I get that some of us like a slow and steady day, but this isn’t about type a and type b personalities … it’s about surfing and creating a more enjoyable session as inspired by Ali Hale’s article.

Get Up Earlier : This particular one is a personal favorite since I surf dawn patrol most of the time … where the line ups are less crowded, more friendly, and enjoyable. Just when the crowds (especially over the weekends) are pulling in at the parking stalls, I have already logged two to three hours of water time. As a bonus, I get to watch the sun rise as I am stretching on the beach. Even better, if you’re out early enough, you have a 30 minute window where you’re the only one in the water and the line up … empty waves!

Create a Plan : I get the most grief over this one, often being accused of being ‘type a’ … but it’s about prepping everything the night before so that I don’t have to rush around early in the morning when I am getting up early to surf. I already checked the board for dings and damage, rewaxed the board if it needed wax (so I don’t have to beg for wax at the lineup), packed my gear and towel – fin key, leash, sun block, plus snacks and water – AND placed everything near the front door so I don’t have to go looking for it in the morning. This is especially helpful if you have to go to school or work directly after surfing!

Batch Tasks Together : Constantly jumping from one task to another often causes confusion and chaos at work, and although you may feel ‘buzzed’ by all the activity, you often don’t get much done. What can you batch together while surfing? The ‘planning’ part helps here … I can get up early, go for a 30 minute run or a quick yoga session, stretch, surf like a king, and stop by the supermarket for milk and eggs … you get the gist!

Block Out Chunks of Time :  This is where most weekend surfers fail … and newbie surfer succeed. You MUST take the time to go and surf. Yes, we all have chores, homework, to-do lists, and jobs … but you have to block out a chunk of time of your day to go and enjoy the surf. Your body will thank you for it, your family and friends will love you more for not being so grouchy or tense!

Don’t Multitask : You know this one! You sacrifice one task at the cost of another … and although you may think you are doing 2 things at once, you are actually doing two things at 50% efficiency and concentration. With that in mind, once you paddle out into the water (hopefully even as you wake up and get into the routine of going to surf) LEAVE everything behind. The shoreline becomes an invisible barrier for all things not surf-related. Surfing is all about surf … it needs your full focus and attention at the present moment … once you lose focus, you ruin your session and end up not getting either your surfing or whatever was occupying your mind completed with any satisfaction.

Stay Focused : I don’t even have to say much on this … just BE IN THE MOMENT!

Finish Work On Time : That’s right … if you say surf for an hour, you are done in an hour … so don’t cheat yourself by not doing any of the items that came before this one. All the tasks and advice above are the things that contribute to being able to enjoy a session fully, without having to feel rushed or cheated!

It was mid-afternoon on an overcast, winters day in Waikiki. I paddled out to Canoe’s and sat among the crowd. The waves were small, inconsistent and the weather was windy, cloudy and cold. I sat on my board wearing board shorts and a rash guard hunched over, holding my arms close to my chest trying to keep warm.

Minding my own business, focusing on keeping my vital organs warm, a guy in a thick, long sleeved, spring suit paddles up to me. We exchange glances and pleasantries. The next thing he says to me is

“You must be freezing in that. I’m wearing a really thick wetsuit and am still cold! I can’t imagine how cold you must be.”

Jerk, I thought to myself as I watched him paddle away, hoping I would not see him again.

10 minutes later we end up waiting for waves in the same area. Having no intention to talk to him I made a conscious effort not to look in his direction.

Then it happened. He started to talking to me. I was polite, but cold. And seeing him reminded me again that I was cold, very very cold.

After a few minutes of conversation he redeemed himself and eventually we discovered that we got along quite well.

Fast forward 10 years.

He and his wife return home for a visit before heading out to travel. While home their plan was to surf as much as possible.Their first day back we decide to surf at Diamond Head early in the morning. We arrive at Diamond Head on a cold, overcast, winters morning. As we are getting ready he realizes all he has is a thin rash guard. While I have my 1mm  and my 2mm long sleeve rash guards. As we’re getting ready he comments on the cold. Being the friend that I am and underestimating thickness of my skin, I offered him my 2mm long sleeve.

He graciously accepted.

We walked down to the beach and the moment my toe hit the water I realized I had made a mistake in giving him that 2mm.

As we sat in the water, waiting for waves, I was reminded of just how very cold I was everytime I looked at him.

Jerk.

Before I compare and contrast, it’s only fair that I describe my surfing conditions. I learned to ride a long board in Texas. Even though South Padre Island boasts the best surf in Texas – it’s still Texas. I learned on waves no more than a couple of feet tall at best. I know not the joy of surfing in places like Santa Cruz. Maybe some day I will.

