Tag: lifeguards

Post Pre-Historic

Yes, this is me. Slowly and painfully edging my way out of this place they call “pure vida”. Survivng here these years has turned me into a creature. I wanted to play National Geographic and that I did. Having stumbled onto Costa Rica, when it was wide open. Water falls, heat springs, no dirt roads, no ride signs. It was the best. It was adventuring into the wild. With the fauna and floral, size determined by season and state of the nation.

One adventure after another that have barely been touched on in this 700 page blog.

And now the party is over, (for us) and on for the next layer of fools.

I tip toed. It’s easy to see the rip offs. The lies. The beating. The murders. We have only been out in the night time here, maybe an equal to a week, in twenty five years.

I am now a fossil. One that can run, jump and swim.

But I am ready to go home. Battle the Bay Watch Babe with the Band Aid in the slit of her cheeks. I won’t Battle that bitch, I will look to the side. For a new venue. New water. One that she has not polluted and (she is a large representation).

I’ll have plenty to do.

I am packing as if I have already sold my home. It’s becoming more easy to sea. Easier to detach from since the clash with the Bahia Del Sol.

Costa Rica ain’t what it use to be.

I wish them all the luck in the world.

Pura Vida and we all know what that really means.

I am a Cynical Old Woman

Yes, it’s true I am a cynical old woman.

Yesterday, I was reading a thread on Facebook, in the group Fernandina Surfers. The post addressed the issues of lifeguarding, in the time of pandemic. It touched a nerve in me, that was yet, another one of those issues of aging.

The word that set me off in their dialogue was “enforcement”. I dislike enforcement, therefore, according to the dictionary, I am cynical.

I made the simple comment, of having mixed feelings, concerning lifeguards. Some, white haired, old man named Bert, called me a cynical old woman. I know lifeguards have their place, but that’s part of the problem. I don’t want a sixteen year old, with braces, telling me where and how to swim. They will look at me and my grey hair and think I shouldn’t go out deeper than my waist.

Reading the comments, on the thread, my mind reflected on vivid memories, of being a child and swimming, in the ocean. I would bend my knees and duck under the waves. I would feel it pass over me. I learned about the rhythm of the sea. I was taught about run outs, and how to deal with them. I swam far out beyond the breakers. I swam every day, all day long, only stopping for lunch, a rest, and then back out until the sun went down.

No lifeguard. – I would not have been allowed.

Continue reading I am a Cynical Old Woman