Everyone stepped up to create and partake in a memorial of Glenn’s life Saturday. Beautiful.

I’m bad at good-byes. But I’m good at lists and parties. Assigning volunteers, chopping vegetables, dragging tables around, talking surf, hugging family members, drinking stealth gin-and-tonics – those I can do. And did. 

We paddled out from Trinidad Harbor, held hands in the howling north wind, regrouped after the currents pulled and pushed our circle out of shape, and watched as Glenn’s wife Christina delivered his ashes from the center into the world, from a kayak shared with their son Eric. He’s part of the sky and water now – and forever a part of those who loved him. 

Ah, surfers. The thought, “These are my people,” always stays with me.