Tag: family

A Sprinkle of Tears

Happy Father’s Day

I’m not quite sure why everything has hit me as hard, as it has today. I don’t really miss my father. I do think of him, but it always more of a curiosity. A wonder about who he was and what he thought.

We all come to be who we are through our fathers.

 ~ that’s what THEY say.

That being said, I will always miss my mother.

My life unravels when my ball of twine looses its momentum and begins to roll backward. Everything comes undone. It knots and kinks but it won’t stop spinning. It’s just a big mess.

I know this is spawned by all of the abortion comments on facebook and everywhere else I go. They always make me think of Justin. My son, that I did not abort.

I was a young unwed mother in 1972, when it was not a common thing. I chose to have my son. I was seventeen.

How I came to be an unwed mother was more than sex. It was a life of pain. It was confusion and wanting someone to love me. It was a million thoughts and plans and dreams. Maya.

Justin died at six weeks old. I cried.

Three years later I had my daughter. I was married to her father. I will never forget how I was treated differently by people. Especially, my hospital stay. The nurses in the hospital were nice to me; they smiled and were all chipper and happy. That was not the case when Justin had been born.

I cried for twenty years.

Happy Father’s Day.

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IMG_1286I just spent three days in a land locked town, visiting my twenty year old granddaughter. This morning we ventured into one of the local hang outs, THE POOL HALL. It was early, and we had the place to ourselves. All I had to do was open the door and euphoric recall, called my name. Every cell in my body was transformed.

This was the third time in two and half decades, that I have gone into such an establishment. The man behind the counter asked, “Is this your first time in a pool hall?” And like a dummy, I said, “OH, no…..” Now back in the day, I would have feigned a time or two at attempting to play.

Growing up, we had a Brunswick Billiard table in our garage. I played night and day, for years. My brother, who was my unaware guide in life, is a good player. I can remember being his partner, once or twice. It was as if God had asked me to come and sit at his right hand.

Looking back, I can’t believe I spent that much time on a game. Such is youth.

It’s four in the morning and my mind is filled with memories.

I would like for my head, to be able, to easily unhinge, and shake it out.

The days that I get to spend with my granddaughter are special to me. Her life is different than mine was. The same as her mother, who is approaching forty. We are twenty, forty and sixty, more or less.

I asked her if she thought that twenty years was a long time. Her answer was yes.

Her viewpoint and mine are forty years apart.

A chasm of time.

Writing this post, has been the wringing that my brain needed. But, on the last squeeze, a butterfly flew out.

Uh oh, I’m at the Mono Congo.

Good night.

A Sprinkle of Love

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If I tell what is true for me, how will I be judged? Aren’t we suppose to be forever sucking it up? Aren’t we suppose to pull ourselves up by our bootstraps and do the next right thing? YES. The answer is yes. But can’t it be possible that sucking it up and pulling ourselves up by our bootstraps could be telling our truth. Rather than acting out, getting drunk, hiding our feelings, hiding our past and acting like it all never happened.

After having been in recovery for many years, twenty-one, I have known many people to kill themselves. I wonder how great their pain must have been. I have felt suicidal, but I have never attempted to kill myself. I want to live. I want to continue to have the long periods of good days that I now experience. I want to enjoy my life. And I will.IMG_3669wp

I know that I will always be plagued by the past. It will always haunt me. How could it be any other way. But it doesn’t have to destroy me. It can get better. I am sure of it. These are the attitudes that he didn’t have. Or maybe he did have. But he sought his freedom in money, whiskey, women and power. He died at fifty four. He looked seventy.

Some would have said that he was a successful and self made man. Unfortunately, I will never be able to share that viewpoint. I am suppose to stick to my story. I can remember the last beating that he gave me. I was sixteen. A friend was there to witness it. I stood there and stared off and tried to not look at my friend. The belt was not a surprise and I was numb to pain. I don’t think I even flinched. I think that is where my story truly begins.Where does one go from there. My life started out shattered and numb.

At sixteen I already was dependent on alcohol. Maybe not physically but certainly psychologically. I had a love affair with drugs and a habit of running away from all of my problems. And every problem that I had was unsolvable and insurmountable. I would try. I would put my best foot forward. I would ask questions and inevitably be confused and confounded by life. People would tell me to do my best and that would be good enough. Nothing would hang me up intellectually, more, than the thought of what is my best. I had Catholic rules and Catholic guilt emblazoned on my brain like a ranch brand. I had family loyalty. All of the don’t do, don’t say, don’t tell. I had secrets of which I had practiced burials. I was shot-out from the beginning.

