Older than Dirt and...

Its a week end of

"oh how I love this sport"

three medals, and two days

of wins, teamwork,

magic and silly friendship stuff

dorming it like wild college kids

and there is a thousand laughs

in the fun account

to feel very rich.

Hawaiianly charmed

and entertained

on a grassy hillside abundantly dotted

with reclining, dancing, drinking,

beautifully tattooed, smiling paddlers.

Our return here, marks five years

from our first race EVER!

Still can see us standing on the shoreline

naively novice in our big red bag shirts

that held rather than hid the smell of nerves.

We ran back and forth watching every turn

for tips, for clues

we had only discovered

the sport three months earlier

and we were, hmmm...

how should I say....terrible!

Without a coach or resident expert we

had learned

thru borrowed videos and books.

Even once simulating a way to dry paddle

using a picnic table and a cooler.

(Yeah, I know, odd to picture)

But for some reason

we were a crowd pleaser that day

coming in second

(don't get excited, out of two)

behind the intimidating Hawaiians.

Discovering immediately this was a sport

where teams helped other teams,

everyone friendly, good natured

and generous with information

and encouragement.

They LOVED us and still do it seems!

Charmed and seemingly pleased

to see us do well.

Is it because we are relatively new

or an unlikely collection

of older than average athletes

from the desert?

As much of a surprise to us,

as it is to them

when we claim firsts?

Or it it the new team shirts

with the cool logo

(a long ways from the red bag shirt days?)

No longer the nervous ones pacing

the shore line for our name to be called.

We are in the Silver Masters division now

(for women over 50)

or affectionately known as

"older than dirt."

Having earned this position for being

silver and seasoned! Finally!

We are kick back

casual, joking even before the race.

Getting around to figuring

out who will sit where

as we walk to our canoe.

Comfortable with the challenge

of dock entry

leaning left, one by one!

And we claim the water

as ours right away with a rolling start

and hold it with a fury

with clean technique and style,

Not worrying about the turn until

we get there, ready to do whatever

it takes to stay ahead and out

of the reed area we termed

"looking for Moses."

We do and we win.

I have found myself in seat one

as the stroker and

the water truly does belong to me

out in front in all ways

and its exhilarating, and thrilling

its my job, to get there and stay there

and it's...hard!

Very hard and grueling.

So, I try to get out of it for

the next couple of races

...and can't!

Seat one had always been

someone else's seat,

and I realized I had just been sitting

there waiting for someone else

to come and claim it,

so I could go back

to being a low keyed,

less responsibility, seat two again.

But what if this is my seat

and I claim it as such...

(no one else seems to want it either)

and train to be the best one

I can be and in better shape

for the job in the future?

Hmmm?

So what if we are "older than dirt"

and come from the desert?

We are winners and

a team to be reckoned with

and just like our first medal win

in Tempe five years ago when someone said

"and they are hot too"

It was heard again this past Saturday

as we claimed our over 50 hardware...

Better than the medal? Almost!

Looks like we must be

doing something right.

Oh, how I love this sport!

Pam Piper Rain

Farewell Dear Summer

Where have I been?

I can only answer

that the words had left me!

As they do

sometimes...

or maybe they have followed me

at a distance

waiting for me to look around?

So I turned.

To see...it had become fall

and summer had fled

on its papery sun drenched wings

like egrets.

Left behind,

I am wistful,

melancholy...

grieving the things it takes with it.

The warm swampy smell of the lake,

rising like a fragrant steam

inviting and beckoning.

The long days of endless heat

and ways to play and stay wet.

The muted hum

of sounds while floating,

ears immersed in aqua.

The enchanting words and moments

that are called forward

while bobbing on our blue playground,

sprawled lazily about

on gleaming white seats,

toasting this and that with bubbles.

The brilliant reflection of red and yellow

and our dipping paddles,

a liquid ballet in the dawns light.

The desert doesn't have seasons

some will say,

true, not as dramatic as anywhere else,

with its desire to please

through hues of changing colors.

but ah... it is there

in the subtle beauties

that are gifted to the

ones paying attention

with watchful eyes.

Its in the light

and the way the water's color

deepens as if the putting on a heavy coat,

letting the heat sink and the chill rise.

It's in the Mud Duck's music

as they skim

the lakes surface in a chaotic chorus,

to escape that which interrupts

their serene drifting.

(Which is usually us and our canoe...

we can't seem

to resist the opportunity

to scatter and harass them.)

It's in that which is supposed to be green

and was before

the daunting days of high temps,

subtle displays of a lively perkiness,

as if to say "hey, look at me I survived

and am ready to shine again."