First, the overlap. Both sports involve balance, and once you’re up and riding it is a similar balance. Both are driven by external forces, in both cases you riding along on another energy flow. The margin for error – in other words, what it takes to fall down – is relatively the same in both sports.

In their general nature, you’re doing the same thing… Oh, but the contrast are many.

There is a gap in effort versus reward. The mountain waits on you. First you ride up in the comfort of your lift chair. Then when you’re ready to fly, you stand up and take flight. Your terrain is static and you are in control for a long ride. The ocean, on the other hand, laughs at you. First you paddle out through oncoming waves on your narrow wobbly boat. This alone will wear you down to jello. Once you make it past the breaks and are ready to catch a wave, you have to wait until the right moment. When that moment comes, you paddle hard and drop into mother nature’s furious arms. If you can pick your moment and lift yourself to your feet, you’re suddenly riding a dynamic flow of liquid. It’s a lot to keep up with and goes by quickly.

It’s a rush, a well earned rush.

In just two trips, I’ve already seen that surfing is more than just a sport. For many people, it’s a way of life… or perhaps a way of understanding life. Though I dearly love snowboarding, I’ve never spent a night in my tent listening to waves crash on a snowboarding trip. There’s something about being near the ocean that feels empowering and uplifting. There’s something healthy about having sun and salt water on your body.

You can see it in the smiles of other surfers. It’s a wonderful thing.

[iJS used parts of original artwork from Andy Shaw]

…

Although the regulars have grown accustomed to the winds and ways of Diamond Head, on a good day it has been described as paddling to the left with a garden hose turned on full right in your face. That sounds about right though. The surf, however, is not the story today. It was the people … always the people it seems. The usual small talk that occurs at the shower line is meant to pass time by as well as get to know strangers a bit more, as well all pass through the baptismal cleansing of the PVC pipes at the base of the path.

Today, something had resonance, something a complete stranger said to me. “Now I can face the rest of the day!” she said cheerfully as she exited the shower line and headed up the cement pathway. It bears repeating: NOW – after surfing that morning, and rinsing herself off – I can face the rest of the day. In a way, we all have a ritual that we follow every morning that prepares us to face the world out there … hers, much like so many surfers that I know, was surfing. Soaking in the ocean and riding the waves.

In the office environment, you can often hear people muttering that they cannot function until their first cup of coffee … it’s a similar ritual. Although diametrically opposed (one being a natural high and the other chemically induced externally), the two rituals allow us to gear up and prepare ourselves to face what is very well an unknown agenda. It may be surfing for some, coffee for others, and for some it takes the form of ritual “amulets” or “charms”. Although not an experience, some people use physical objects to prepare themselves for whatever lies ahead in their day. From necklaces, watches, PDAs, laptops, and other devices, we as a people have developed our own form of attachments to modern-day versions of amulets.

The form that the amulets have taken may have changed over the years, but it is by no means a new practice. Shamans and Kahunas have prepared for their daily battles with the unknown using symbols, trinkets, amulets, and some even physical rituals as a blessing or curse. And the use of such rituals has become so entwined in their cultures that they have become sacred. Despite the western influences a good part of the many native religions have remained intact. Most rituals are still carried out, and have been protected, often by associating them with traditional visual arts and traditional music. Before I learned to surf, I had other rituals that allowed me to face the day.

When I was a young child, I often required two “amulets” that prepared me for the daily challenges of a six year old: my plastic toy gun fashioned after Vic Morrow’s rifle in “Combat”, and a big red cape that symbolized superheroes of every archetype. You can say that it was mostly Superman that I emulated, but he didn’t carry ammunition like I did. I recall having these two items with me most times … even while at school, I remember having them close by, often hidden within the my six -year-old-mind’s ideal belief in the Fort Knox safety of my backpack. And so it was a rite of passage when I needed these object no more, forgotten with the onset of interest in other things … much older, newer things.

As a young teen, full of angst and apprehension, the rituals became that of appearance. For most of us at that age, we associated our identity with the way we looked, the way we dressed, and the people we spent most of our time with. I don’t have to look very far to point out iconic representations of this point in modern-day films, but you can try yourself. (Might I point out the grand-daddy of them all, The Breakfast Club?) And as we gained our own identities, interests, and confidence in our personalities and abilities … well, we grew up for the most parts! As adults you probably can name your own preparatory rituals, your amulets of enchantment, and your defense against the daily demons in the daily world. I have a few of them myself, one being writing down whatever thoughts I have in this blog.

