wanted to be called was a pussy. My brother had helped raised a tomboy and I wasn't about to let him down. I was hell bent on showing these guys what girl-balls looked like (on a kneeboard)....because if I didn't, I'd never get a wave.

Cloudbreak was incredible. The boat pulled up to these monsters out in the middle of the ocean. There was no wind so the waves were glassy. My heart almost beat out of my chest when I saw and heard the waves pounding on the shallow reef. We were told how to paddle into the gigantic lefts and how to signal for help if we needed it. Then we all jumped out of the boat and set ourselves up in the lineup. It took me awhile to build up the nerves to take off, but eventually I did. I paddled into a set wave and let it take me. I heard hoots and hollers from the other surfers when I dropped in and held the line. One thing about kneeboarding is the waves always look bigger. As I rode the famous magazine wave into Shish Kabobs I started to panic. The water was so clear I could see the reef below me. I went low for a bottom turn then headed up to the lip and over the back. I wasn't ready to go for a Cloudbreak tube yet, but, I determined I was going to get inside one before I left. 

I surfed 4 to 6 foot Restaurants a lot. Its a spooky break because leashes can snag on the reef if the tide gets too low. Restaurant waves are really fast. They're transparently hollow and very beautiful. It's an easy paddle out after a wave too. I like that.

Tavarua Rights even broke while we were there. I love rights and was happy to see them. I heard they don't break often.    

Waxing up for Cloudbreak 

Cloudbreak

Restaurants 

Tavarua Rights

The trip was incredible. I realized I had pretty big balls for a girl and I carried that confidence around with me for years to come. 

While on Tavarua I had stimulating conversations with interesting people and I ate odd foods and liked it. In 1996 there wasn't much to do on the small round surf island that can be walked around in fifteen minutes, so, I spent my non-surfing time catching sea snakes (which are pretty docile), and laying in a hammock reading and journaling. I also did a lot of reflecting and talking with God. Eventually, before I left Tavarua, I pulled into a Shish Kabob tube and made it out. Trip completed...

The stench filled bird poop tower at Cloudbreak where the judges sit. 

There are two ways to get on this stinking tower and both are tide sensitive. If the tide is high the local boat guys can maneuver in close, but, if the tide is low the boats can't go in and I had to walk yards over reef to climb the tower and film the waves. I did both. I'd plug in the IPod and film away. The smell of all the bird poop would stick to my nose all night, but the view from the tower was so spectacular I thought it was well worth it. We went back the next year for more.

1995 Defining The Word Value

val·ue

   

[val-yoo]  Show IPAnoun, verb, -ued, -u·ing.

–noun

1.

relative worth, merit, or importance: the value of a collegeeducation; the value of a queen in chess.

2.

monetary or material worth, as in commerce or trade: Thispiece of land has greatly increased in value.

3.

the worth of something in terms of the amount of otherthings for which it can be exchanged or in terms of somemedium of exchange.

http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/value

Costa Rica 

 CR Outhouse 

This year I made my third trip to Costa Rica. A couple of friends from the shop wanted to go but hadn't been before. They wanted a tour guide. I loved Costa Rica and quickly volunteered my services. During this trip I hit the metaphoric crossroads. I realized how rich I had become. It happened so smoothly over the years that I didn't even notice the changes. The more I was around third-world people the more complex my world looked. I had so much stuff, and!, my kids had even more. 

The Ticos are a happy and generous people even in their poverty. This was what I wanted my kids to know. I wanted to teach them to respect every economic situation and learn how to grow from and with it. But mostly, I wanted them to learn tolerance, (except to assholes). I decided I never wanted to be so rich that I forgot what's important in life....like respect. However, the truth was, I never had so much money before, and it had changed me.  

Hot Wax 

This year we had our first break-ins; it happened twice in one week by the same person. A young skater kid who lived in an apartment complex behind the shop took his BB gun to one of our windows and shattered a hole big enough to grab 8 pairs of shoes. It wasn't an easy task for him either because the glass was thick tempered two pane tinted glass. He broke his BB gun into pieces trying to get he hole big enough to reach in and grab shoe boxes. We found the shattered gun in the parking lot. A friend of ours told us who did it, and after he did it again through our window's quick-fix, we sent the police after him. They found the shoes in his closet. Nothing ever happened to the skater, in fact, he became a pro. I got so pissed! We put cameras up around the place after that. By this time I was over the ego-centric part of the surfing industry. 

