In the recent storms - which for us in the hills consists mostly of winds howling at 50 mph off the canyons, ripping palm fronds off your trees and pitching your patio furniture into the pool - I noticed a constant stream of neighbors’ cars rolling by, surfboards loaded on the Yakima roof racks.  “What’s up with this?”  I thought. 

   It’s cold outside, where are these guys going? I was clueless.  That’s because I wasn’t born and bred in SoCal.  It dawned on me that winter is “surf season.”  I learned everything I knew from those “Endless Summer” surf movies.  Sun, sand, bathing suits. I had no idea that a howling wind storm and driving rain makes for great waves.
   I remember growing up and having “Snow Days.”  The eagerly anticipated days when, glued to the radio, the announcement went out on the Civil Defense radio station - AM of course - reporting school closings; and “all non-essential personnel are requested to remain home.”  Music to any kid’s ears.  Ahhh, “Snow Days” - rare and precious, savored by kids - raising a collective groan from adults.
   Apparently the clarion call for my neighborhood is “Surf Dayz.”  Life in the hills has always attracted people with a hippy bent.  We’re a little edgier, more creative, independent risk-takers, and non conformists from the ‘60s and ‘70s.   To these folks, winter storms are apparently a reason to ditch work, and load up the surf boards and head for high water.  They’re calling in a “Surf Day.”  You won’t see them at work – all responsibilities are ditched. It kind of pissed me off when my contractor disappeared ‘cuz “surfs up.”  Sometimes you can’t tell if you’re more pissed off that they come to work and do nothing, or they don’t come to work with the same results.   I thought all the surfers lived at the beach, ya know - Huntington, Malibu, Newport.  Little did I know so many of my neighbors were surf afficandos – wanna be surf bums.  If they weren’t so fond of the luxuries of life they’d dedicate themselves full time to the endeavor.  The fact that these neighbors are headed off into the blue when the waves are 10 feet plus, I learned, means they are hardcore from the old days.
   I started peeking in neighbors open garages, and sure enough, surfboard galore!  There were long boards [guns] and short boards all with stories.  One neighbor even has an old battered Jeep Scout he can’t bring himself to sell because it reminds him of the ole days he spent surfing from Baja to Mavericks.  Another neighbor surfs in Indonesia.  I think he actually set his business up with the surfing opportunities in mind. We even have a Volkswagen “Thing” parked in the neighbor’s garage!  I know if I look I’ll find a Woody. 
   I wonder if my neighbors go to bed during these storms and dream of a Tsunami - poof – we’d miraculously be living on beachfront property … with a heck of a drop off.