It's in the smile of my dog,

bounding mid morning

over cooled pavement, free and joyful.

Its in the color orange everywhere

and the anticipated smell of spice.

Its in the pointy hats and shelves

of bagged candy.

In Vincent Price's laughter and

roar turns and waz ups and

new dancers with cheers

for themselves and one another.

Its in the sky and the harvest moon,

torches filled and flames dancing

across the faces of friends

with new words.

But I will miss the hoop and board,

the water friends I must say farewell to,

my tan and the sunsets while being knee deep,

the purr of my boat prop taking me

out to the next adventure.

The music that says its been memorable,

the early morning race to do

it all, before the heat advances

from the east!

The days so long

and the light...so inexhaustible !

October.

It is both beginning and endings.

With a required vow to let "summer"

and all her wonders

...go!

She won't be held on to,

endless only in our imaginings

and the promise of another May.

One last look tho...

as I turn around

to take my words with me

and I think I can feel the whisper

of her fleeting wings

taking flight!

Pam Piper Rain

What was I Scared of?

Recently, I celebrated my 51 st birthday

with that came the usual ways to celebrate

bubbles, balloons, swinging, playing with

and calls from friends,

the lake and paddling,

And this book by Dr. Seuss,

a gift from my brother!

One I used to be terrified of!

I remember being at my cousins and

although it was a part

of a collection of Seuss's best.

I would flip past that section quickly

with avoidance and trepidation!

Its about an empty pair of

friendly glow in the dark green pants

that today would have been

considered to be stalking pants!

Yes, really I was afraid of a story about

pants with no one inside of them!

Being sacred of something anything

is a funny thing,

it might come out of nowhere

or worse its been there all along and

you just begin to notice it

and ponder its root system

or something makes you sweat

and you wonder,

whats this all about?

Being pretty clear

and open about my general fears

like water, snakes, being surprised,

things that swim underwater,

mean people

dancing and speaking in public,

approaching a table

of people I want to meet,

opening presents in public,

things that swim underwater,

did I say that already?

Christians, (sorry) Republicans (sorry, again)

javelinas,

(they are surprisingly intimidating)

...and the list goes on and on.

Then there are the deeper more psychic

unmentionables like

being alone, getting in trouble,

having someone mad at me, rejection,

losing my dog!

In the book the spooky pants starts to cry

because it's afraid as well!

And of course they

become friends in the end

and greet one

another then on, with friendly waves.

(Ah, that Dr was so smart and clever!)

Full of metaphors and humor!

I tried my first reading on my dog

who was quivering over

an impending thunderstorm

Not sure it helped,

or she even heard it

from under the bed.

But I was enchanted

by the one story,

I had always feared!

(besides the Cat in the Hat,

still working on that one tho,

and there's 'Where the

Wild Things Are' too, not a fan!)

Coming face to face with one of

my most challenging times and year

I came face to face with

all of my scary 'empty pants'

all at the same time!

One of my birthday calls

came from a dear friend

whose support was immeasurable

during this time

and she graciously took the time to list

the things I had done in the last year

despite the

gravity of my situation!

"You danced on Main street,

you created the Bobble Bands

and learned to hula hoop.

Taught poetry workshops

and donated two paintings

for thousands of dollars

and learned how to paddle board.

You got around the country

without being able to drive.

You turned the grief of losing

a friend into a celebration

of bubbles and fun.

And don't forget you created

Paddles and Pinwheels,

an event in her honor.

And you wrote over a hundred blogs

documenting it all.

Look at what you have done!"

And I sort of did!

Feeling humbled and touched!

I wish everyone a friend

(or two) like this,

one who sees where you need to go,

believed you would,

is there to applaud your arrival

and reminds you of what you did!

Just in case you forgot!

So what was I scared of?

Before this year, I would have

had to say LIFE in general!

Terrified of what I couldn't

control or handle!

But it's all really...

just a silly pair of empty pants

with no one inside of them

determined to follow me around

until I simply, said, "hello!"

To quote a credit card commercial...

"What's in your pants?"

oh wait, thats "wallet!"

Pam Piper Rain

For these gifts, cheers to Scott and Mary.

Paddle The Moon

The water's blackish dark,

like molten ink

and it moves rapidly under my board.

Carried away from the parade,

the parade of glow sticks behind me

of friends and strangers,

our trying to illuminate ourselves,

our trying to stay together...not working!

Names called out...no answer!

Body shapes highlighted by the full moon,

whose shyness makes random,

sneak appearances.

Shapes unrecognizable

as we paddle together and seemingly?

Alone!

So much dark!