Trade shows were full of retail madness too. Personally, I believed the soul of surfing went underground so surfing commerce could take over. The surf industry was becoming a world commodity in a time when people were spending all kinds of money to own brand-name everything. With the sport being categorized as extreme, its industry suddenly became a money driven market holding its own on Wall St. The shows became more and more about pros and egos then the simple life of surfing with the bros. I have to admit though...a lot of the money surf companies were getting was going towards the discovery of waves. Traveling to the perfect peak or point break became the dream of every surfer. And we all saw the waves in the ads. 

                                                               

At 35 I started making a personal check-list, much like one does at 17 and 25. It was one of those heavy-headed moments when we face the cusp of another coming of age metamorphose. It's a time of reflection mixed with anticipation; the reality of who you think you are, what you obviously do, mixed with the dreams you still have for yourself layered with the changes you want to make. The truth was, at 35, I was flying high and fast....straight into my mid-life crises. Mentally, I found myself categorizing the pros and cons of my life. The fact that I was now rich made the list complicated. The Bible is very clear about one's love towards money, but, I couldn't help liking very much the freedom money can give.   

PRO: Mark liked buying me jewelry. I had bling-bling diamonds on my fingers and studded blings in my ears. They were the envy of all our southern friends. CON: Sometimes I forgot to take all the bling off when I went surfing and I'd lose a lot of it in the impact zone. There are a lot of fish (or mermaids) sporting high dollar diamond studded earrings! PRO: Hot Wax had our whole family in fashion forward clothes. CON: People wanted mine and my kids discarded cloths so much I had lists. It was kind of odd. PRO: I was traveling two to three times a year, Cape Hatteras, Snowshoe Mountain, AND some foreign country for surf. CON: I fell in love with the simple life vacations remind you of. Having so many things meant I had to keep up with them. And, I started hating thieves so much I'd get paranoid. The Bible talks about this side effect. PRO: The kids had a private school education and were spending summers in California. CON: I didn't want them to become snobs. PRO: Mark and I had duel sport motorcycles, and, I could afford the best softball bat available in retail. CON: There isn't any. Having good toys is never a con.

Yeah, I was rich! Mark once asked me how I felt about being able to buy anything I wanted. I told him it felt fine, but personally, I liked that money took care of all the tickets in my life; lift tickets, plane tickets, and speeding tickets.

PRO: the toys!

CON: With all my jewelry people treated me like I was a snob the minute I'd walk though a door, and that was odd to me. I didn't like being thought of in that way. I don't like envy. I pictured myself at fifty turning into a high-brow. The truth was my soul was far too much of a So. Cal. Hippie to be turned into an aristocrat but hey, money is power right? A war complete with heavy arsenal on both sides had started inside of me. 

Mark and I clashed here. He liked being looked at as rich. He like the power it gave him with people. I didn't. To me it disconnected people. I hated all the assumptions they made about us not deserving our wealth. For some reason they didn't think we earned it....like it was given to us and we didn't deserve the Gift, and, that we should give our money away....many of our friends became takers. This didn't help my Value crises. 

I quietly sought out diverse categories of friends. I was searching for the ones who shared my quest for definitions more than my sport affiliations. Friends who were somehow connected with my impending mid-life forecast of holding steady to my bourgeois comfort zone. I found the task was easy with my kids around. They didn't surf, weren't overly religious, and were very smart. I also found my kids interesting people. They would say and do things that got my attention like a shinny object. They didn't care about money like most kids and rarely asked for anything. They liked shopping at second-hand stores and they never, ever asked for something from a company vender or surf rep. I was always impressed with that. And I wanted those values to remain with them. But we were rich!   

Shaun at 13

Even though Shaun was working in the shop after school he never became a surfer, nor did Sarah. They were heading towards the Drama life. After home-schooling, both kids went into our church's private school. When Shaun reached middle school we put him in the public system. Within the year he was dying his hair green and playing the guitar. Even Sarah started dying her hair...she was only in the forth grade. Eye-brows started to rise amongst the church members concerning our family. Personally, the free-spirit within me got excited when I saw my kids becoming themselves. I set my sights on helping them all I could. I studied psychology, philosophy and personality distinctions so I could understand diversity. Mark saw the whole hair color thing as stupid. He wished I didn't encourage it. Both my Mom and Mother-in-law agreed. I concluded that when it came to raising teens like ours, hair-color was the least of our battles. 

My studies helped me with disciplining. Shaun was an easy child to raise. He was quiet and compliant. His real mischief didn't happen until he graduated and moved out of the house. I did however have to give him a few smacks with a belt when he was younger. My rule was, if my kids rebelled I'd give them the same amount of whacks as their age. At ten Shaun got his last 10-wack spanking. Sarah however, was a little more difficult.

