Sunday, September 13, 2015

Author Joyce Oroz: Joyce Oroz Joyce Oroz

What if the Hokey-Pokey really is what it’s all about?
Actually I took the hokey-pokey from my latest book, Roller Rubout. 
If you have ever skated at a roller rink, you probably know all about 
the hokey-pokey. But I doubt your rink was as exciting as the one in 
Santa Cruz where Josephine is painting a mural.

For some, the old Roller Rink has its charm. 
Sometimes I hold real still, close my eyes and 
feel the memories. I picture the skaters 
rounding the turn at the far end of the rink. 
The floor vibrates as the pack roars toward 
me and turns, rounding the corner in 
complete unison like a school of sardines 
chased by a hungry shark. The roar dies 
down for a moment, and then increases as 
the pack takes the curve again, close to 
where I sit.

And then there is the sub-pack, younger and less astute 
skaters who wobble around the rink, clunkity clunck, sticking 
close to the rails. One or two rounds of plodding and they’re 
Funny how people clump together. I see a roomy rink, but 
most of the skaters are packed together, yet careful to 
leave a bit of elbow room. And then the final song of the 
evening, the Hokey-Pokey. After the Hokey-Pokey, the 
pack disperses.

I recently watched Capitola’s famous rowboat races. 
Two rowboats, each carrying a couple half-grown 
children, race each other around a buoy about ten 
yards away and ten yards back. What could happen?
Two little boats churned across a placid, duck 
infested river. The boats automatically bunch together 
like Siamese twins, twisting their ores together until they 
come to a full stop.  Yes, one boat finally finished first. 
But what fun would it be for the spectators without 
boat-bunching and ore-tangling?