O my soul, bless God.
    From head to toe, I’ll bless his holy name!
O my soul, bless God,
    don’t forget a single blessing! (Psalm 103:1-3  The Message)

We know the truth, not only by the reason, but by the heart. (Blaise Pascal)

I collect texture, rather than shells. I gather artifacts that fascinate me. I add texture to my journals, both written and visual. I layer paint and scribble words or make marks to add depth to the page. I glue disparate images and words together to make meaning. I am lost in the world of texture, shadows and reflections. It is good.

I am a poem, my friend reminds me via a text. I have had little contact with the outside world. My contact with the outside world mostly consists of encounters with strangers. I went to town yesterday, and met a prophet, a laundromat seer. He told me that if you are good to vegetables, they will be good to you. He told me he knows things, like he could go to the convenience store and choose the winning lottery ticket. He told me that he was bilingual, he could understand all languages. He told me other things that kept our one-sided conversation going.  A very interesting encounter, which I record. It is good.

I have chosen this solitary time. Most of my interaction has been with the natural world, but technology intersects certain aspects of my life, like now while I muse here on this blog, and both are blessings. Living in silence can be restful, and other times it can cause me to feel like a trapped hamster spinning on its wheel. I may not speak much, but I still need an outlet to share my thoughts, to feel a part of others. I am not alone, but I am lonely at times. This happens to me whether I am home or not. It is good to share.

 

What good is it for someone to gain the whole world, and yet lose or forfeit their very self? (Luke 9:25 NIV)

Trusting our creativity is a new behavior for many of us. (Julia Cameron, The Artist’s Way)

Affirmations are a powerful antidote for self-hate, which commonly appears under the mask of self-doubt. (Julia Cameron, The Artist’s Way)

As an artist, I notice things. Noticing expands awareness. During this particular time away from our normal surroundings, I have been quite aware of shadows and reflections. Being in the sunshine state allows for this, and living on and near the water lends itself to these observations, too.

Every day, I contemplate many ideas and objects. My heightened awareness of the way light creates shadows, and using that light enhances the way I see objects. Of course, I’ve noticed my own shadow before, but this time, I realized that I could create shape, layers and texture in my photographs depending on how I composed the photo.

Here are some examples below.

I find these shadow “portraits” to be an interesting study of the self-portrait. What is a self-portrait? Why did the masters create self-portraits? What benefit can an artist or anyone derive from contemplating the self-portrait? Self can be a volatile subject, but self is important.

Self often gets assigned a bad reputation, because it is considered selfish. But a true appreciation of self can prevent great harms like self-hatred, self-doubt and self-sabotage. Healthy self-love can promote meaningful love for others.  We were made for love and creativity. When we consider the love offered to us by the One who made us, we can better love ourselves and others.

When I contemplate the creative power of the ocean, and the variability of light offered each day that I walk the beach, I am overwhelmed with the greatness of it all. I recognize how fragile a self can be, and marvel that the Great Creator notices me. And delights in my fascination with it all.

Yesterday, I went to visit the sanctuary of the the north beach, where the I-beams reside. I wanted to see them again in the morning light, to study the effect of light and shadows. As I walked near them, I spotted a shiny object bobbing in the seaweed. As I drew closer, I noticed a large light bulb. I figured it would be broken on one end, but it was intact. It had survived the crash of the surf. How could something so fragile have made it through the recent storm? I was mesmerized. I picked it up, thinking I could dispose of it properly. I set it down by some debris by the street, and went back to the beams.

 

After taking several photos of the beams, the idea popped into my head to photograph the light bulb in various places. I was delighted, when I noticed my own reflection in its mirrored glass. Then, I took it over by the I-beams to try to capture their image in the reflection.

As I walked home, I couldn’t help but show another beachcomber my find. I kept saying, can you believe it’s whole? He shook his head in disbelief. For now, I am keeping this artifact, because I can’t dispose of it. I want to protect it, and keep it safe, just like the Creator of the ocean did.

How would you describe your sense of safety these days? Try completing this sentence stem: I feel safe when . . .

Take your everyday, ordinary life—your sleeping, eating, going-to-work, and walking-around life—and place it before God as an offering. (Romans 12:1 The Message)

To know what you prefer instead of humbly saying Amen to what the world tells you you ought to prefer, is to have kept your soul alive. (Robert Louis Stevenson)

Don’t copy the behavior and customs of this world, but let God transform you into a new person by changing the way you think. Then you will learn to know God’s will for you, which is good and pleasing and perfect. (Romans 12: 2 NLT)

So far on this adventure, we have driven across several states in our truck and cruised through waterways in some of the very same states. In addition to truck and boat travel, we have used our feet, our bikes and our kayak to absorb the world around us. Each of these modes of transportation offers a different perspective, mainly because of eye level. Of course, speed can alter the view, too.