Which of course brings us back to “Now I can face the rest of the day!” For whatever it is truly worth … I hope you faced your day armed with little more than a toy rifle and a red cape …

…

I vowed as a child that once I was old enough to mandate the contents used in MY French toast, that I would settle for no less than the best. Oh how I longed for the days when Tastee bread (yes, that’s spelled with two “e”s in it!) and white table sugar were not the primary ingredients of my breakfast fare! As I whisked the large eggs together with the basic ingredients, and a couple of SECRET ingredients that I tell no one (don’t ask!), I realized that this food of the gods that I have readily consumed since I was a young child is neither French in origin, nor is it “toast” by definition!

It doesn’t take away from the absolute yumminess of it, but it sure does lay down some interesting questions, doesn’t it? I did some furious research – after I hungrily devoured my culinary creation – in my quest to answer some heavily weighted questions. First off, the definition of WHAT French toast should be, or at least what it should have in common. After all, with all the variations and mutations of this dish – liken stuffed French toast, Hong Kong French Toast, Twinkie Toast – we have to have some common ground to stand on!

So here are the basics: French toast is made with bread and eggs – milk is commonly added. According to what is popular in local cuisine, many of the spices that are added to bread or egg dishes are included in cooking … so by definition, it is bread, eggs, milk as a base. The slices of egg-coated bread are then placed on a frying pan (or griddle) prepared with a coat of butter or oil, and cooked until both sides are browned and the egg has cooked through. Done. Although toppings and syrups can be debated until we are all blue in the face, the base ingredients and process is something we all see eye-to-eye on. So where did this food of the gods come from, if not from France?

The process had something to do with how it evolved … since French toast originated as a way to use day-old or stale bread (some breads, French bread especially -follow the name here! – become stale after one day). Whereas a stale, crunchy bread might seem unappetizing, soaking the bread in eggs and frying it solved that problem. The precise origins of the recipe are unknown, although a version appears in the 4th century CE Roman cookbook.

The most credible source, in a research provided by the International House of Pancakes, French toast is not necessarily French in origin! It is likely that the recipe dates back to medieval times and may have been a logical “invention” by different peoples, akin to battering and frying any food. A similar dish, “suppe dorate”, was popular in England during the Middle Ages, although the English might have learned it from the French Normans, who had a dish called tostees dorees. However, according to IHOP, the first written mention of the dish comes from the court of Henry V of England (1413-1422). [ more here ]

In doing this research, I realized that French toast was not only a yummy breakfast food item, but it also was a peek into my past. A sort of talisman that can take me back to days of youth when running downstairs for breakfast signaled the beginning of a day full of promise and excitement. That is probably why I still love it to this day … it signals my brain to release all those same promise of a new day, and endorphins geared for a day of excitement.

I also realized that it marks my embarkation from childhood to adulthood, since the recipe became mine now. I am able to choose the ingredients that I want, the process I need, and the time or place I choose to eat it. More so, I own the appliances it is cooked on. French toast has, in some interesting way, has marked my ritualistic movement from childhood to manhood. Now, give me all the French Toast!

…

There was this cute chubby Chinese boy who wasn’t exactly a Kelly Slater, but he was able to catch some and trim ok, and seem to just really enjoy himself. He would be out there almost as much as me. Anyway, he shortboards, wears a red/black rashguard, and sports a comical smile with his eyes.

In between sets, he told me about the other day— well… telling does no justice and is not the right word to describe his storytelling because he not only spoke with his mouth, but he somehow incorporated his entire body in his retelling.

With his hands, head, shoulders, torso, and submerged legs he told me how Saturday was “THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFEEEEE! IT WAS SOOO GOOOD.”

I haven’t heard that much stoke in such a long time that instead of laughing at him for being so exaggerated, I just smiled because I knew exactly what he was feeling and talking about.

“…yeah, so it was like the best day of my life!,” he half-screamed again.

“The best day of your life… so far,” I said. But he didn’t hear me. He was still drowning in his own private flashbacks.

That winter, the weather began to flex his muscles and gave us a free show by pissing rain and huffing ungodly wind conditions. So for lack of nothing better to do since there wasn’t any wood to play with (as in old furniture and my new found interest in refinishing them) I resorted to something I stopped doing once I was no longer being graded for it— reading.

Anyway, I came across an old coffee table surf book I bought from The Contemporary Museum above Makiki, which was signed (he had a photo in the book) by Shaun Tomson and his lovely South African accent, who happened be right behind me at the cash register (true story).

