Boogie and the Beast

One more tidbit from vacation that I forgot about that I wanted to share: boogie-boarding. Another first from my time in Alabama, and an interesting one at that. The first day that we were down at the beach the waves were so rough that they put up the red flag (hoist the colors!), but pretty much every day after that, the ocean was as calm as candy, and we could go out and float practically as easily as if we had been in our own swimming pool. And it was on these waters that I made my first attempts on the boogie board, which were quite successful, riding into shore on my little board, tho not attempting to stand up on my knees or any such antics, especially as I am not even sure that such things are supposed to be attempted on said board. So anyway, along I went and it was all very jolly.

The next day was our last day of vacation and for some reason the water was suddenly much rougher, not as bad as that first day, but just enough to add some excitement to our usually blase floating. So I decided that this day would be extra jolly for some boarding of the boogie, and off I went, trying to ride into shore on these now extra large waves. But the other difference between this day and t'other is that in the interim, the beach was also much more shelly (as in, covered in little bits of broken up shells, not of or pertaining to Mrs. Salnikov, who should read this post now since I've referenced her in it.) So it was that I found myself, after a few false starts, being thrown onto and dragged across and bunch of sand laced with shell shards by a burly and unforgiving wave. Oh yes. And the other facinating part is that I actually did this a couple of times before I really got slammed down and formed the kindly thought, "Hey, wait, this hurts." The other part of this tale which I have heretofore left out was that I know nothing of boogie boarding, or boarding of any kind when it comes to that. Furthermore, everyone else at the beach was just kind of floating on their boards out beyond the surf, whereas to me it seemed like the logical thing to use the board to ride into shore on the breaking wave, which had worked rather successfully the previous day, but I have also never even seen anyone else riding a boogie board. So it was that, making it up as I went, I ended up coming back out after that last hard knock bleeding somewhat from numerous scratches and scrapes on my left forearm. I would take a picture and post it, but I have waited too long and they are all healing quite nicely and no longer puffy and red. But at the time, there I was with wounded pride and a scraped up arm, riding about in SALT water. I didn't say anything to anyone, feeling sheepish and not wanting to encourage my sister's fear o'the sea by telling her I had gotten smashed by a wave. She noticed a day or so later, but my mom, interestingly enough, has yet to notice all these scratches. And this is the story of how I came to have a most excellent case of...well, if I had been riding a motorcycle I would probably call it road rash so perhaps those in the know would call this "sand rash?" Perhaps they would just call it lame, because I'm pretty sure for this to happen I was doing something that those in the know wouldn't do. If I could just find one of them, perhaps I could ask, but there seems to be a shortage...

Oh, the other funny thing was that the flip flops, that I stole from Maggie which she said gave her scrapes on her feet finally started to do the same to me. I wore them faithfully, if illicitly, throughout Mayterm and Art Reach, even when the sole on the left one started peeling off and I had to fix it with duct tape so I wouldn't trip and fall in front of or on top of the kids, and they never were anything but the kindest most gracious flip-flops. Amazingly, once I added a little stiffening salt water to the strap and some nice abrasive sand, they started to scratch my foot all up. But only on the left side, mind you (which seems to have taken a beating this vacation) while the right foot was unaffected. So I finally broke down and bought some seven dollar flip flops from Old Navy that are very fuzzy and the bottom and have no traction and threaten to kill me when I walk on any smooth surface. The End.

Alright, that's enough posting about vacation already! Can't we get back to the intellectual stuff? We will, we will, no more vacuous vacation posts. Unless I think of something else that's funny, then I'm totally gonna post it because, hey, it's my blog.

Crabs to you,
S.