This is my spot. It’s probably the last time I will get to stand here. To be on the beach enjoying the sunset. Here where I have fished for forty years. The island has been overrun by people who love the view, but are not beach people
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, after 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 they see me as an old lady. And 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.
I keep journals. Note books I use to help me find peace and sort my life out. Thoughts on friends and finances.
I make changes in my life. However, I have the tendency to repeat. When writing things down, it becomes obvious.
The photo on the left is of my friend Connie. She was loved by many people. I had written about being with her when she passed, 2015. In the photo, we were at the funeral of Rachael Sutton. (She initiated Starting Point – you know it or you don’t.)
Connie passed with lung cancer.
As she was dying, she told me stories of her life. They were great stories. She didn’t want anyone to know. They were antics of her mother, Hazel. Poor Hazel.
I never knew Hazel, but I admired her in a way that Connie couldn’t. She wasn’t my mother.
An international tourist destination. The once, lonely planet spot on the map, that people were scared to go to, is now a place that people, will sell everything they own sight unseen and traipse down here. Convinced they have found paradise. The tropics.
I had the smallest snake in my shower with me. I killed it. Then I had a tiny scorpion on the shower curtain. I killed it. This was in the last week.
As I am beginning to write the monkeys have started to howl. I love that.
I have my Red Bull. Red Bull and monkeys make the world go around.
Everyone in Tamarindo knows Ellen Zoe Golden. She was one of the first people to catch my attention when at a rodeo, in Playa Negra 1996. She has a lot of beautiful tattoos and back then they weren’t as common. The same as the young man on a motorcycle that had dreads. I looked around me and thought I need to be here, with these people. I did dread my hair and I do have a few tatts. But not like Ellen.
She came here from Miami as a journalist and worked for the Howler, writing the surfing column. She actually wrote a Christmas issue about me. She told me I was the best woman surfer she had ever seen other than Andre Diaz. You know that was a long time ago.
We’ve always been friends. Life saving friends. I was so depressed one New Year’s Eve. We stood and watched tow ins – in to twenty foot waves, at Pico Alto. She told me positive words and the exterior soaked into the interior. I survived another day. The surfers did pretty good too.
I am going to San Jose to visit her and take her some items. It’s hard to believe she has cancer. She is positive. She is looking to be healed. I know I want to see her.
There’s no one like her.
Stubborn, smart, she surfs. She has been able to survive down here all of these years.
She also is a publicist, Billy Idol being one of her clients. And Gene Simmons. I always thought that was cool.
She went to school for journalism. Something I thought about, when I was young. Then forgot about.
I have been growing Ellen Zoe as a good friend for a long time.
She has NEVER been anything but good to me.
I hate cancer. I could say a lot more on that subject, but won’t.
So for five hours, I will drive into the city. Kiss her cheek with my mask on and turn around and come home.
I love Ellen Zoe. As well as many other people do. Let’s all have positive thoughts.