I went to the beach yesterday, with my camera. The waves had died down and there was a chill in the air. Not my favorite conditions. But I was glad I was there to capture this image.
This little one was spending the day at the beach with Mom, Dad and her brother and sister. What a life.
It’s a better world when I surf. I paddled out yesterday for the first time here in Florida. Fernandina Beach, FL is my primary home. This morning, I was reminded of the day that came every year, when my mother would drive us out of the woods, on the Westside of Jacksonville, for our long stay at the beach. It was an annual trip, following winter. We were never allowed to get into the water before May. I was a little kid.
I still have little kid ways. And I’m glad. Those memories and the feeling that I get surfing are free. There’s no debt and no interest to pay. And it’s great owning cherished memories of my mother. Surfing is the best, and really if it hadn’t been for my mother and her love of the ocean, I’m sure I would never have become a surfer.
By the way, my mother only had one traffic ticket in her life; a speeding ticket when when she was about sixty. She wasn’t even going that fast. She did not drive over the speed limit. It always took us a LONG time to get to the beach, but they were good road trips.
When riding on A1A we look up to the flag for our most important weather report. If it looks like this it’s a west wind. And further inspection is required. 
West winds make the waves clean, but unfortunately it can make them smaller, little by little. However, we have a bit of a ground swell going on, so I waited for low tide and the waves to push in. I had so much fun surfing, small chest high waves. They were breaking left, off of the sandbar built up by the local pier. It was a tough crowd to be in, because it was kids, but that’s OK, everyone starts somewhere.
The twins were out.
They obviously love to surf too. They charged some good waves.
Then it was back to my surf-mobile and a ride, back to the woods. At least these days, I don’t have to go back to the Westside.
Yes, it’s a better world today.
We’re expecting good waves Saturday and Sunday. Historically, we always have good waves on Easter. Thank you, Jesus.
P.S. One day maybe, I won’t write in my short choppy sentences, telling my story before I run out the door. Maybe one day, I will give descriptions of the water and how it really feels to be in the water and catch waves. And my words will make you feel like you’re right there with me.
P.S.S. One day maybe.
Me and this kid have a lot in common. We’re dreaming! I want to go surfing. I started this blog, writing about surfing. I was in Costa Rica, but have since been exiled to Florida. It has been too cold for me to bother. However, yesterday the sun was out and I saw a bit of a swell ! It’s two to three feet and I am excited. I can taste it. I can’t wait. I’m living out in the woods and it’s thirty minutes from the break. I have to go to town for other reasons and my board is going with me.
If I get to surf today, I am going to be reborn~again. I guess, deep down, surfing is my religion.
I’m off to see the Surf Wizard. Let’s see what happens!
Blogging seems to be like everything else that I do. I overdose. It prompted some unnecessary thinking. Thinking is highly over-rated. It usually leads to misery.
The more you know, the more you know, you don’t know.
What’s that saying about everything being wasted on youth?
Uh-I’ll have to THINK about that!
It seems I have given myself yet another job, where I work for FREE.
My unpaid jobs pay me in a way that money cannot provide.
I enjoy writing my blog. I think it’s because it is socializing. I connect with people I will never see and never know, except through their writing and their pictures.
I read other people’s blogs and yes, we are all stories. There are three that have affected me recently; The Skeptical Teenager, The Beauty Within and another one that I can’t find again. I thought for sure I liked one of her posts, but it’s not on file. She was a woman whose grammar didn’t exist. She wrote in the vernacular and her blog was the story of her life. She only had four posts and I couldn’t believe it~she had 78 followers.
Writing is powerful.
It is art.
It is informative.
It can take you apart and it can put you back together.
This is a journal. I’m not trying to sell anyone anything or trying to convince anyone of anything. I don’t have a focus, other than my life and my thoughts.
If I have to claim a point of view ~ It’s about becoming a better person and service to others.
Would that mean that doubt and negativity never exist?
