Tag: photography

Backtracking Sandy 1

This is an example of the waves that can get kicked up in a storm, here on our island.When you see pics like this~you’re first thought might be ~ he’s never gonna make that!And then he does ~ 

And then there’s this surfer.This picture was taken on the same day.He had been very selective~choosing one of the less threatening waves.Nice~WIPEOUT!

This surfer is Josh Pinkin. The west wind was blowing him back off  the wave. He was being very cautious. The other surfers and people on the beach had concern. Inside, I was cheering him on. Right now, I had the thought of the ONE wave I rode at Puerto Escondido, Mexico. I could see people on the beach getting out of their chairs and pointing at me. I was an old lady, back then fifteen years ago. Anyway, I made it, he didn’t. There comes a time that every surfer has to step up.

He did and he was obviously happy about it, wipe-out and all.

 

Car Show

Post ESA contest shoot, I headed downtown Fernandina to check out the car show. Unfortunately, I missed the show, but did see a lot of cars in the streets.

Something is always going on ~ on the island.

Lil Spray~Big Spray

Today we had an East Coast Surf Contest in small waves.Sutton
Chris Lil SprayBig SprayOne WaveAfter another~

It was a beautiful day. The sun was out, finally. The waves have diminished but the surf spirit hasn’t.

CR Sunset

I’m dreaming of the Costa Rica sunsets. Everyday, neighbors meander down and watch the sunset It’s ritual.

It’s getting cold here for me. And, I can’t comment that it’s cold in public, because all the people, from up north, that now live here, will take off about cold weather.

~ssshhhhhh~don’t tell anyone~

It’s all relative.

Personal Favorites – 4

This photo starts a series, of a move, called a helicopter. Notice the fins are out front.
Balancing and moving to the back of the board, which is really the front of the board.He’s turned the board and heading down the wave.Picking up speed.To be able to surf like this~

On the move, with a three-second warning in the contest.Two seconds.
This is the last second of the contest. The horn blew and it was all over.

My Husband

My husband sews buttons

on clothes

My husband makes

jewelry

from shells

and wire

from beads

and love

patient*seeing*

intensely looking

with the eyes

that I love

My husband sews buttons

A Sprinkle of Chemicals

I was asked to share about my old life. I care enough about the person that made this request, to do so. 

 I have journaled for many years. This particular page, Chemicals was written in May, 2011, on a day of reflection.

Chemicals in me. Chemicals in others. The ones I took. The ones they are on. The ones that become upset in our bodies due to our emotions.

From time to time, I still have the image of the LA bathroom flash in my mind. I can remember how I wanted to capture the moment. I wanted people to know about the intensity of that bathroom; as if it wasn’t me that was there. And everyone needed to know. I would be the liaison of information. I wanted pictures. I wanted to paint. I wanted people to know.

It was probably a 3 by 5 space. Entering into that bathroom to shoot heroin with people I didn’t know. People I had never even seen before. How crazy is that? How desperate is that? What was I thinking? It seems like there was a bare bulb that hung over my head. I know there was. I would feel that feeling and feel the rush in my head. And I wanted everyone to know what it was like to be a junkie. I wanted them to know that it was not what they thought. I was just a regular person.

There was nothing regular about me.

Living in East Los Angeles has to be one of the more crazy things that I have ever done in my life. It was colorful, fast and explosive. We moved  to Echo Park, my husband, myself and my daughter, along with our dog named Fido, in July, 1985. We found an apartment for three hundred dollars, which was an outrageous price for a tiny downstairs room. The landlady’s son lived on the top floor and we soon learned that he was on methadone and had been in prison for killing his father.

It was the summer of the Night Stalker. My husband and I, both got jobs right away and my daughter went to Elysian Elementary. He would go down to Echo Park and fish in the lake. My husband is an avid fisherman, no matter where he lives. There were dead rats floating on the surface of the water. A dead body was dragged out of the lake the day after he had caught a few fish from the bank. Only someone in the euphoric state of heroin induced bliss can accept this as an average daily occurrence. We didn’t eat the fish.

We bought two cars from a Mexican man down the road. One was a 62 Impala and one was a 63 Ford Fairlane. We ended up losing the Impala in Vegas, but kept the Ford and drove it all the way home back to Florida. What a great car. We pulled a trailer carrying our treasured washer and dryer that we had acquired from the side of the road in Hollywood Hills. They have the best trash there.

We were there from July to September, but it seemed a lot longer than that. Everyday was action packed. Over the course of those three months, which seemed like three years, I became a light weight junkie and knew I had to flee. We had gone to LA, running from a Mexican coke connection. I was always running. He wasn’t after us, like we owed him anything. We had become guinea pigs for quality control and I had lost it. With a Mexican drug dealer pumping your veins full of coke on a daily basis, you can become toxic pretty quick. In both Texas and California we lived in Mexican communities and we experienced the other side of prejudice. It was hard.

When we ran from California, we returned to the Island, where we discovered, we had escaped the influx of crack. I was filled with gratitude for my good luck. B E and K had come to town, filling all of our old friends pockets, just long enough to turn it over to the crack dealer. I always felt like I escaped the tragedies and hardships that so many others stepped in to. I escaped them by being “out of town”. I escaped them by being smarter than the average; independent person that I was.

It was all in my mind and in my perspective. My outlooks saved me and they were killing me at the same time. I was just a short time from death. A death that I would survive. Lucky me.