The first day we experienced twenty-five MPH winds. It was hard to stand up, much less, hold my camera still.
The second day was hot, and like a novice, I had no shade. I will never do that again.
But the week-end did have its perks. I got some good shots. I culled them and made myself only show those that were not blurred. It’s tempting to show the big waves and spray, but I’ve got to learn my camera and get beyond the blur.
My favorite heats were the children and the long boarders. But I found myself drifting out of the competition area and shooting the everyday surfers.
With all of this now in my distant past, I am once again forced to ask myself, what do I want out of this. Why am I doing this? What is fun and what isn’t. I run to the internet to educate myself about settings and lenses.
There are a plethora of facets, to photography, like a many-sided diamond, it illuminates my soul.
Not everyone has the same experiences in life. Family has been like walking a path – in very heavy traffic – I dodge, weave, and get hit. I find it best to hide out in the median.
The thought, why do I do what I do? Keeps ringing in my head. The chime is there because of the chant, that everyone nowadays thinks they are a photographer. Do they really? Do people take themselves that seriously? Or are some photographers threatened by technology. Or do people just need something to write about?
I remember when in the plumbing industry, pipe went from cast iron to plastic. There was an uproar. A cry of injustice. Doesn’t that seem silly now. It’s been consistent in every trade. And art.
I am an artist and studied for years. I thought I was learning about art, and I was. But in the big picture, of my life, I was healing, making friends and having colorful days.
When you do what you do, you never know what you’ve done, until the drip of time passes, flooding your mind with memories. So, let there be a sea of images captured there; crisp, blurred, distant, up close.
That’s why I do what I do.
Just a few folks, gathered to hear the Word. We also listened to an, I Am Second, You Tube Video, of Christian Hosoi. He shares about being a skateboarder and an outcast. His motto was to skate and destroy. As he spoke I could relate. I’m not a guy, I’m not a skateboarder, I’m not young, but I could hear his testimony and know that the answer to his problems, was the answer to my problems. You might want to check it out ~ it’s a powerful story.
There is a Way ~ It is the Good News
All I know is, I have an opportunity, to meet with fellow Christians and help to feed some hungry people.
It’s Sunday morning and I have found myself congregating with a group called, The Carpenter’s Way. We meet above a restaurant, in the town of Brasilito. They do not pass a basket for money. -hhmmmmm….that’s different. Personally, I give, but there’s no part of the sermon where money is asked for.
We have two hundred hot dogs to cook today.
I don’t know if you’ve ever been hungry and without; if you’ve ever felt the humiliation of not being able to feed your family. I have.
And I have been blessed.
It’s all about love and the Grace of God.
So ~ I Praise the Lord!
Now, stealth: noun -cautious and surreptitious action or movement: the silence and stealth of a hungry cat | why did you slip away by stealth like this?
The surfer above is obviously accomplished. The spot that he is surfing, is shallow and the wave has some punch. With a wrong move there could be trouble.
I don’t surf there.
I move to spots where the wave is more mellow. More do-able for me.
When this shot was taken there were four guys on this particular break. Four or five blocks down was the second crowd, riding less threatening waves.
And that trend carries on down to the waves where there are women and children. And I realize I paint that with a broad brush, knowing there are women and groms out riding challenging surf.
The point I am making is, when I am surfing, knowing I am not hungry and cat like, for, or on waves ~ and I’m on some break where it gets over-run by people, that want to dominate and beat their chest; while I try to surf, I picture the waves I think I would want to surf on, if I was a guy-I dang sure wouldn’t want to be trying to dominate the bottom level surf area….that would just be too sad..
I quietly plot my strategy to move stealth like, to another wave.
To another kiddy pool…
I want to keep my smile as I catch my waves. That is a priority……
Surf and stealth until I die! There’s no other way for me.
I am always starting over. But when I look back-not really. It’s just another new day. I have avoided writing for numerous reasons.
1-I have been surfing. I’ve been getting my game on, after having been in the States and out of the water for two years.
2-Having been from my beloved casita (little house) for so long, I came home to termites and dust covered EVERYTHING. My household needs attention.
3-It just seems that my blogging now is not what it started out to be. And how could it. When I started writing I had no idea what a blog really was. I just signed up with Word Press and wa-la, I was published. I keep thinking I want to avoid the narcisstic trap that blogging can be. But how? Then while visiting about the blogging neighborhood, I found ESJAYBE, an academic writer. He posts social commentary. His writing is reminiscent of my days on campus. It’s the elevated thoughts of humanity. It is a social study, and that’s what I enjoy. It’s informative. And I need that down here in the jungle. His post, The Risks of Web Logging, has inspired me to keep my blog alive.
4-The more I am on my computer, and the more I learn; the novel 1984, with its’, Ministry of Truth, and historical revisionism looms as our future. Not to mention, that everything is zoomed in on marketing. I am funneled information, rather than being allowed to browse and discover new things….wrinkle products, face lifts, tummy fat burning fruits, blogs on Jesus… I had to work to veer off MY driven path, to find a new read. I don’t like being pigeon holed and I don’t like being told what to do.—-“thought crimes” —-I glance at posts about how to write a blog and they said that people like lists…curiously, there you have it.
5-Also, I don’t want to be negative. Who wants to read anything negative. Obviously a lot of people, if my past post are any example. Any sign of trouble and my numbers jump from my average to five hundred a day. And people wonder why the news media concentrates on the troubled, down side of life. ~ Since I’ve been here I’ve seen four bodies laid out on the ground-three on pavement and one in a ditch. The first one was the worst I’ve ever seen here in Central America. And I’ve seen plenty. The hired transportation, that I was in, was stalled right beside the body. It laid, crumpled as a rag doll, the bare meat of the torn off leg staring at me. I had my camera. I thought, Andy Warhol would definitely shoot this. What kind of artist am I? But I couldn’t. I had too much respect for the man. He was so twisted, I later named him Gumby, after becoming so familiar with his image in my head.—–Thinking-one second, he was someone on a scooter, with people who cared, going somewhere; and the next, a heap of flesh on the edge of the road, surrounded by a crowd. People who were close, but kept their distance. Cell phones in hand. Maybe calling his family…..uuuggghhhh
Then there was the young man who somehow ended up under the front of a car. His moto unable to follow him. He too died.
The last two were possible survivors. One I know was alive, because I looked into his eyes, as we weaved through the wreckage, passing the feet of the other man on my right, by a narrow margin. I made the sign of the cross and involuntarily held my breath. I haven’t thought much about the one I didn’t look at, but I do wonder what happened to the otherwise strong and healthy, young man who was stiff on his back, splayed out and helpless. I hope he’s OK.
I guess that’s negative stuff. Oh well – sorry. Now it will be out of my head, until the next one. I pray that it’s not me.
Drive safe and have a good day.
I have dreams.
I woke up grateful.
Yesterday, I surfed small waves at a river mouth and enjoyed every minute of it. A young tico kid plowed his way through every inch of the lineup. He paddle battled with granny: some he won and some he lost. I remember when I use to be aggressive for waves. I just don’t have that in me any more. However. I am glad that I once did, or I would have never got a wave.
Now I dream of going to a spot in Mexico. A place where there are endless waves and no people. It’s just a matter of time. At my age, I can’t put these things off, too long.