Over the weekend we got the closest to the water yet, besides swimming. We took our kayak off the top of the boat, tying it next to the boat. Next, we managed to lower ourselves off the side of the boat into the kayak. Once we were secure in the kayak, I was ready for a quiet, peaceful meander across the ICW and into the salt marshes.

Les, the natural navigator, had already scoped out our route, and conferred with the marina manager about what dangers to consider, like getting lost in the marshes, as the tide changed. I was oblivious. I was ready to relax and paddle a little. (We have a two-person kayak, so sometimes I leave the paddling to the rear admiral.) My camera was in the dry bag, along with an apple and the phone. We each had a water bottle to stay hydrated.

We paddled serenely away from our boat. And without notice, we were fighting for the right-away with a boater that was buzzing around the marina. I fumed under my breath, and thought it ironic that his motor brand was Evinrude, because I thought his behavior toward us a bit rude. He probably thought we should be in the salt marshes, like reasonable kayaks.

Little did I know that the most tenuous part of they day would be getting across the ICW. We started to paddle out of the marina basin to cross over. But we had to halt our paddling, because three huge cruisers were coming down the ICW, which is like a wide river. The cruisers cruise at high speeds creating wakes that could tip over, say, a two-person kayak. Les steered the kayak perpendicular to the waves, and I held my breath and felt just a wee bit panicked.

The first wave bumped under the nose of the kayak and gently rocked us, and a little splash surged over the front near my feet. I took a deep breath, and complained  to Les, who couldn’t hear me because of the wind and the wake. A couple more boats were coming, so we had to wait out another wave of wakes before crossing. It felt like crossing a major interstate highway.

Les gave the go ahead to start paddling. Of course, I paddled furiously thinking that would get us across more quickly, but Les’s power, rather than my lack of finesse got us across without being wiped out. Once across, he informed me of the dangers of the tide, and the possibility of getting lost. Another deep breath, so much for a slow paced paddle in the salt marshes. We maneuvered through the channels with the rising tide taking us into the marshes; we didn’t even need to paddle, because the current was carrying us forward.

Once I felt safe, I started looking around and asking Les to move us closer to the grasses, so I could get a close-up, water level shot of a small buoy. I finally relaxed, having seen a cell tower as my landmark earlier, just in case the tide went out before we headed back. I didn’t want to get lost.

We were fine. Our excursion took about an hour, and crossing back over to the marina didn’t seem such a big deal.

On Monday, we woke up to a cool morning. I mulled it over, cleaning day or expedition day? Expedition day won. I packed my rucksack with some snacks, book, journal, pen,transistor radio, beach towel, phone, small camera and sunblock. I actually stuffed all those things into the “trunk” of my bike, so I could ride without anything on my back. I was ready to head toward Flagler Beach, a mere fifteen miles away. I knew I would have to retrace those miles, but I planned to take my time coming back. I said good-bye to Les and Kokomo.

The A1A highway parallels the coast, and at times you can see the ocean from the road. The addition of bike lanes, as well as, a paved path next to the road made it a safe passage for my long bike ride. I had two pit stops in mind along the way, Bing’s Landing and Varn Park. I knew both had water fountains and bathrooms, if needed. I really didn’t know much about Flagler Beach, except for seeing a postcard of the pier at the grocery store.

I stopped at Bing’s Landing to see if the manatee was around, but instead was treated to Mr. Heron, who looked like a haggard old man. I said good morning old man, and he just stared ahead. No sighting of the manatee, but a couple cruisers passed by waking Mr. Heron, who squawked at them. I know how you feel old man, I replied. I told him I was off on an adventure. He made no reply.

I continued toward Varn Park. I had noticed this colorful building, a week or so ago, when I got lost going over to Palm Coast. I pedaled up the inclined driveway to check it out. The slant roofed building housed the bathrooms, and behind it was a dune that obscured my view of the ocean. All the wooden walkover bridges were closed, due to storm damage. I climbed the dune to see the beach below, and took a few pictures before heading south toward Flagler Beach.

