It’s as close to flying as you might get without wings. From my deck I watch them flip around. An unsuccessful landing takes a serious slap to the side of a body. They splash back up, whooping and hooting over the thrill of it. I wish for younger days, before the fear of injury. That perceived invincibility, and stronger knees. Yes, then I would be out there for sure! Maybe not flipping, but a nice pace. Yes, a speedy clip for sure.
You know, I’m not that old. On second thought, maybe I’ll go to bed early and eat fruit and granola tomorrow, and … ohhhh, but they might have eggs benedict again. Maybe I’ll go home, get in really good shape, and come back next year ready to rip it up. Yes. Rip it up – next year. That is the plan.
Then I looked back at my palette on the deck. “I am ripping it up” I thought to myself. Artistically speaking, it doesn’t get much more ripping than this.
I have already begun to concoct future trades. I want to get my family back here. I want to see my kids sail a little boat. I want them to drink virgin Pina Colada everyday. I want us to snorkel and talk about the fish we find. I want to act like all the other lovebirds and look longingly into my husband’s eyes over the moonlit North Sound. I think that if my son gets his hands on a kiteboarder, he may never want to ski again. No, that’s not likely, but he’ll dig it. I think my daughter will be taken by the local flavor, and we might not be able to get her back home. I think my husband will reignight his desire to sell everything and live on a boat. Based on the size of some of these boats, I might reconsider the idea. It has been a pleasure. I have missed my family, and I have worked hard. I’m thankful for the experience. I’ll be back…to rip it up in all-new ways. Cheers.