Friend or Foe
I was walking along the bank of the Jacksonville River, taking random pictures, when I saw this man. He was outstanding; the pink shirt, his dreads and the grey in his hair; a striking individual.
I asked him about taking his picture and I was taken back by his voice and diction. I was expecting a James Brownish type voice. His voice was clear and educated. It so, didn’t match his exterior; in my judgement.
I’m glad I took this picture that day.
It’s like writing this blog.
It hands me back my soul-when I think I’ve lost it.
Just spend your time thinking about yourself. Or try comparing yourself to other people. Or focus on what you don’t have.
If you want to live in hell, go ahead.
This painting is The Bluest Eye. The title is a reference to Toni Morrison‘s first novel. In the story, the main character, a little black girl, is driven mad because she wants to be like all of the images pushed on her as ideal beauty; white, blonde and blue-eyed.
She has no sense of who she is and as life happens, like it will, she can’t handle it.
If you want to be somebody, be yourself!
This painting was done years ago. I ran across it yesterday cleaning up a shed that houses all of my old art work. I was considering painting over it. But now that I’ve remembered the experience of painting it and what it was about, I think I’ll keep it.
I woke up this morning calling on a mantra, to heal my monkey mind. I miss Costa Rica. I miss my garden and the family that lives with me down there.
I miss the love.
I browsed through my photos and one of my Nicaraguan adventures caught my eye. I went as a photographer on a Christian mission trip into three areas; Manchester, Tipi Tapa and the La Chureca dump. (if you can, please read the link on La Chureca for the facts) I hid behind the camera at times to hide my breaking heart. It was an overwhelming experience.
These two live at the dump. A shanty town has developed there, housing the families that have come there seeking work. They go through the waste and recycle what’s there. I don’t know the exact facts, but it looked like a lot of other country’s excesses, such as old computers, are sent here because of their danger to the environment. The workers are hard at it in the day, earning a few pennies to support their families.
I elbowed my way around to make sure this woman, got these shoes. I wanted her and no one else to have them. As I watched her, throughout the day, she was quiet and reserved. In this picture, her eyes seem to tell a story~a book perhaps. Those discarded flip-flops became very important to me. A person needs shoes you know. And a little color and style never hurt anyone!
This little girl chased the bus as we were leaving. She seemed so happy!
I love this photo and the girl’s shirt. Her eyes are as bright and full of life, as her shirt is dingy. It’s a positive thought/that we can change the world with our imaginations.
I know that as I sit here, in my room, in a place that I find myself not wanting to be, that these people are still at the dump. They have little food. And what they do have is what is brought into them by missionaries ~ a lot of rice and beans.
I’m glad I have these pictures to reflect on. I don’t pity these people. That day, yes, I saw poverty. And when I left, I thought, now I know what dirt poor really is. But I also saw happiness and love amongst these people. One that I don’t see around me here in the middle of all of this decadence. Maybe I need to open my eyes.
I’m going to use my imagination and look to the best of the best of what God has given me in my life and move on.
Why not ~ it’s the better choice.
I think my mantra worked.
I’ve stayed away from my blog, for a few days, because I’m all filled up with family. Have you ever been all filled up with family?
I’m full of Mama and Daddy, my oldest sister, my brother, my daughter and my oldest granddaughter is in there, and I never forget my grandmother. I feel like my grandmother’s life is my birthmark. She committed suicide, the year I was born. She was a war bride from Paris. The poor woman was lied to and brought from Paris to the backwoods of North Florida. Can you imagine?
My family is complicated, confusing and something, best not to think about.
This is why I stayed away; it’s all too dark and depressing. It’s crazy making.
I cannot say what I want to say.
AS THE PENDELUM SWINGS
I want to rescue
I have a fear of people
I have no chit-chat skills
I love too much
I have zero barriers from the world ~ then ~ I want to keep the world at bay.
Life becomes a swing
I can’t make chit-chat