It’s just a dusty little palm-lined pitstop on a four-lane highway between coast and valley. There’s a donut shop… “Moonlight Donuts”. I stop there on Thursday mornings to pick up a dozen for my weekly status meeting. It helps keep the complaints to a minimum and takes the edge off my angry customers when the vendor has once again dropped the ball.
See, I’m a project manager right now… translated to plain English that means “scapegoat”. That’s right, other companies pay my company good money so that they can blame various things on me, rather than step up and own their decisions. Ok, fine… guess that’s what keeps our economy humming. If nothing else it’s keeping my bills paid for now. But it’s also pretty draining. Especially the three hours a day spent on the road wishing I had some other job… ANY other job… closer to home. And fewer bills. The ghosts of decisions past haunt me still today. But that’s the American way.
But back to the point. Filmore. Filmore, California is a small town that’s bisected by highway 126…. Runs east/west between Ventura and the 5. From there it’s a southbound run on the 5 to work – via the 210 and 134. Just me and ten thousand of my daily commuter buddies. A nightmare. I sit there staring out the windscreen and wonder how that kid with the love of nature, the purity of a northwoods environment at his fingertips… hundreds of thousands of acres of snowshoeing to be had – ever wound up in this corporate Game-trap. But at least there’s still time to get out… that’s the goal.
Here in Filmore it’s dusty. Just a big ‘ol dusty canyon punctuated by orange groves and fields of rotating crops. The drive along this stretch is lazy, relaxed and in many ways beautiful. But Filmore’s not much to look at. A few blocks with trees in the middle of a long valley full of dust and agriculture.
Today I was feeling really down. The situation in the world in general, and our country’s advance to war in particular, had been getting me all day. I tried to relax but kept listening to the radio, and growing increasingly uncomfortable. Then the light turned red.
There in the middle of Filmore… the second of four traffic lights in the town… my gaze rested upon a sight to my left that lifted my spirits and brought a smile to my face. It was three groms. They were standing in the parking lot of a grocery store at the corner. In the grassy median between the road and the lot, there was a deep concave into the earth, leading to a drainage ditch. The effect was a natural, grass-lined quarter pipe right there at the intersection of the highway and one of this town’s sleepy streets.
The kids were dropping in… and clearly having a blast. Dropping in? Indeed… on pieces of cardboard about the size of snowboards. No ocean? No mountains? No problem… grab a scrap of cardboard and surf the culvert at Von’s. It’s really amazing – the places where stoke appears.
Maybe it was some kinda message – it certainly encouraged me to paddle out tonite despite lousy conditions. I almost went home and shined the whole surfing notion when I saw the choppy, windswell crud that mother ocean had to offer. But then I thought of those grass-surfing groms in Filmore. I thought about how stoked they’d probably be on these marginal conditions. I thought about the surfboard in the window at the Filmore Thrift Store – it’s been there for weeks. I thought – “damn… groms that stoked, you shoulda gone back and bought that board from the Thrift Store and just given it to those kids….” I paddled out thinking of grass-surfing in a storm drain.
I knit my brow at the vast difference in my life versus so many others… and then I smiled broadly and said a quiet thank you for all that I’m blessed with in this life. I caught a shoulder-high windswell wave that was shaped like a rectangular quartz crystal, and raced it’s energy down the line – pumping my Bonzerfish into rhythmic arcs of speed along the indecisive face.
At the end the wave sectioned in a fifty-foot dump, and I tried to kick up and over the lip, but was pulled back down with a meaty-wet THUD into briny darkness beneath a setting sun. As the bubbles coursed all around me and my leg tugged in a burning desire to follow my board to the surface I realized with a relaxed grin – I truly am blessed to have surfing in my life. I’m still amazed at how deep and profound an impact this Path can have.
To all those of you who know what I’m talking about…. Please take a moment to consider how fortunate you are.
Peace –N- Sweet Waves to ya’ll!!
~groovn~
See, I’m a project manager right now… translated to plain English that means “scapegoat”. That’s right, other companies pay my company good money so that they can blame various things on me, rather than step up and own their decisions. Ok, fine… guess that’s what keeps our economy humming. If nothing else it’s keeping my bills paid for now. But it’s also pretty draining. Especially the three hours a day spent on the road wishing I had some other job… ANY other job… closer to home. And fewer bills. The ghosts of decisions past haunt me still today. But that’s the American way.
But back to the point. Filmore. Filmore, California is a small town that’s bisected by highway 126…. Runs east/west between Ventura and the 5. From there it’s a southbound run on the 5 to work – via the 210 and 134. Just me and ten thousand of my daily commuter buddies. A nightmare. I sit there staring out the windscreen and wonder how that kid with the love of nature, the purity of a northwoods environment at his fingertips… hundreds of thousands of acres of snowshoeing to be had – ever wound up in this corporate Game-trap. But at least there’s still time to get out… that’s the goal.
Here in Filmore it’s dusty. Just a big ‘ol dusty canyon punctuated by orange groves and fields of rotating crops. The drive along this stretch is lazy, relaxed and in many ways beautiful. But Filmore’s not much to look at. A few blocks with trees in the middle of a long valley full of dust and agriculture.
Today I was feeling really down. The situation in the world in general, and our country’s advance to war in particular, had been getting me all day. I tried to relax but kept listening to the radio, and growing increasingly uncomfortable. Then the light turned red.
There in the middle of Filmore… the second of four traffic lights in the town… my gaze rested upon a sight to my left that lifted my spirits and brought a smile to my face. It was three groms. They were standing in the parking lot of a grocery store at the corner. In the grassy median between the road and the lot, there was a deep concave into the earth, leading to a drainage ditch. The effect was a natural, grass-lined quarter pipe right there at the intersection of the highway and one of this town’s sleepy streets.
The kids were dropping in… and clearly having a blast. Dropping in? Indeed… on pieces of cardboard about the size of snowboards. No ocean? No mountains? No problem… grab a scrap of cardboard and surf the culvert at Von’s. It’s really amazing – the places where stoke appears.
Maybe it was some kinda message – it certainly encouraged me to paddle out tonite despite lousy conditions. I almost went home and shined the whole surfing notion when I saw the choppy, windswell crud that mother ocean had to offer. But then I thought of those grass-surfing groms in Filmore. I thought about how stoked they’d probably be on these marginal conditions. I thought about the surfboard in the window at the Filmore Thrift Store – it’s been there for weeks. I thought – “damn… groms that stoked, you shoulda gone back and bought that board from the Thrift Store and just given it to those kids….” I paddled out thinking of grass-surfing in a storm drain.
I knit my brow at the vast difference in my life versus so many others… and then I smiled broadly and said a quiet thank you for all that I’m blessed with in this life. I caught a shoulder-high windswell wave that was shaped like a rectangular quartz crystal, and raced it’s energy down the line – pumping my Bonzerfish into rhythmic arcs of speed along the indecisive face.
At the end the wave sectioned in a fifty-foot dump, and I tried to kick up and over the lip, but was pulled back down with a meaty-wet THUD into briny darkness beneath a setting sun. As the bubbles coursed all around me and my leg tugged in a burning desire to follow my board to the surface I realized with a relaxed grin – I truly am blessed to have surfing in my life. I’m still amazed at how deep and profound an impact this Path can have.
To all those of you who know what I’m talking about…. Please take a moment to consider how fortunate you are.
Peace –N- Sweet Waves to ya’ll!!
~groovn~
