Surviving Amelia

I live in Fernandina Beach, which is now known as Amelia Island. The Island has had that name since 1562, however, Amelia became obsolete through the years. But sales and marketing is paramount these days, and well, it does sound pretty.

It use to be a small fishing village. Those were the days. And then came, “The Plantation.” Back in the mid 70’s, development dug it’s first foot hold, and has yet to cease. The once beautiful island is home. to concrete, electrical wires, golf course chemicals and a large population of high end vehicles, either sreaming from one red light to another, or creeping at a syrupy slow pace, driven by an ocatarian, hoping to arrive alive.

We all want to arrive alive. We all want to enjoy the island. For me, it becomes more and more of an endeavor, day by day. I am a minimalist. I like to surf fish. I use one rig. I hold it in my hand. I now share the beach with a slew of fisherman. Most will have four or five pole holders for each person in the car.

Yes, we drive our vehicles on the beach, in designated areas. At one time, we had access to the coastline. Now we are limited to one mile, of beach.

And it’s all because of the turtles. They are endangered. So, mile by mile we have been removed from the beach, to protect them. OK. I love nature. I love the turtles. I will hunker down, in between the other nature lovers, and catch my fish. I follow the rules. I have to. If I don’t there’s a man, in a truck who will promptly arrest me.

Continue reading Surviving Amelia

White Woman Beat Down

Where do I begin.

The day started out like any other. I checked my Facebook. Running Fat Chef, had an interesting post. She usually does. I have followed her, for a while. She’s a runner and athlete, not skinny. She is powerful and outspoken. I relate to a lot of her posts, about comments from people, concerning her body. I use to experience similar critiques, in my running days.

She mentioned the term “crabs in a barrel”; which I know as “crabs in a bucket”. When I first learned this term, I was in college. It was showed to us on a film. When you place, crabs in a bucket, if one tries to climb out, all of the other crabs will try to pull them back down.

The message I got from this is, don’t let them get you. Pull yourself up and over.

I earned a B.F.A.. My paintings were out of the box. When I graduated, my piece in the senior show, stole the limelight. People were angry. It was controversial, and if I do say so, it was good. I had to work hard to not let people sway me. The same as when I worked as a plumber, in the 70’s. I was told constantly, “Why don’t you get a job, in an office?” I got my master’s license and then became uninterested. I’ve always surfed. Women did not surf. I was berated as a youngster, for this endeavor. Seems strange now, but that’s the way it was, in the sixties. I left the country. (getting the hell away from people) Zero help from friends and family. I asked my mother if she would get my mail. She promptly told me, if I wanted my mail, to stay home. I went to Costa Rica, not realizing, the world was going to be, on my heels. It goes on and on.

Anyway, I know how people want you to be like them. Often it’s, with a job, in debt, out of shape, etc.

So, when Running Fat Chef, mentioned “crabs in a barrel”, and she said she thought it was a disgusting term, I asked her why.

Whoa!!! Did I ever step into a pile of shit.

I was told to mind my p’s and q’s. And that white women should be silent and listen. My internal response was WTF. I was told by another woman, on this thread, that I was being an ass. WHAT?

It was just a question. And I was being assaulted, by an angry mob of white women. I was viewed as being antagonistic to the Chef. Who is way to cool to ever behave like these whiney women. They see me one way, I see them another. Who the hell are they to critique my question. They were doing the same thing to me that the Chef talks about people doing to her. I told that woman to mind her own business. Nothing like a good, misunderstood barrage of crap, on the internet.

Of course, the Running Fat Chef, explained her perspective, and I PM’d her my thanks, and commented on some other posts. Like the one where she is in a pink sports bra and she gets asked, “Where is your shirt?” —– some people —

Anyway, the woman that gave me this joystick beat down, is as white as the glaze on a Dunkin Donut’s donut. She’s from New Mexico, and she’s a mental health counselor. Her goal in life is to spread joy.

I guess part of that is through policing Running Fat Chef’s page.

She said she thought I was a fragile individual. If she only knew.

I am as shattered as Tiffany glass, tossed from the edge of an empty septic tank.

If you believe that, you will believe anything.

I said good-bye to Running Fat Chef.

It’s the same as my beloved neighborhood. All these whiteys are ruining my day.

I thought it was time I let y’all know that I am black.

Thank God the truth has come out.

The truth will set you free, but first it will make you very nervous.