California Grateful - Day 6, Part One - Traditions, Old and New

Thanksgiving morning arrived in a mist; the much-needed rain had subsided, but lingered a bit in the morning sun. It was already 9 am Pacific Time, and I figured my own family was preparing to gather together back east…Turkey Day can be a bit of a marathon for the Irish, what with all the football games and parades and such…frankly, I was not missing the hullaballo.
I called my mother in obligatory fashion, for which she was grateful, no pun intended…I have been easing my mom into the idea that her youngest son is about to move 3,000 miles away for a few weeks now; it was time to come clean. She knows deep down this is what I want. Still, it cannot be an easy matter for her to digest. It was hard enough when I moved to Wilmington, in her eyes. She encouraged me to call my brothers (never an easy chore for the prodigal son that I am to them), and with some degree of determination, I did so.
After a few tense phone calls out on the front lawn with more criticism than an episode of Judge Judy, I entered to find Jen lounging on the couch…we talked of family dynamics and the similarities she and I share, both being single, on our own, and…gypsies. The gay uncle and the spinster aunt were in good company with each other, and her empathy was salve to my familial wounds.
But no time for sulking. I was about to experience a time-honored tradition for her: a stroll on Huntington Beach each Thanksgiving morning. We zoomed through Costa Mesa, past some industrial areas, and were quickly pulling in to the sleepy town now yawning and stretching to greet the holiday. Here there is surf, sand – and surfers. Gaggles of them. As we parked, a buff brunette was donning his scuba suit immodestly with a half-hearted attempt at keeping a towel around him. Jen chirped that she’s seen more ass on this beach than she could recount. I was mesmerized by the floor show.
As I looked out over the ocean, I could see perhaps 100 or so surfers in scuba suits; the only distinguishing quality among them was whether the hair on their heads was blond, brown…or grey. Many old school die-hard dudes are prevalent in surfing…holding on screeching and screaming for their youth. I admired their vigor, and could only hope that when I reached their age, I would be living on the wild side still.
We strode along the pier (actually my first pier since I’d arrived…although I’d seen so many…now I was actually ON one) and stopped half-way to take in the view below of the various boys on their boards. It was a goddamn buffet, with a variety of bubble butts and asses afloat on the sea, just ripe for pickin’. The waves were not as terse as I thought they wanted them to be; still, it was interesting to watch them mount their boards and attempt to hang five.
Having completed the perimeter of the pier, we headed up towards the main street in Huntington…but not before observing a quick performance by a bulldog and his owner on one of the promenades…a bulldog who skateboards…not only skateboards, but skateboards on TWO skateboards…a crowd assembled for the quick show, and upon a burst of applause, the dog and owner skated off in the other direction.
Jen’s brother in law, Aaron, and sister Sher, own a surf store on the corner just opposite the beach; they have literally cornered the market, despite a competitive store across from it. We ventured inside, to find all kinds of apparel and surfboards and supplies for the avid surfer. The store pays homage to surf stars and family members, with framed photos on its walls, and concrete impressions in the tiles out front, a la the Hollywood Walk Of Fame.
We continued up the store-lined mall, as Jen pointed out some really great breakfast joints, and before long, we headed back to the beach. I thanked her for including me on the excursion. We agreed that taking this moment to look at the sun, sand and surf is one of those things that really puts everything in perspective and gives one a sense of gratitude. Nature at its finest. And the surfer dudes don’t hurt.
We drove through some of the communities in which she grew up, she showed me her high school (a long and spread out one-story campus, complete with “smoker’s park” to prevent truancy), and soon we were back at the apartment, putting on our Thanksgiving best for the upcoming feast with her family.
Even Aaron Spelling couldn’t have come up with THIS cast of characters.