Those closer, I pedaled towards Flagler Beach, the more I felt transported back in time. Even at Varn Park, the architecture gave me a late 60’s, early 70’s vibe. There were some big modern mansions along the way, but I didn’t take their photographs. I was hoping to find something groovier ahead. (After I got back, and downloaded the photos, I actually used my photo editor to give the photos a 1960s/cross-process look.) About three miles out, I could see the ocean as I rode my bike along the path. Periodically, there were little picnic table shelters and walkways to get down to the beach. Most were closed, and some were private access only. (For my camping friends, there were campgrounds right along the beach, in a small town called Beverly.) I took a photo of the campsites. I noticed a RV that was covered with shells. It looked like the owner glued them all over the shell of the camper. I couldn’t get a decent photo of it, but it was groovy.

As I pedaled into Flagler Beach, I was surprised that some of the beachside stops were open. I was going to stopped for a short rest, then kept cruising toward town to see the pier.

Once at Flagler Beach, I locked up my bike, and sat on one of their groovy roofed picnic tables, to get my bearings. Surfers were rinsing off in the outside shower, a man with his laptop sat on top of the table next to me, doing work, I presume. I ate my orange and a snack bar, then headed down the steps to walk under the pier. I observed a fisherman, a woman sunbathing in her lounger, a young couple watching their friends surf,  a couple lifeguard chairs turned toward the street rather than the sea, and a flock of seagulls huddling against the brisk wind coming off the surf. I never sat down because I had so much fun taking photos, and the sun was blaring down on me. (I prefer a shaded spot when sitting on the beach.) After my photo shoot of the beach, I looked at the menu at the pier restaurant and decided it was too expensive. I got a Gatorade at the pier’s snack and bait shop. A group a local men gathered in various chairs, talking politics and such, just outside the shop. One of them was sitting in a wheeled office chair. The pier was closed due to storm damage. The observation deck at the end of the pier had been washed away.

I left the pier to find a place for lunch, but first I noticed a kite store.  I bought a small kite for myself, and hope to use it here at the beach. Oh, I forgot to tell you about an artifact that I collected on the beach. A little bottle of bubbles. (Another little love note.)

For lunch, I stopped at Sally’s. I was the first customer of the day. After eating the best burger ever, I went back to get my Espresso Chip ice cream cone, letting it melt all over my hands, while I ate it.

After lunch, I moseyed back to the marina on my bike. I stopped at one of the beachside areas along the way, to see if I could find a shady spot to read, but couldn’t. I hauled my bike back up to the road, and rode on. I hit both pit stops on the way back. Three miles from “home,” I stopped for a water and bathroom break at Bing’s Landing. I noticed my California son called, so I called him back. We had a nice visit, while I rested in a shady spot. I finished the last three miles after that. I was pretty pleased with my thirty mile jaunt on the bike, which transported me for the day.

Where have you been transported to lately?

“Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.” (Matthew 11:28-30 The Message)

Something about being out of the normal routine awakens in me an acute awareness of the rhythms around me. I compare the routines of boat life with life back home, and often wonder why is it easier to live a simple life here. I think slowing down, and having different responsibilities makes it seem simpler, but in reality I do have routines and rhythms at home that are just as light and freeing as here, I am just more aware of them here. It’s hard to describe.

It’s not all easy living out here at the marina though. Some days the routines still become boring and the chores burdensome. The heat needs to be managed with fans and finding shade and going over to the beach where the breeze seems to always be flourishing. The food and ice have to be bought every couple days. Dishes seem to get done daily, because in a small space it’s harder to ignore the stack up. Laundry reminds you to do it, because there’s a pile of dirty clothes on the floor, where you need to walk to get in and out of the 10 feet of “hallway” on the boat. Every week, or sooner depending on how much sand we drag in, we wash down the back porch.

And because we are in such a beautiful spot, I want to be an  explorer and  a beachcomber and bike rider and kayak paddler and a shell collector, as well as the first mate who swabs the deck and musters up meals in the galley. The abundance here can be overwhelming, yet satisfying at the same time.

Here are some scenes from our daily life.

When the sun sets, we are tired, but in a good way. It’s not always easy to fall asleep with the humidity or the lights of the neighbors’ boats, but over all the quiet here prevails and the light rocking of the boat lulls us to sleep, until the bathroom call wakes us up or the dog puts her nose in our bed telling us it’s time for breakfast.

Then it’s another cycle of coffee making, sun rising, deciding which chore to ignore and which place to explore next.

