Secondhand Surfer

Surf~photography~journal

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IMG_1286I just spent three days in a land locked town, visiting my twenty year old granddaughter. This morning we ventured into one of the local hang outs, THE POOL HALL. It was early and we had the place to ourselves. All I had to do was open the door and I began to experience euphoric recall. Every cell in my body was being transformed.

This was the third time in twenty-five years that I have gone into such an establishment. The man behind the counter asked, “Is this your first time in a pool hall?” And like a dummy, I said, “OH, no…..” Now back in the day, I would have feigned a time or two at attempting to play.

I love to shoot pool. Growing up, we had a Brunswick Billiard table in our garage. I played night and day, for years. My brother, who was my unaware guide in life, is a good player. I can remember being his partner, once or twice. It was as if God had asked me to come and sit at his right hand.

Looking back, I can’t believe I spent that much time on a game. Such is youth.

It’s four in the morning and my mind is filled with memories.

I would like for my head, to be able, to easily unhinge, and shake them out.

The days that I get to spend with my granddaughter are very special to me. Her life is so different than mine was. The same as her mother, who is approaching forty. We are twenty, forty and sixty, more or less.

I asked her if she thought that twenty years was a long time. Her answer was yes.

Her viewpoint and mine are forty years apart.

That’s a chasm of time.

Writing this post, has been the wringing that my brain needed. But, on the last squeeze, a butterfly flew out.

Uh oh, I’m at the Mono Congo.

Good night.

Distortion

Photo on 1-8-13 at 4.35 PMLife can seem distorted.

But it never really is.

It’s only our imaginations.

And the imaginations of others.

I am encouraged to stay in the now.

So, I will. Today.

Be Mindful.

Run To Nature

945295_524777614224868_619996552_nYoga on a Stand Up Paddle Board

How cool is that? When I left Costa Rica a few months back, some people had begun utilizing this new style of yoga. Thanks to Rob and Melissa Ruy, Fernandina Beach is being kept in the loop. They are the owners of Pipeline Surf Shop.

Melissa recently travelled to Hawaii and studied these innovative health techniques, with Gerry Lopez, the zen surfer of all time. And now she has brought it home to us.

As a surfer, I have always been drawn to surf shops. Or I should say some surf shops have drawn me in. First you walk in to find a new board or board shorts, and the next thing you know you’re part of a community. One that’s filled with stoke and people who care. It’s an extended family.

Running to nature, has always been a solution for me. I can sit in the ocean, on my board, and meditate. Or, I can hike our Greenway,  and be entertained by the animals and birds that I see and hear. Being in nature, gives me the feeling of presence, with the One, who created this beauty.

So, when I saw these photos on Pipeline’s Facebook Page, I immediately knew where it was. I have sat on the bank , in that exact spot, and watched the sunset many days in my life. I have fought and caught red bass right there.

We are so fortunate, now that we have to share this space with so many, that people like Rob and Melissa have shown up. People that add to the magic of the island.

I seek peace and serenity in my life.

And now, I have friends that I can run to nature with.

I have a deep sense of gratitude + it just doesn’t get any better than that.

A Sprinkle of Love

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Another Sprinkle

If I tell what is true for me. How will I be judged. Aren’t we suppose to be forever sucking it up. Aren’t we suppose to pull ourselves up by our bootstraps and do the next right thing. YES. The answer is yes. But can’t it be possible that sucking it up and pulling ourselves up by our bootstraps could be telling it like it is. Rather than acting out, getting drunk, hiding our feelings, hiding our past and acting like it all never happened.

After having been in recovery for many years, twenty-one, I have known many people to kill themselves. I wonder how great their pain must have been. I have felt suicidal, but I have never attempted to kill myself. I want to live. I want to continue to have the long periods of good days that I now experience. I want to enjoy my life. And I will.IMG_3669wp

But I know that I will always be plagued by the past. It will always haunt me. How could it be any other way. But it doesn’t have to destroy me. It can get better. I am sure of it. These are the attitudes that he didn’t have. Or maybe he did have. But he sought his freedom in money, whiskey, women and power. He died at fifty four. He looked seventy.

Some would have said that he was a successful and self made man. Unfortunately, I will never be able to share that viewpoint. I am suppose to stick to my story. I can remember the last beating that he gave me. I was sixteen. A friend was there to witness it. I stood there and stared off and tried to not look at my friend. The belt was not a surprise and I was numb to pain. I don’t think I even flinched. I think that is where my story truly begins.Where does one go from there. My life started out shattered and numb.

At sixteen I already was dependent on alcohol. Maybe not physically but certainly psychologically. I had a love affair with drugs and a habit of running away from all of my problems. And every problem that I had was unsolvable and insurmountable. I would try. I would put my best foot forward . I would ask questions and inevitably I would be confused and confounded by life. People would tell me to do my best and that would be good enough. Nothing would hang me up intellectually, more, than the thought of what is my best.I had Catholic rules and Catholic guilt emblazoned on my brain like a ranch brand. I had family loyalty. All of the don’t do, don’t say, don’t tell. I had secrets of which I had practiced burials.I was shot from the beginning.

