I’ve been quiet.
January is burrowing into its dark nook between holiday bumptiousness and the blooms of spring. The monotony of baby-caring has been leeching my colors, and a raging sinus infection intensified the gray. Then my friend Mana’s dad Sri died suddenly in an accident.
I met Sri Shim three times. Three times is not that many. But two years ago in Hawai’i I stepped into another world and watched Sri walk into the ocean and paddle out to where the waves were breaking. I knew nothing about surfing, and he invited me to join him at dawn on the beach at one of his favorite places: Mokule’ia. He introduced me to Eddie Aikau and Pipe Masters and Greg Long. After I watched Sri begin to surf, I drove along the North Shore, stopping to eat where he had told me, and then I continued on feeling absolutely free. Tethered is a good way to describe raising young children. This day was soul-tonic.
Sri’s death is a shock. One night I sat waiting for a news story remembering him to go live, and in my impatience I thought to look back through my photos from that day. It was a gift to see them again, and I’d like to share them with you.
Thank you, Sri.
Tomorrow I’m traveling to Hawai’i with the baby to attend Sri’s celebration of life. I’d love to ask your prayers for safe travel and a calm baby. Flying is not my favorite.