As the title mentions – but it’s not that easy. You’re body wants to “submarine” and slide down the supporting arrangement of pillows. Ow. At some point that eludes the necessary lumbar support and you can awake as a pretzel. Double-ow. Also the head is a weighty watermelon that lolls back and forth and has a will of its own – and the neck seems like an insubstantial arrangement to hold it all up. Neck-ow can result.
I thought I had this licked by sleeping on a vertically aligned pillow, from butt to shoulders, so that my shoulders hung off the sides and let my chest-wall relax, open. Well it got too hot and there was the convulsive shivering again. At about 3:00AM when it was time for more Ibuprofen, I just got up and dicked around on the internet. The throughput was much better than during daytime with this stupid Dish-Net craptastic ISP we have. Afterwards (about forty minutes) I returned and put the sofa-cushion back to work in the dark and arrayed the rest of the pillows so I could recline (and fall asleep) without too much shuddering pain.
It all reminds me of the time of my wife’s broken collar bone. Back in the 80’s before we were married we took Friday-off in advance of a long-weekend, and headed up to the mountains for a camping trip. We didn’t get too far up the Peninsula before a 16-wheel tractor-trailer suddenly changed-lane into us, and we were spun-off the Freeway and her Chevette rolled. Definitely an E-Ticket ride, watching the windshield pop out upside-down and terar-awau, and then a sandstorm of roadside crud come billowing in on the vacuum.
The car was totaled but she “only” had a broken left collar bone where she was thrown against the door pillar – and severe lacerations. She couldn’t sleep laying-down lest the collar-bone shift – which caused a lot of pain, but if she sat-up in bed she could sleep and the bone didn’t attempt to escape through her skin. So I had to tie her up in bed with an arrangement of belts, in the shack where we lived that was once the abode of Jerry Garcia. There were a lot of distinctly weird objet d’art laying grown-over in the yard there. I think she destroyed the photographic evidence of that episode.
There were seven in this fishbowl being Maytagged around by the surge, but none the worse for it -I had to stay out or be tumbled-up with them, the water was THIN and I could barely float in – besides avoiding shin-whacking by the fins. But they dont bite – not me anyhow.
UPDATE: Jeebus ! WTF is wrong with NEU BLOGGER??? You try to do a simple f*ing embed in a g**daMN stupid-simple post, and all you get is HTf*ingML script????
And I am all excited to be able to go to the Gunblogger Rendezvous (v. 7) this year.
Should have done this a while ago…there were so many damn turtles, it was amazing.
Just try to remembe to breathe.
This used to be a golf course…before that it was pineapples, now it’s a maze of flowers and butterflies. We hiked the upper reaches of the old course to a large pond that was a course water-hazard – it held huge koi fish and ducks a plenty. They get along without much help now.
Across the channel Molokai is shrouded along the top ridge.
Maui Land & Pineapple Company has gone tits-up. The “pine” are no longer in production and people are out of work.
DT Fleming Beach was named after David Fleming who planted the first pineapples up by Kapalua in 1912, and the beach was pretty empty as usual.
Drinks at the Ritz’ outdoor cafe are very spendy (as usual) but the scenery is unparalleled. We were not guests, just party-crashers.
On the world’s smallest wave, in water little more than waist-deep, it’s still easy to wobble-off and wipeout.
I did manage to stand up and ride a couple into shore with a push from the instructor and paddling like crazy, including the very first wave. Performance deteriorated after the first wave as I over-compensated six ways to Sunday.
My wife rode several all the way into shore.
It’s a helluva lot more work than I anticipated – a sport not just an activity, and I have a newfound major respect for the guys and gals who do it. With the only throttle-mechanism being your paddling arms, and with the board being in the way since you’re lying on it with your neck cranked up and looking off into the wet and salty distance, paddling occurs with the outer arms and elbows using a hitherto unknown and unused set of muscles that God probably did not invent but the Devil did.
Towards the end of my exhaustion I got set upon a wave that directed me to the stone breakwater, which me being unstable and unable to avoid, I attempted to bank-off like a shooting a berm – a proper dirt-riding technique that would work if you had a throttle and another motivating source and some tires – and dirt. In water that equals mud – my arms were up in the air, not down paddling in the water. I managed to carom off a few-three slippery sub-surface rocks and headed (leaned) away from the pier before belly-flopping off into the clear water away from the stones. Got a good earful from the instructor and lost the fin. Watercrashr.
Afterwards came lesson #2 about surfing: Later that evening over some beers I was still totally stoked and amped by the rushing endorphins, and eager to take another lesson until I awoke with arms like cement pleading for ibuprofen – the makers of Advil must burn huge offerings to the Surf Gods.
Snorkeling on the other hand is weightless and effortless by comparison, and the fish and turtles who are not curious appear only slightly annoyed at your presence. With masks that have RX diopters we can actually see all the marine life, instead of the fuzzy blotches which inhabit the world when my glasses are removed. They are totally recommended for those of us who are near-sighted and reveal a world of activity that you maybe didn’t want to actually know about.
It was a great sixteen days, more pictures when they get developed to CD.