Favorite Things

Not, as you might expect, anything Beach Boys. My desert island tune is Van Morrison’s “Queen of the Slipstream.”

The right break at Trestles, not all the far from my home.

When in the mountains, kokanee salmon, cooked in foil over coals with lemon and butter. When nearer to the ocean, albacore, cooked in foil over coals with lemon and butter.

Oranges. Strong coffee. Weak tea.

Self-adhesive postage stamps.

Carnations, in bunches.

The smell of salt behind my lover’s ear.

Terrific gas mileage.

Bare feet, when possible. When possible, bare naked under a light shirt and shorts.

Someone, anyone, playing a guitar at the beach after nightfall. And the bonfire. No singing.

The scar left on my mother’s nose after they removed the carcinoma. The knobs on my knees and on the tops of my feet after years of kneeling on my board.

The vague music you hear underwater when a wave holds you down, and all the air leaves you, and everything begins to go black.