In the next post, I’ll share our kayak adventure and my bike expedition down to Flagler Beach and back.

How do routines and rhythms show up in your life?

Love thy neighbor as thyself. (Matthew 22:39)

Living on a boat, for the most part is a transitory and solitary existence. You may weigh anchor now and again, or tie up to a dock, but putting down roots doesn’t really happen. You get to know the harbor master and marina staff in passing. You have neighbors, but most are transients on their way to another destination.

At this marina, we do have some neighbors who make their home here. Three in particular have been friendly toward us, and we share greetings. Each of the neighbors are older men, who live on various types of sailboats. Two have a dog or dogs, and the other one does not. He used to be in the Air Force, and he retired from raising freshwater clams. I never knew there were clam farms. He shares the dock with us, and the other two live to the left of us.

Immediately to our left is the owner of Godzilla, a small terrier. And to his left is the owner of Gully and Murray. He seeks Les out for technology advice. Godzilla’s owner and I have small conversations about immediate things. The first thing he told me about was his kayak, which is made from a vinyl material that packs into a tote bag. He told me it was made in the 1930s. We don’t really ask them about their stories, but we exchange encouragements now and again.

Kokomo was a little skittish about getting off the boat, after falling into the water last week, while attempting to get off the boat. We had been cajoling her with treats to no avail. Les had to lift her onto the dock. She is very curious about our canine neighbors. 

So, one day when Godzilla and owner walked by, they stopped to let the dogs get acquainted. Godzilla on the dock, and Kokomo leaning over the edge of the boat. Godzilla’s owner said, sometimes it takes a companion to make us brave, meaning maybe Godzilla could encourage Kokomo to get off the boat. Nice effort, but it took a few more days before she would exit the boat of her own volition.

The other day, I fried up four hamburgers in our iron skillet for dinner. I kept thinking it would be nice to offer our neighbors to share a meal, but we each have our own schedule, and there’s no communal eating area. Godzilla’s owner was walking by, while I enjoyed my burger on the back of the boat, which faces the dock. I paused and asked what kind of day he had. He said good, and then asked me the same question. And I told him my day was great. And he asked me what made it great. I thought a minute. 

Frying hamburgers for dinner was great, I replied. And he said, that reminded him that he had some sweet potatoes to cook up for Godzilla. I said, would you like a hamburger. I have an extra one. He declined, and then said, well, if it would help you out, I’ll take it for Godzilla. I hopped up to get the burger, and heard him reply, well, maybe we’ll half it. Meaning he and Godzilla could share it.

Tonight Les and I were finishing up some take out from the Captain’s BBQ and Bait place, when Godzilla’s owner pulled up in his van. He puttered around, and then a couple minutes later was standing on the dock next to our boat, and threw me two clementines. I said, how did you know I wanted an orange. And he said, I must be telepathic. (And really, since we have been in Florida, I’ve been wanting an orange, but they are not in season yet.) As he walked away, he said, straight from Peru. Meaning the oranges, he just gave me.

That’s the second time this trip that someone gave me food. The first time was the M&Ms. I can’t say that I directly prayed for these food items, but I do believe God heard my desire, and sent these items as little reminders of His love. Do you ever notice God sending you love notes?

Another neighbor that I visit with every day is the beach. I think I was made for the beach. From where we are situated, I’ve mentioned I can easily access the beach to the north of us, and also to the south of us. I usually go to the south beach in the morning to read or to walk and to take pictures. Today, I went to explore the beach further to the south. As I arrived the sun was rising into the cloud filled sky, and the beach was filled with photographers.

I walked almost two miles down the coast, but will have to go again because my phone died, which meant no photographs for me. I have a camera, but it was on the boat. As I walked back on the street side of the beach, I thought what did we do before cell phones!

When I visit the north side of the beach, I am compelled to take photographs of these rusty I-beams. I usually walk over there at dusk. Today, I went in the afternoon to see the structures in more light. I noticed that the one, which was bent over a couple days ago, now has both prongs pointing to the sky. My best guess is that the tide comes up and moves the rusty arms. (Les thinks otherwise. Meaning that it’s not possible for a tide to bend metal. He’s probably right.)

arm bent (front view)

arm bent (side view)

arm vertical (side view)

The landscape is ever changing here. I’ve been walking past these green sprawling plants half my height for the past two weeks, and today, I noticed a huge bud on one, and an explosion of blooms on another.

What have you noticed changing around you lately? Any interesting encounters with your neighbors?