I stabbed my eye, got stitches in my knee, got chased by a seal, got stood up by a date, learned about barrel riding and surfing backside and the world of localism all there.
It's comforting to be able to return to a place that holds such significance in my life.
If I go back to my Nonny and Poppy's house now, I know it's not going to be the same. They won't be home, of course, and there's probably granite counter tops and stainless steel appliances where there used to be blue tile and a bread box.
I remember one of my first summer sessions at Creek. I dropped in on this guy named Tim and his fins went right through the bottom of my board. This local girl Jenny, who was a badass if I ever met one, forced him to go in and help me fix it. He took my board to his house and gave it the crappiest repair job I've ever seen. I smile every time I see that board sitting in my parent's garage with it's urethane foam-filled ding. Funny thing is, one time Scott had some guys over for a surf and one of them said, as he looked at a picture of me surfing, "I ran that girl over once." At least almost ten years later Tim's seen proof that I'm not a total kook anymore.
The thought that coming here allows me to return to memories washed over me as I went under for my first duck dive at Salt Creek yesterday.
p.s. some funny old journal entries that allow me to relive old memories too
|"I sliced my knee that was then bandaged by a (cute) lifeguard…"|
"I touched a seal when I was paddling! I was getting pretty annoid…" //
Danielle's notes in my journal: "Seal: 'I'm going to eat you, write that in your log!'" //
"Agression/Fear Factor: a little timid after the whole 'eye thing'"