We are working to make our home, a home again. Years ago we purchased this corner lot. It was God given. We shared it with another family, but now we are on our own. I am becoming innovative.
I always work to make my places look Fairy Tale. Who needs other’s reality when I can create my own.
I live on the edge of Mordor.
I am surrounded by traveling leprechauns and immigrant ghosts.
Together we live our best lives.
I lean my head back to view my burlap ceiling. Stapled and framed in blonde wood. Another artistic flair. Something different.
Just ask me about different. It has been the theme of my life.
I sent my, Who Am I post, to Sassy Silver Surfers. An over fifty ladies group, of women who surf.
Continue reading Where am I?
I am Cheri Eagerton Royal/JBug……..
Yes, this is a screen shot of my instagram page – @everydaypaparazza. I googled myself. This is who I am. Or I should say part of who I am. A good part. Almost a 1000 photos of beautiful people. I interacted with many that I did not know. It was so much fun. My camera has always helped me to communicate with others.
Continue reading Who am I?
What is this world coming to?
I was shocked to see this sign at the entrance of the Auto Mercado in Tamarindo, Costa Rica! I had clothes on, so I was good. Having just left the beach, playing with my dog. I enjoyed seeing the students and horses. Tourists – having fun. On another day I might have been surfing and at the start of my first grocery pit stop. I have 5 between Tamarindo and Playa Potrero. It’s necessary to try and beat the cost of today’s groceries
I am currently living in flux – I’ve dug a glorious hole here. It started one way and has ended up another.
Continue reading The Life of a Dedicated Beach Bum
Hang in there!
Last Friday, I posted to Sassy Silver Surfers. SSS is my favorite women’s surfing FB page. The post was a quip. A memory of my first stay in Costa Rica. My husband took me to Mal Pais, for my fortieth. That trip changed our lives in a drastic way. Surfing became a dominant passion.
Continue reading Costa Rica Surf Adventures: Passion and Transformation
Meet Rafa. He has lived with all of his life until last night.
We are in Costa Rica wondering exactly what happened. But really we know. It’s gonna take a while to process.
Rafa’s Dad came to live with us over twenty years ago. He was living in a man camp. And kept getting fired from all of his jobs. I met him when a man building my fence asked to hire him. When I saw how Nestor held a hammer I knew why he got fired all of the time. I took the hammer from his hand. ‘It’s OK.”
He came to live with us. He got married. He had two children. We lived here like a family. Many things have occurred. We have been through a lot together.
Rafa graduated high school and wanted to go to college. I believe Rafa is an exceptional person with a high I Q.
His parents refuse to let him attend the University. We offered to pay for his tuition. He is now working as a laborer. He is now a laborer who belongs in academia. He wants to be in academia. I didn’t make this up for him.
His parents have moved to a Nicaraguan “hood”.
There is much racism here in Costa Rica. The general consensus is Nicas are not smart. Drunks. The women are loose. And they will never get anywhere. I have experienced a lot of racism dumped on this kid. And now I have seen it dumped on him by his own parents.
Unbelievable. They sincerely believe he needs to stay out of school. No education for Rafa.
Continue reading Crabs in a Big Brown Bucket
At one time, here in Guanacaste, Costa Rica, a ponga was the way to go on the water. It was all you needed. One oar would do, if that was all you had. Get on the water and cast your lines. Fish were over abundant here. The coastline left behind, in a world of speed. Fast people living fast lives, simply were not here.
Now, the boats, people and construction is moving at a pace, equivalent of the sound breaking barrier aircraft of my youth. I lived in the country. Cecil Airfield was down the road. I would be sitting by the pool and here a boom. An aircraft breaking the sound barrier. I paid no attention. Why should I?
Today as I type, the boom here is evident. My sleepy village is alive. It’s a snake swallowing its tail.
After a long and arduous walk across Costa Rica, Celeste finally laid eyes on the Caribbean. The town she arrived in was bleak, the ocean was overwhelmingly the ocean.
Celeste has been threatened all of her life. First is was the darkness of her home. Then it was socialization. She had to wear awful clothes, pray on her knees and talk to other children. It all seemed so pointless.
She swam at four. Rode a horse at three. She was born to be wild. Her mother introduced her to the beach. Things were good for a while. Then she left home at seventeen. Ill equipped. She suffered years of abuse from a violent, abusive husband. She was forced to live inland. Gulping in city air, burning her feet on asphalt and rubbing shoulders with hoodlums and creeps. Celeste maneuvered herself through life. She learned. Her internal life was one of question, always question. What the f*ck is going on?
Celeste’s external life was out of the box. She was called eccentric. She was smart, not dumb. She heard the walls call her an idiot. But she knew that was not true.
She died a while back and had crossed Costa Rica walking. She had to get herself across the border and into Panama. She could do it. Celeste could do anything. Anything she wanted.
Everyone else could go swim with the current. Bling Bling. Get yourself a red hot mortgage and burn yourself to the ground. But not Celeste. She believed in swimming against the current. Fuck the lifeguards. Fuck Apple. Fuck Facebook. But Instagram – she’ll keep Instagram.
With a bucket full of ocean water in one hand and a paint brush in the other, she began to create her new reality.
This is just a journal. Nothing more or less. Just words typed on a digital page. Important only to me.
After the funeral fiascos over the past five years, and the refusal of my two oldest sisters to relinquish funeral plots, following their bold embezzlements from my mother’s inheritance, I decided to be buried at sea. The ocean has been my refuge, my entire life.
The other day I had one of the worst days. It involved lifeguards, called Nippers.
I lost it. I couldn’t believe these little boys, which they are in my eyes, the same as I am an old lady, in theirs. They even name themselves small boys. They removed me from the water. I was removed from the water, by little creatures that nipped and bit. I just cussed.
I wish the best for them. I hope they “save” many people. I hope they “sell” many surf instructions. That was their mantra as they were asking me to leave the water. “I am surf instructor.” Hearing that, over and over, just did something to me.
I feel buried at sea, before my death.
I apologized to them for my behavior, but the beligerent boss, (short, red head) turned his back on me.
He had a assumed I was a rich tourist. He erred in his eagerness to possibly rake in 65 an hour, which is what they charge as “instructors.”
You know what they say about assumptions.
I love the ocean. I will just go somewhere they’re not.
That was the mistake in the first place.
A synonym for nipper is nuisance.
God Bless us All
Fish Eye Farm 