Sarah at 9

Spanking her was like adding lighter fluid to a book of burning matches. She had the will of a tiger, and she was defiant. Disciplining defiance takes planning. One day I got a phone call from Sarah's teacher. She told me Sarah had forged my signature on her homework. Both my kids were excellent students and I never really worried about their homework, (homeschooling taught both of them how to work on their own). I was perplexed on what to do with this new issue. I went back to my favorite parenting book...

Making Children Mind Without Losing Yours [Paperback]

Kevin; Baker Book House Fleming H Revell Co Leman (Author)

...and I tried something radical. Leman calls it Reality Discipline. The concept is, if you don't want your kids doing something at 2 don't let them do it at 1...if you don't want them doing something at 16 don't let them do it at 12....etc. I took Sarah to our local detention center and had her look at the prisoners. "Some of these guys forged someone's name," I told her, "do you want to live here?" I asked her at 9. She got the point. 

Although Sarah was still having fits of rage she was actually very compliant. If she had room to be creative and believed the person asking her to do something was not selfish in motives, she'd do it. But no one could ever micro-manage her. She had to have room to perform between her restricted walls. Mark liked micro-managing. It created an outburst between them. These outbursts were destructive in a lot of ways. They'd send Sarah into a lit match-book frenzy and Mark would turn into antagonizing lighter fluid. I would leave when the yelling started. I didn't want to be accused of choosing a side in a battle I didn't always agree should be happening.  

God gave me an interesting way of putting my foot down when my kids fought for something they both wanted like, to sit in the front seat. Shaun was born on the 15th. That's an odd number. Sarah was born on the 22 which is even. If they both wanted something all I had to do was ask one of them what day it was. On odd days, Shaun got it, on even days it was Sarah's. This worked for pretty much everything.  

I was always a chaperon for my kid's field trips. I loved doing it too. It helped me know their friends. When I was growing up no one wanted to come to our house because they were afraid of my Mom. Now that I was a Mom I focused on our house being a place where my kid's friends felt comfortable. In truth, my kids became the most interesting people in my life. They were like unique flowers I had never seen before. Everyday I was excited to see them sprout a little higher and brighter. I was also enjoying their rebellion against surfing...it gave me a chance to experience the world of Drama Nerds and I liked the experience. Drama Nerds don't really care about class-envy. But I was never to leave a surfer behind.

Q

This year I adopted a fellow classmate of Shaun's named Q as a mentoring quest. I took him surfing for the first time and saw not only a real good athlete but also a youth heading for destruction because he had the free spirit of an artist. I had come to respect artists of every kind by now. I understood that the best ones were born with it. One of the early times I took Q surfing we went to the river-gettys at Wrightsville Beach.

"Don't go left or you'll end up on the rocks." I told Q. After surfing a while I went in a looked for him. He was going left and was so close to the rocks I almost panicked. Q wasn't dumb, he was a challenger like Sarah. He was a determined human being who was going to figure out the whys and hows of life through experience. I felt it necessary to help him find his way to the God he was searching for so he could have the independence God gives to us loose cannons. I was rich and I wanted to give something back. Mark liked to give away money, I liked to give hope. Q and I would develop a friendship that would last years. He was humble, intelligent, and an old soul, much like my own kids. I liked old souls....they didn't care about being rich, they care about contentment. When Q decided to put himself through Catholic Catechism I was impressed. I knew he was going to have an interesting life. He asked interesting questions.

L

Another friend that changed my life was L. We met in church and played softball together. L was an intellectual who read books faster than anyone I knew. We would talk about all the metaphysical things I was finding more important than the materiel things my money bought. He challenged my readings and he challenged my beliefs while making me feel smart. He brought Faith into the Value equation. He also brought division. He had interesting answers to good questions. 

At 35 I was in a tug-a-war with myself. Should I head into my mid-life crises aristocratically or as the bourgeois I was? And, what was I suppose to do with the Bible teachings that say Wisdom is worth more than all the riches in the world? 

I cared about this dilemma because I was a Mom and had to come to terms with the word Values. God had defined Value and all I had to do was implement it....right? But, I was so full of bling. My life was in a crossroad stall. My kids were a gift and I was damned if I would teach them to be snobs, but I worked hard to have all this money and I liked spending it....At 35 the question became, "What did I want Value to mean in the light of eternity?" What did I want to pass on to my kids?  

I'll admit I was happy when neither of my kids adopted a southern accent. I guess I could go into my 40s  hypocritically.