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.
This was not my first and probably won’t be my last. My husband, myself, and a friend, walked out, when one of the commissioners touted his insights on the situation. He was more than I could bear.
The lights bounced of his bald head, as he sniveled and whined his opinions. His mannerisms were authoritative and condescending. His name is Chapman. His words were so disruptive to my inner universe that he transformed into a movie character; one that you know is going to have something bad happen to him, before the film ends. And when it does, the audience will feel grateful. It’s appropriate karma. Continue reading The Town Hall Meeting
Every year on our island, we have a festival celebrating shrimp. Our town, Fernandina Beach, Florida, is the birthplace of the industry, in the United States.
I remember the first shrimp boat race that I went to. It’s many years in the past, but I vividly recall the sun on the water, and the people on the dock. We were spectators to a highly, unusual event. Shrimp boats, decorated with colorful flags were “racing” towards us, on the intercostal waterway.
Every one always cheered for the Dixie Queen. It was the pride of the local fleet. Continue reading The Fearless Fish
Can you tell us where you stand, on the debate, concerning the “real photographer”?
“I’d have to say, that is usually in the hot sun’.
This was a sticky page.
As administrator of this blog, I have tagged this page to make it my cover, until I decide to change it. I maintain a minimalist presence. My – who am I – and who I am not – was written in the embryonic stage, of this venture. It gives you a synapses synopsis, of Secondhand Surfer ~ unburdened by detail. That is the nature of this journal. It is the “essence” of.
My posts are photos and poems, opinions and confessions. At times I am cryptic, while at others, embarrassingly revealing.
The unexamined life is not worth living.
After thirteen years studying and pursuing a spiritual life, I chose to move beyond what I knew. I decided to Let Go, and leap forward into the unknown. I crossed the threshold of my front door, and began to navigate life, blindfold. Many years later, one day at a time, I continue surrendering to Providence. Continue reading Real Photographer?