rrosurf session ealsurfers.net now has a dedicated email location. Not surprisingly, it’s erwin@realsurfers.net This gives you an opportunity to send your comments, good or, like, really good. It isn’t as if I’m out of stories, and every surf session, every surf trip is another opportunity. Still, it is obvious that I’m chronicling an objectively fickle little zone in a world of surf spots, and I have a limited number of close surf friends, and that I’m further limited in what I can write about by a host of self-centered and perfectly logical restrictions on what spots I can mention, and whether any of these unnamed destinations might ever have decent waves.

YES, I have tales yet untold from the last century; with less crowded waves, possibly more colorful characters, and yes, there is the drawing and the endlessly unfinished novel (“Swamis,” as a reminder), BUT, allow yourself the opportunity to have something published; your art, your story, your pithy and well-formed critique, or your clever commentary on anything related to surf culture. OR you can just write something like, “Hey, dude, you would have loved the session you missed at ______ the other day.” Feel free to blow up any spot not on the Olympic Peninsula, so… Ocean Shores south. No, you should think before you, you know, sell out somewhere you might want to surf again… but Westport is fair game.

AND, as a bonus, if having tens of readers from all over the world skim over or dive into your work isn’t enough, you can get a share of the money I take in (which is, so far, nothing- I have no control over those ads). So far. Note: When I had a poem (edited) in “Surfer” in 1968, I received $10 and a copy of the magazine. I have neither at this point, BUT once YOU’RE on the big web… Oh, yeah; fame will stck to you like something between a groovy tan and a bad sunburn. Still, better than a rash. Not that I know. I’m… guessing.

I’ll be checking my mail, erwin@realsurfers.net I’m not yet swamped. I’ll probably write back.

Images by Keith Darrock, who cruised down to Westport to hang with a friend from high school, caught some beach break waves, and broke his toe in a bicycle mishap. This didn’t totally curtail Keith’s surfing; boogie board and using his smallest board as a kneeboard (three uses of the word ‘board’ in one sentence- now four) is taking up some of the slack.

SAY- Surf injuries; another possible subject.

Adam Wipeout recently (vague) went up to help Soupy Dan build out this trailer. Since they were by the water… accidental score. Sure. Accidental? Or one of those times when all the plan works out? SIDE NOTE” That orange-ish board is on permanent loan to Adam after/while on permanent loan to me from Atsushi “Archie: Endo, he on longterm loan to Thailand.

The Ballad of Joey and Tony (Joey is in the photo, above)

I should tell the version I spewed, rapidly, while holding up the line at the Pet Smart, Trish on the cell phone giving the clerk the information on how they, according to their website, had a ninety-nine-dollar cat tree available for pickup. Simultaneously, the next person told me Costco has cat trees. “Thanks.” Getting the phone back, I said, “Trish. Costco…” “Fine.”

So:

“I’m not really a cat person. My wife is. We always had cats. The last one died… But these other two cats showed up in our driveway. We thought it was one cat. We’ve gotten other cats this way. Feral. Abandoned. Some of each. People… have you heard of this? People get these cats, get them neutered, then, snip off the end on one ear, and, like it’s kind or something, they let them go. We had a cat lady who lived nearby. But… it’s Quilcene. Dangerous. We’ve had bears… Once we had a cougar kill a raccoon… right in front of our Ring camera. So… Tony, the friendly one… I put a heat lamp in the mud room in the winter. Eventually, he became an indoor/outdoor cat.“

But the other one, Joey… we gave them androgenous names… I never could get close to Joey until, the other morning, he was out where I put the food. Dead.”

“Oh, my.”

“Except… he wasn’t. Tony, and they had to be related, he was scared shitless. After an hour or so, I go out in the mudroom with a cup of coffee, ready… And… he moved.”

“Moved?”

“Moved. I took him to the vet. Had to. He had come to us for help.”

“Did they help him?”

“No. I don’t know what I thought they could do. Adrenaline. Something.”

At about this time, another cashier showed up to open another register. My cashier tallied the treats and toys an inside cat might need. I paid, picked up the bag. The woman with the Costco suggestion moved her stuff up. I turned back.

“I told the people at the vets that I was practical enough to have put a shovel in my car.” I took two more steps. “What’s… something, something that still bothers me. A couple of people gave me shit for paying for a cat’s… you know, paying, when Joey wasn’t my cat.”

The woman just nodded. “Costco? Okay,” I said.

Tony? He’s… adapting.

I am working on some poetry. Yes, the acceptably pretentious kind… Except, I can’t seem to stay within the boundaries. I wanted to post something I’ve been working on, two poetry adjacent pieces. I opted to put out the more quickly written and not as precious story about Joey and Tony. No, a bit more refining. As a warning, I took the HAIKU format, and wrote five related, uh, haikus. One story. I did and I am still considering writing some sort of chorus. We’ll see.

Thanks, as always, for checking out realsurfers.net. I look forward to hearing from you. Meanwhile, hit some waves when you can!