We were approaching the end of the year - just a couple days before the New Year celebration. Residents and visitors alike were in a festive mood across Kaua'i. I was enjoying the day in Hanalei Bay. The scenery was breath-taking, as the majestic mountains to the west were lined with brilliant white clouds. The sun was lucious although it had been blocked by rain clouds on and off throughout the day.

The surfing was fantastic - not huge swell - but perfect for intermediate level athletes. With the holiday season upon us, the area was crowded. It was very difficult to find a place to park and the beach area near the pier was packed.

The water was full of surfers alongside keiki playing in the waist to shoulder high waves. At times a warm, gentle rain fell on us as we enjoyed the crystal blue water. Even those sun bathing on the sandy shore didn't seem to mind.

I had a fantastic surf session (as always). My day was even more memorable as I surfed next to Pierce Brosnan for quite a while. Pierce is a well-known resident who is seen frequently on his stand up paddle board made of magnificient wood. I complimented him on the beautiful board, to which he responded, "Yeah, should be a coffee table." I made friends and family laugh later when I told them how stoked I was to be a better surfer than James Bond.

Although I wasn't ready to end my surf session, my shoulders were screaming. I simply was unable to paddle any longer. As much as I hated to admit the truth to myself, it was time to return to shore and take a break. I had eaten my typical pre-surf breakfast, which consists of 2-3 bananas, a couple power bars and water. My sess had definitely tore through these calories and I was on empty. I needed some ono grinds and a bit of rest.

I made my way back to shore ... continually glancing over my shoulder (every true surfer knows this feeling). I could see medium size barrel-type breaks that were calling my name. It took great discipline to pull myself from the water ... "just one more," I could hear my surf conscious saying. "Just one more!"

Once on shore, I quickly rinsed in the fresh water shower. As I air-dried my mind replayed some of the more exciting rides. My body was full of ocean energy and gently swayed back and forth like a sailor returning from a long voyage at sea. The sunshine was warm and felt magnificent on my tired body. Dark clouds were forming over the mountains to the west. Clearly more rain was in the afternoon forecast.

I grabbed a couple waters. I was way more thirsty than I had realized and noticed the clock as well. Wow!!! Seriously long sess! No wonder I was so hungry and parched. I started snacking on some Wheat Thins and made a couple sandwiches. Food is never as good as after a sess nestled somewhere on the beach. Yummy!!!

I relaxed a bit after I finished eating. My eyes were growing heavy and a short nap was calling to me. I laid my head back on the headrest of my seat. Warm sun was filling my car and delicate winds were tickling my senses. What a day! I was out ... deep sleep overtook my body.

I awoke uneventfully about 30-45 minutes later. The air temperature had fallen slightly, as clouds continued to move in and surround the bay area. I started doing some minor stretches to wake myself up. The surf remained magical and I wanted to go out for a second sess of the day.

I still needed to fully wake up before heading out again so I grabbed my ukulele from the trunk. The wood of the instrument felt warm and inviting against my shirtless belly as I tuned up my baby. Sitting on the front of my car with my feet digging into the sand, sun shining on my face, cool breezes wafting around, I played happy melodies while hot wahines strolled by and ripped surfers laughed and boasted of their surfing adventures. "Can life get any better than this?" I wondered.

People walked by and flashed shaka as I played. Those driving by in their Toyota trucks slowed a bit to listen. (Does everyone in Hanalei own a TRD?) Something about the ukulele at the beach makes people smile. The soft, rhythmic sounds emanating from the strings seem to sing out to the nearby waves. Their melodic rolling toward the beach was the perfect musical backdrop to my chords.

While enjoying all this harmony and life's perfection, it was apparent the clouds were thickening and growing darker. There had been massive rains yesterday and last night, so much that the Hanalei bridge had been closed this morning. The ground was still soaked and saturated. There wasn't going to be much room for additional rain. And, it was starting to rain harder.

I didn't want to get stranded in Hanalei for the night. The section of road just prior to the Hanalei one-lane bridge passes through some low-lying area. It had been partially covered with water this morning and wouldn't require much more rain to flood it again and force closure of the bridge. My second surf sess was now in question.

The strengthening rain ended my ukulele playing. People on the sand were beginning to pack their belongings. Cars and trucks were leaving the beach. Yet the rain wasn't affecting the surf. It was still an excellent day. Should I head back out? I decided to put away the lunch fixings, wax my board and wait a few more minutes.

I had towels hanging from the car windows and board shorts strapped to the roof of the car, as they were drying in the warm sun and breeze. I realized now there was too much moisture and the drying process was going backward. It was time to round up all my items. My slippahs were pushed under the front tire to prevent the breeze from blowing them down the beach. I was enjoying walking barefoot in the sand.

