It's been a long December, but like all of them, it moved faster than I could even imagine.
With most of the surf reports being lies, most of the surfers in Oregon getting skunked more than scoring, and others simply leaving the state in desperation, I think it almost seemed longer.
With most of the surf reports being lies, most of the surfers in Oregon getting skunked more than scoring, and others simply leaving the state in desperation, I think it almost seemed longer.
Santa came, left, and was seen laid out in a neighbor's yard New Year's Day.
I always cry on Christmas.
This year we came together as a family before the world.
There was meals and dinners, friends, family, and melding of all in one great savory soup.
All good things seem to be frosted with bad news, and bad news is usually not as bad as it seems.
It's hard to fathom the day our heroes need us. Maybe they always have needed us.
And then it's over.
Another year is behind us, and we all feel a little bit older.
I think we all die young anyway. We do. There is this point where one ceases to be this, and becomes that. And we are dead. Our youth is dead. No matter how childish we remain.
We all sit with same sense of hope for the next year. However insanity could truly be repeating the same actions and expecting a different result.
I look forward to the coming events of the next year. There is a lot going on in there, and that is just what I know about.
However, if there is anything I know for certain at the end of a long December is that our heroes always need us,
and I always cry at Christmas.