 I had an iron attitude of I am going to do things on my own. I am going to find my way. I wanted my own identity. I already had a my own reputation.IMG_3695wp

* A Sprinkle of Love is an excerpt from an old journal.
*The truth will set you free, but first it will make you very nervous.
*I share this for those that I love and those that I don’t know that want to be free.
*There’s nothing to fear in God’s good world.

Happiness

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FLOBIRD

I have just finished reading Tom Catton’s book, The Mindful Addict. Once I began to read, I only stopped, for what I absolutely had to.

His story of the dark side and seeking God, reminds me of my own story and the beginning of change in my life.

Abandon yourself to God and great events will come to pass in your life.

Seeking direction, Flobird (Tom’s spiritual mentor) went to the Bible: It said, If you can’t leave houses, children, and wives to follow me, you’re not worthy of me.

Flobird was awesome in her work for God. She allowed herself to be a channel of His love.

Flobird had what I want.

No matter what situation I find myself in, or what problem I think that I have to solve; if I just let go and let God, my life turns out better than I ever could have planned.

Throughout the course of my day, if my thoughts are on helping others, I am going to be happy.

It never fails.

God never fails.

If you’re interested in reading Tom’s book you can purchase it at Amazon.com….

Troubleshooting Life

IMG_4074bChris Igou-Fernandina Beach, FL

I took this photo yesterday. It was our first summer day. Maybe not on the calendar, but all the correct elements were there; sunshine and glassy waves. I could almost hear the Beach Boys’ music playing.

Chris Igou is a stand out surfer and I have many pics of him, but this particular move was exciting to watch. Being behind the lens and following the surfer is a thrill that I hadn’t expected. I’m very fortunate to be a surf photographer; the local documenter of the Fernandina Beach, surf community.

My life just evolves as I wake up every day and keep on doing stuff!

Secondhand Surfer Blog is my journal and it helps me stay grounded.

I’ve been journaling since 1994(?). I have written some crazy stories. I write about my emotions and things that have happened. When first traveling to Costa Rica, I would keep track of my costs. I could look up what a liter of gas and the price of an egg breakfast was in 1996. I could tell you about people that I met and show you pictures too!

While attending UNF, earning a B.F.A., I had professors that taught me journaling was a necessary part of an artist’s life. I would write ideas, and cut and paste pictures that I liked. I have a numerous paper journals, and a few, born on the computer. One was titled, Nobody Knows. (those were hard times)

Currently my personal journal is online. In 1994, I never would have foreseen that. I wish I would have been more insightful of computers. I’m grateful that I jumped on board at the end of my formal education.

My most recent life dilemma is, I lost my photo library.

Not good for a photographer.

I went to the apple store and found out I was as smart as the “genius” behind the bar.

At least as far as troubleshooting my particular problem was concerned.

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I recently read a post by one cool site, titled Personal Blogs Tell Your Story.  Her blog provides tips for better blogging. I’m always up for learning.

She suggested personal bloggers to-be a friend, be a poet, be a guide, be a mentor, be serious, ect.

It was a lengthy list of to be’s.

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On my best day all I can do is be myself. I think that falls under her category of

be authentic.

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If you want to be somebody, be yourself!

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So, I’ll just keep writing my surf-photography-journal.

It helps me to keep life between the ditches, I mean waves.

And there are more today!

*If you want to-check out Secondhand Surfer’s Facebook Page

Tea for Trail

IMG_1245I live in a cute house, on a pretty island. Does that sound boring or what?

I just keep going from day-to-day, doing the right thing, taking bad pictures, throwing away hundreds and losing thousands.

I lost my photo library the other day.

I told myself, don’t panic. It’s just another tech hoop to jump through.

It’s spring and this is the time, every year, that I start dreaming, even more than usual. I see myself in exotic places. I hear myself saying things like, I know I can go around the world, on very little money, and have a great time!

My imagination becomes fueled by the scenery projected through television and movies. There’s so many places to see and so little time.

My mind replays days of crossing the Sierras and passing through miles of uninhabited beaches along the Pan American Highway. I’ll never forget the daunting look of the Chiapas, the cobblestone streets of Antigua,, and the poverty-stricken children,  in the streets of Nicaragua.

Yesterday, I read in Surf Travel magazine, that few people have the guts, (they used other anatomical parts) to do a road trip. And I agree with them. But I’m not one of those people. I’ve always loved to go. It makes me feel alive. I’ve never been in touch with what makes someone do the same thing every day. It has little appeal to me.

The picture above is of our local marina. It’s not a great pic, but you get the point. In the back, on the left you will see the ever-burning smoke stacks of a paper mill. It roars like a dragon. If you were to turn north, from that vantage point, your view would be marred by yet, another mill, spitting and firing.

So, I call all elves and dwarves.