More than I expected

for this full moon tour down river,

eight miles past condo's, mansions

lit up like Christmas but 'summer style',

festive and fun voices carry across the water,

voices on shore surprised and thrilled to see

our unexpected parade of 'water walkers!'

Plugged personally into music,

I quietly, collect,

in my "poem catcher net"

the words I will use later

to describe this ...

the wavering ribbons of light

like rungless ladders to sky

framed shorelines,

in eerie, or is it mystical, magical...?

yes, mystical... I decide.

A float through time and space

here and everywhere else.

This river of dreams and memories.

Where all my water moments

gather and collect along the edges,

in applauding reverence

for the distance traveled?

Maybe!

The metaphoric distance traveled!

With friends, I can't find in the dark

and strangers I don't know in the light!

Anita? Anita? Is that you?

My friend, the one we call Bio Nic (Bionic)

my hero, who is pure competitive muscle!

and usually tries

to beat me (and everyone else) to the finish!

No answer!

I am alone, sort of!

The moon plays peek a boo

from behind dappled clouds,

a dotted trail of glow sticks

follow at a distance

some voices, muted, playful,

calling out also!

At home on this dark fluid path

with only fiberglass under foot

unworried that I might slip off

with a minimal splash

and someone might say

Pam? Is that You? Pam?

Well, I AM wearing a life jacket

due to the insistence of my very caring friends

that sounded something like this,

"geez, if ANYONE should wear one

it should be YOU!"

Hmm? Thanks!

(tho it is unlikely there would be

"minimal splashing"

as I tend to make quite a scene

when I end up in the water,

unexpectedly.)

But I was safe

and more importantly...

at home on the water.

When did the lake,

the river become my life?

My way of being,

this large scary swallowing blue element...?

(tonight, blackish)

Feared life long, even in dreams

always drowning, never floating,

never sure footed,

or capable of keeping my head

above the surface

Never knowing how to make peace with her!

When indeed?

The "you'll swim" off the dock education,

the forced expectation

of "come on, it's fun",

I couldn't embrace,

not at six, not at ten, not at twenty.

Unusual, as I am pretty sure,

it is a requirement

when you grow up in the land

of Ten Thousand Lakes.

Yet, my recollections were terror based,

near drownings, (my sister, maybe me?)

Leeches and suck rings left on skin,

a lot of other things that floated and swam

and shouldn't have been allowed to!

Gallons of unpleasantly inhaled water,

due to a tumble or face plant,

always the panic when reaching toes

couldn't find the bottom.

All this while learning to reluctantly,

canoe, ski, sail and kayak,

cause that's what you do when you

grow up in a place that has more water

than ground, to travel on!

But honestly,

and I hate to admit it...

I never learned to swim, to tread,

never learned to float...

not metaphorically or literarily.

When I moved to Arizona in my thirties,

that concern was over!

No more big creepy lakes

with bottomless bottoms

leeches or loons

(the latter, I missed...

I really liked those loons!)

It was all about pools now!

And pools had edges and ledges

to hold on to.

And chlorine that did not welcome

any floating things

that didn't belong!

But there was one week end in Havasu

(the lake famed desert town,

that would one day be 'home')

on the back of a jet ski,

holding on to a reckless friend,

who found fun in a three sixty whip,

that sent me into the air and then water.

Coming up gasping, I remembered,...

"oh thats right, I am not a water person",

My unresolved water issues?

Yes, they had followed me to Arizona!

Seems, I had just ignored them!

It is has taken ten years,

for this great body of blue,

to become my ever consistent lover

and playmate,

the one who calls my name,

every morning with the birds,

"come, join me,"

and most the time I do!

Happiest when I am on her,

not so much IN,

but cruising the surface,

on anything that floats.

Since then, I have paddled oceans,

raced outrigger canoes,

gone unexpectedly upside down

and sputtering,

to be challenged beyond

my imagined abilities,

and nearly drowning a time or three,

(well...according to me.)

Last summer, I learned to float!

because metaphorically?

I had to!

Discovering what it meant to belong

to the river,

to go along with the flow,

to not fight or struggle

against the current.

It was a surprise to me,

muffled and womb like,

the nearest thing to flight

I had ever known!

And tonight?

I was a stand up paddle boarder

on a river in moonlight,

alone and not!

Safe somehow and at home

on a drifting platform

carried along a inky current,

under an ashen moon,

chasing poems downstream,

knowing friends follow...

from behind

and...my peace has been made!

This is where the journey began.

This is where the journey ends!

Pam Piper Rain

Thanks to John Burns

Watch for the next tour

of moonlight paddle.

http://supkulture.com/