I was having problems with the soft, board rack attached to the top of my car. The straps pulled back the rubber seals around the door and water dripped on the front and back seats. With all the rain, wet towels and board shorts, my car smelled like a wet dog.

As anyone familiar with Kaua'i knows, rains can come quickly and hard. And, now they did. Gentle rains and breezes turned in seconds to heavy, powerful drops accompanied by stronger winds. People on the beach began running to their trucks. A second surf sess looked remote at this point.

Harder and harder the rain fell. Water was pooling in the parking areas and beach-goers were disappearing. "Oh no!" ... water was also pouring into my car where the straps pulled back the seals. This wasn't good. I needed to make a decision - and, fast. Not only was I filling the car with water, but rain this heavy would soon flood the road. Sadly, my only option was to leave.

Before heading out of Hanalei and making my way to the south shore, I needed to secure my board to the soft racks. I didn't want to be fully soaked so I rushed through this process. The straps weren't fully tied so I looked for a place out of the pelting rain to do this. It was time to get out of there ... fast!

I pulled away quickly from my choice parking spot and found some low hanging tree branches. The rain was too intense to spend much time outside the car so I pulled and tugged at the rack straps to realign them. The leak diminished to a rare drip or two. I could make do with this.

I looked up as I prepared to depart and saw a pair of slippahs in the middle of the road/parking area. They were relatively new, decent quality and laying there looking incredibly lonely. They were all by themselves - and, just didn't look right. Clearly they belonged to someone ... yet nobody was around, and with the heavy rains, that somebody was not likely to return - at least for a while. Further, they were blocking my departure.

Should I lean down and grab them as I went by; maybe move them to the side of the road? I didn't want to drive over them. Yet here they were seemingly blocking my path. They simply didn't belong there and it was like they were calling to me. Had they been able to speak, I'm sure they would have asked for a ride. I hated to leave them, but I was sure they belonged to someone and likely they would return. Quiet voices were whispering to me ... these slippahs were definitely trying to tell me something. Yet the rain, the road ... I just didn't have time to listen any longer.

So off I went ... good decision, as the low-lying areas were starting to fill with water. I definitely needed to leave - if I didn't want to spend the night sleeping in my car in Hanalei.

I crossed one of Kaua'i's famous one-lane bridges, headed up the mountain and started my journey home. The loose board straps were slapping against the side of the car so I began looking for a relatively dry spot to stop and fix them. Still raining! Still raining!

After about ten minutes of driving, I found a clearing. I pulled over and prepared to secure the straps. I reached down to grab my slippahs ... I reached down to grab my slippahs (no, I didn't just repeat myself) ... they were missing. I looked right, not there. I looked in the back, not there. In the trunk? No, I wouldn't put them there.

WHOOPS! I had shoved them under the front tire while playing my uke to prevent them from blowing away. And, when I hurried to depart, I simply drove over them and left them on the beach. Shoots!!! These were decent slippahs. There were friends. I missed them already.

Instantly, it came to me ... now I know what those lonely slippahs in the middle of the road were trying to tell me. "Don't forget your own slippahs," they had been calling out to me. And, they had tried so hard. I heard their whispers; yet I wasn't listening. I was too focused on the rain, my straps and the possible road closure. I wasn't listening to or reading the signs.

Do you hear the whispers? Can you read the signs? Generally, I can. Yet as with this example, sometimes we are too busy, too distracted to listen to the universe. When I take my time, when I calm my inner thoughts, I hear and see the signs. Sadly, not today!

I spent the rest of the day in an older pair of slippahs. Not favs, but a good set for backup. I missed my well-worn and comfortable pair. I wondered how they were doing since I left them alone on a deserted beach. "Who would claim my slippahs?" I wondered.

As it happened, I ended up returning to Hanalei the next day. The swell was mostly flat elsewhere around the island so I decided to make the 45-mile trip up north. I was excited, anxious actually ... maybe if I hurried I could get back to the beach area where I was the day before. Maybe my slippahs would still be there. "Could it be possible?" I wondered. The area is crowded and I had left a fashionable pair of slippahs. One can't leave something like that in L.A. or San Diego and collect them the next day.

Well, Hanalei Bay and Kaua'i aren't the mainland. Sure enough ... my slippahs were waiting for me. People respect slippahs on the island. The wind had covered them with a light layer of sand and they were sad from being abandoned yet they called out in joy upon my arrival. They hopped playfully on my feet and squeezed me tenderly. "Don't leave us again," they teased. I said, "I promise I won't. And, I promise I won't forget to listen to and hear the whispers from now on."

Remember the Magic Slippahs ... and, don't forget to listen to and read the signs!