As I sit by the fire of my humble abode, I know, it’s only a matter of time.

I will trade the comfort of my afternoon tea,  for the precarious experiences of the trail .

“How  we live seems more crucial than why.”

Hitchhike to California

IMG_7617meMy logo at the bottom of this pic is not there because I took the picture, but because it is me, on the wave. This photo was taken by John Lyman, at my favorite surf break, in Costa Rica. Of all the years I’ve surfed, and all the waves I’ve ridden, I have very few pictures. I have been on waves way bigger than this one. They are burnt in my brain forever. The battle to take the wave, falling over the ledge, and the drama of hanging on, is all a part of my senses.

A captured moment, such as this, can pull the memory trigger on not just one wave, but dozens.

I’m fortunate I have this image at all. Of course, I had to pay to get it. John Lyman doesn’t surf. He’s in it for the money. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but he has no real concern, for capturing me at my best.

I am not a ripper. My claim to fame, use to be, that I would charge waves that women were not on. But that’s history; something way in the past. For one, I’m not aggressive for bigger waves and two, the line-up can be filled with women.

I still sit out and wait on the set waves. I always like it when I get the wave of the day. But more and more, as my boards get longer and longer, I try to style it, on small waves. They make me laugh.

Each and every wave has a life of its own, that I have the honor of sharing.

Every surfer is photo worthy.

As a photographer, I spend my time, working to capture the best of a surfer’s abilities. It takes time, patience, and giving up shots of the better and best surfers. I ply my trade on the beaches of Amelia Island.

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That and five dollars will get me a cup of coffee at Starbucks.

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I’m always the struggling artist. I don’t want to be a professional. I don’t want to manage a web page.

Some pictures I’ve seen, of surfers-parleyed by beach photographers-I would be ashamed of.

I just wouldn’t want to go there.

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If you’re hitchhiking to California, and you put your thumb out, then no one gives you a ride ~  If you stop walking you will never get there.

I don’t want to stop my photography, no matter what!

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White Water Woman

I’m sitting in my comfortable living room. My husband is watching The Hobbit on our HD Flat Screen. I often find myself mesmerized by the updated, colorful, experience of the new televisions. Not to mention that this particular movie is about Bilbo Baggins, the traveling Hobbit, along with his friend Gandalf, the Wizard, dwarves, elves, forests, animals; all in constant adventure mode.

And to think,  TV‘s did not exist when my mother was born. Not to the common household. She recalled listening to Roosevelt’s Fireside Chats.

Time stands still for no one.

At my age, time has taken on a new meaning. I was told it would~

Earlier, I went on a drive-by, scouting for surfers. I found the waves small, blown out and empty. However, yesterday was a bit more fruitful.

I ran into a white water, woman surfer.IMG_3693 She was unloading her board at one of the local breaks. Like I’ve said before, until someone surfs, you can never be sure of their ability. I drove to the pier and turned around. She was out catching waves when I got back.IMG_3694She’d catch the wave, get to her feet, and ride it as far as she could.IMG_3690Then, she would go back out and do it again.

I was impressed. That’s how you do it! That’s surfing. That’s salt water therapy. That’s stoke. That’s a real surfer.

Everyone starts somewhere, and there are people all over the world, catching waves, in the white water, right now!

Unfortunately, right now, there is also, a terrorist who has undone the city of Cambridge, Massachusetts.

As I drove in my car this morning, I was listening to NPR. They were discussing the happenings of last night. The people had been held hostage, while robots were used to scour the streets for bombs.

Three, once beautiful, young people are dead and 170 wounded in Boston.

This is what I came home to yesterday. The media has been relentless.

I talked to the white water, woman surfer briefly after taking her pics. She told me she was surfing her way up the coast to Massachusets.  She seemed so independent and carefree; the basic nature of most surfers.

I wonder how this happening will affect her trip.

Everything seems so sunny and breezy here.

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What a Weird World

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DCIM100GOPROTwo hundred-fifty is not my weight, it’s not my house number and it’s not my area code. It’s the number of posts that I have submitted since I started this venture, or should I say, adventure?

I can remember my first. I wrote that it felt as if I was throwing a bottle into the ocean, wondering what shore it would end up on. Who would read it? Or would anyone?

Since it’s inception, Secondhand Surfer Blog has splintered into the blog and a facebook page by the same name, posting daily photos of local surfers in Fernandina Beach, Florida, USA. Or surfers, on the breaks near my home in Costa Rica.

So much has transpired. I feel that Secondhand Surfer is going into, yet, another direction. But I’m not sure where.

I find myself at a crossroad, once again.

Not the one where Robert Johnson sold his soul, to the devil. But just an ordinary crossroad of decision.

~Indians once thought, and many still do, that a camera had the power to steal your soul~

~I think a camera can capture your soul and hand it back to you-especially in surfing~

I treasure my camera. I look forward to being on the beach.

I wonder where this photography gig is going to take me.

Decisions, decisions.

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