I couldn’t help but feel so much gayness, as in exceptional happiness, when I stumbled upon a page that described exactly the same feeling that chubby boy had about his waves and best day. The stoked boy this time was no other than reigning super surfer of the universe, Kelly Slater. Everybody gets stoked.

…

I have to say that Valentines Day holds a bittersweet place in my heart … although it’s more of a sweet than a bitter these days. To begin with, I was never a big fan of “consumer driven” holidays – you know the ones designed strictly to sell the masses otherwise excessive luxuries such as dozens of long-stemmed roses, overly indulgent rich Bavarian chocolates, et cetera. Having said that, I like Valentines day … it reminds me of kindergarten and very chalky tasting candy shaped like hearts, with wonderful sentiments like “i luv you” and “be mine” on them. I think that they taste an awful like Tums! Although I have never tasted blackboard chalk, but I can imagine that they fall somewhere within that same taste group.

I’t may seem that I am affected by the Valentines Ad full-court-press,  sounding a tad romantic or a wee bit nostalgic … but I just think that kindergarten was a wonderful time to be in love – simple, uncomplicated, and powerful. A time when a simple drawing made from crayons and lined paper were all you needed to express, and accept, true love. Love in the most uncomplicated form. We lost that as we got older – jobs, careers, obligations, ego, pride, and prejudice creep in and make it so messy at times. Whenever I ask people about their first love, or their kindergarten crushes, they always seem to get that same sheepish smile, that far-away look, and that twinkle in their eyes … then we eventually talk about Tums-flavoured candy hearts.

I remember clumsily stealing my sister’s My Twin Stars and Hello Kitty stamps, hair clips, note pads, and other accessories and giving them as Valentines Day presents to some lucky girls in my kindergarten class … sort of like a poor man’s Robin Hood. Although, nothing as altruistic as robing-from-the-rich-and-giving-to-the-poor in mind. My sister is probably reading this over the web and cursing me out … the secret’s out eh? Anyhoo – think back to your Valentines Day of years past that was uncomplicated and simple. Think of candy hearts, that somehow over the years have managed to survive and thrive as a Valentines Day item – if only love was as simple to maintain, and as willing to stick around like their candy counterparts.

I wonder why people continue to buy those candied hearts, and if only I could figure out how to apply that candied effect recipe tothe  adult versions of love.

…

The next thing I know I’m waking up… still in my clothes and on top of the comforter and blanket. My watch says 5AM.

I had no idea what happened until later that day when I looked in my medicine cabinet and saw two almost identical bottles next to each other. One was labeled Tylenol, the other Tylenol PM.

Two lessons learned:
1) Labels are important.
2) Read them.

On another notion:

Who would have thought that sewing notions and office supplies would have so much to do with relationship matters? As I’ve said once before, safety pins, buttons, hooks, Velcro, zippers… they provide closure, which everybody needs in order to move forward.

I’ve had my share of fastenating experiences. Some were neatly packaged and bow-tied with a perfect little ribbon and neatly stashed under the bed or in a closet shelf. Some were crumpled up, duct taped into a ball, Glad-wrapped, green-binned, and watched and observed every minute until picked up by the garbage collector. Case closed. Good-bye forever.

And then there are labels. If you were to dig into my file box five years ago, you’ll find three labeled file folders;

Work Stuff- had everything that had to do with work, duh.
Medical Stuff- had one thin subfolder, my medical record pre age-18.
Personal Stuff- Mostly empty… Because…

What else I had was the Other Stuff— though unlabeled, are the several multi-colored file folders; Some would have random receipts, probably for when I thought I would claim things for tax season. Others— maybe old photographs, love letters, article clippings, bills, seashells, basketball trading cards, recipes, menus, doodles, book-pressed flowers, menus, etc. etc…. I loved going through each folder and tripping out in pleasant surprise and down memory lane. Except for when I find a surprise unpaid bill. Doh!

I’ve gotten a little better with labeling these days, but not the same goes in my relationships. There are times when labels make me cringe and itch but there are also times when I feel a bit lost in translation and need less gray and more definition. But, knowing myself, the obscurity keeps me on my toes and adds a certain element of excitement from just-not-knowing. One moment, being a “friend” makes me feel like I’ve unknowingly taken a couple or more of Tylenol PM caps— confused, beaten, and too tired to make sense of it all, which often makes me want to flee. Other times, it makes me feel like an unaffected firefly— free and unworried that any moment now, some stupid kid is going to catch me in a jar and watch me flicker to oblivion. With that last notion, I leave you with a haiku.

A Fire Fly’s Life

On a blade of grass,
She flicks her butt on and off—
Bow chica bow wow.