Every time I go to Santa Cruz to meet my son, Paul, I stop off at the Petroglyphs place and make a piece of tasteful pottery because he tells me he's going to meet me at 5PM and he never shows up till 6 or 7:30PM.

The last time, I finished making another pig just as Paul called. No he wasn't hungry (Darn. Should have eaten something.), but he wondered, "Do you want to go to the beach?"

Okay, if we go to the beach, it's usually has enough sand for a footprint, lots of rocks and big waves. You either have to be a squirrel or a surfer to enjoy it.
Me being a big fat mom does not equal enjoyment, except...
I love my son. I worship him. He's handsome; he's bright; he loves me. These are all appealing traits.
So of course, I want to sit on a cold rock and wave my arms as he goes out into the waves in his wetsuit and glides over foam looking way cool. No, I don't tell him they all look alike from the shore. One time I brought my camera and took pictures of a completely different surfer who I thought was Paul.
When he saw them, he just kept saying, "This isn't me," and acting annoyed.
Can I help it if everyone looks the same in a black wet suit a mile away or even 30 feet because I'm nearly blonde? Uh, Blind?

Well, this time, as I handed my Large pink and purple spotted pig to the girl behind the counter (Oooh, another Christmas present for your sister?) Paul said, "Let's go to Natural Bridges."
"Natural Bridges? Can you surf there?"
"Nah, I'm going down on my bike for exercise. You can body surf with me. It'll be fun."
"okay." I said meekly as I wondered did the suit I brought with me actually fit? Wasn't it too cold? Wasn't I too old for this?
My suit fid dit. I didn't have to tut off my coe.
So we went.
Paul hit 40 mph on his bike down the hills from his house. I got out of the car and we walked, yes I walked, and it was a long walk, to the surf.
Paul dove in right away. He looked like he was having so much fun, I thought what the hell and I jumped in.
It was cold for a minute.
Then Paul splashed me from head to toe, and I was forced to go under and get warmer.
It felt delicious. I had forgotten how the ocean can hug you and make you feel warm and wonderful.
A big wave came and I..I..
I Leapt into the air and Caught it!
It propelled me forward and my arms shot out in front of it about 2 or 3 feet at least. The water shhhed by my ears. I was gliding through the wave suspended about 4 feet above the sands. It was incredible! What a rush!
It took about 50 seconds and made me feel hungry for more.
I looked over at Paul and laughed and took another wave.
It was fantastic! I was gliding in the water with a tremendous force behind me that lifted me up and shoved me forward. It was like flying.
I landed on the sand, jumped up and Paul was right next to me.
"Paul, this is Great. Do you know how long it's been since I've been to the beach? Months. Maybe years! This feels wonderful!"
We both saw another wave. I lunged for it and...
Didn't see the second wave behind it. Paul did. He dove through it and let it roll over him.
I did not. I caught it.
The second wave hit me in the back of the neck, which made me think...

This is dangerous.
My son participates in a dangerous sport.

That wave could have easily snapped my neck in two, if I hadn't turned when I did. It continued to point out my frailty by shoving my face into the sand with the force of 17 nasty athletic twenty- year-olds all reaching for the milk at once. Me being "the milk."
I was hurt. My face was pressed into the sand hard.
I got up slowly and another wave knocked me down. I stood up again and my wonderful strong athletic son said, "Ma? Your nose is bleedin'. Ma?"
He grabbed me just as another wave came and hit the two of us. I nearly blacked out. I was glad when he held me up.
"Oh, I feel old," I said.
"Hell, Ma, you're almost fifty. You are old." Paul said.
And I proved once again that I was a good mom, I did not go buy a gun and shoot him.
I did think about it.
Of course, I could not have lifted a weapon because the shove into the sand had dislocated my shoulder. I could tell right away when I screamed as Paul grabbed my hand.
He said, "Hang on here," and popped it back in place, which made it hurt... less.
I had a lump the size of a bowling ball on my forehead and a matching one on top of my head. My face was actually bleeding. I had cuts all over and we couldn't stop the flow, until we reached the bandaids at Paul's place.
We did have a fun evening dispite the oceans angry bite. She's mad at me for neglecting her I guess. Kind of like a mare that likes you. They always bite you on the ankle or something.

When Glenn saw me he said "If anyone asks to just say, It's for a movie."
We live in Hollywierd. It's a believable response.
"Yeah, I'm in a pilot; it's tragic."

I have been walking around with a terrific pain in my shoulder and a scabby face, coughing up sand for weeks. It's been great at the grocery store. I look like a battered wife. Everyone let's me go first and gives me sympathetic looks. It's slacked off since I've healed up.
I'm just about to go back to the visit my son. If he asks me to go surfing...I think I'll tell him to build me a steel plated suit with a hood that deflects ocean bites and negative comments about my age, as well.

Nah, I'll just go in. The Ocean can't still be mad at me.
Besides, her bite completely cleared my sinuses! I've been sand blasted!

That's the lastest from LaLa land.
Where the dogs are smart
The parents are weird
And the children are all too athletic for their own good.

Email your comments to Carol Wood at Carol@hazelst.com