 I had the iron attitude of, I am going to do things on my own. I am going to find my way. I wanted my own identity. I already had a my own reputation.IMG_3695wp

* A Sprinkle of Love is an excerpt from an old journal.
*The truth will set you free, but first it will make you very nervous.
*I share this for those that I love and those that I don’t know who want to be free.
*There’s nothing to fear in God’s good world.

Lost and Found

All of Life is an Act of Letting Go ~ PiIMG_3182jj

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I’m grateful for all that God has given me, all that has been taken away, and all that I have left.

My Funeral

wrecksWednesday, I went to the funeral, of a friend, who died suddenly, from a heart attack. He was 45. The chapel was small, and filled with friends. Every seat was taken, and some were standing in the back and up the side aisles.

I wondered, if I died, who would be at my funeral?  Numerous images came to mind. First – No one. Then, maybe a few friends from the Amelia Room, a club that I have belonged to, through the years. They would be gathered at a spot by the beach, spreading my ashes in the wind. Surely, some of my surf buddies would be in attendance. And maybe some brothers and sisters, from my church, would say a few prayers. “I don’t know”.  I just don’t know, how all of that would happen. First you die, and then the word spreads. Hopefully, they don’t plan my service, where my farewell competes with a football game, or an epic swell. But, really, it wouldn’t matter, because I would be dead. Continue reading My Funeral

My Favorite Cowboy

There’s no doubt in my mind, my favorite cowboy, is my brother, Danny. 

Browsing through WordPress, I stumbled on a prompt; the idea of the day, to write about; MY FAVORITE.

I began to think about that: which is my favorite beach, my favorite hotel, my favorite wave, photograph, painting. No, I just couldn’t come up with anything, because as soon as an image surfaced, another would compete.

Then I thought about my brother. He’s my one and only. I can definitely call him my favorite. And he happens to be a cowboy.

100_4330I’ve travelled as far as Oklahoma to watch him ride. He’s a team roper. This involves two cowboys, one that ropes the head of the steer, while the other ropes the back heels. With a short burst of energy, swinging their lasso, galloping wide open, they track and capture the animal, while racing against the clock. It’s a cattleman’s skill, turned into a competition.

I saw many similarities in cowboys and surfers. They like to congregate. They do what they do and then they talk about it. They dress alike. We wear bathing suits and flip-flops. They wear blue jeans, long sleeve shirts and boots. We wear sun screen and they wear cowboy hats. Their spectators are in the stands, while ours are on the beach. They chase rodeos like we chase waves. And at the end of the day, we all like to kick back and watch the sun set.100_4359This rare picture of us together was taken at a local, annual fair, 2009. It was a blast. Not only watching the ropers, bull riders and clowns, but just being with my brother.

The beach and cowboy trail rarely intersect. That’s just the way it is. We would have to go out of our way to visit one another. I’ve been meaning to look him up.

A note of interest: he thinks surfing is scary!

Focus

IMG_9949Christmas can be a difficult holiday, for many. I use to be one of those. At one time, I experienced extreme depression on what was supposed to be the most joyful day of the year.

I, with help ~ from people ~ learned to turn all of that around.

Focus on what you have, rather than what you don’t have.

Merry Christmas!

Secondhand Surfer is my personal journal. It has been a life saver this year. 2012 is coming to a close and I’m already looking forward to making my blog better next year. I’d like to think that I have been successful this year, in all that I’ve learned and published: all the pictures I’ve taken and edited, all the people I’ve met, waves I’ve caught and places I’ve traveled to.

My audience are those who read my posts……

Thank you everyone for sharing my year!

The Duggans

      Meet the Duggans

They are like trees planted along the riverbank, bearing fruit each season.

Their leaves never wither, and they prosper in all they do.psalms 1 v.3

The father, Doug was out surfing with two of his five children, Lucas and Kayla.

Twenty-five years ago, I was driving Doug and his friends to the break with me. I remember, in one of those sessions, some guy in the line-up called me an old woman. That’s funny. I rode a 5’10 Challenger back then. Now I paddle out on a 10’2. I wonder if he’s still surfing? It’s all relative.

~I can still remember Doug’s grandmother, being a voice of encouragement, in my young life~

 I feel related.

God is Good