I baked some banana bread… but the middle caved in.
We still ate it.
Before that, I went for a surf and Scott took some photos.
The waves had been big all week. Saturday night, about a week ago, I thought I could hear them in my dreams. But when I woke up, it was just the garbage truck.
I was nervous and anxious and moody that morning (maybe I'm learning from the ocean).
On the paddle out my ear plugs ripped out and my hair covered all my breathing holes on my second duck dive.
I was careful to stay away from stray strands of seaweed and lost lobster trap buoys. A set wave could launch them at my head at any moment. The feeling of being near obstacles in the ocean is reminiscent of being behind someone transporting a ladder or mattress on the freeway. It's too uncertain to be safe and you don't want your head bashed in, so...
I come here everyday. It's weird how unfamiliar it felt to me then when the waves marched in like monsters.
It seemed as though they didn't recognize me either.
But after a few good waves the ocean felt like a friend again. Surrounding me as if to say "You can do this"