2011 reflections and 2012 predictions

HAPPY NEW YEAR.  I know I’m a bit late but that seems to be my direction for the past few months.  Too much to do with too little time.  I hope 2012 frees up my schedule to do what I love…writing.  It’s part of my resolution along with about ten other things to improve upon in the new year.  As many have pointed out to me the past few weeks, according to the  Mayan calendar the apocalypse is on December 21, 2012.  Bah Humbug.  If that were true my only resolution in the new year would be to live life to the fullest.  Carpe Diem.  Wait, I already do that.  So what do I wish for in the new year? And what has 2011 taught me?  I vowed to let go of my ego in the new year after reading “The Power of Now“, but I want to embellish it for the last time or perhaps many times to come.  I can still release my ego and write about life’s experiences from my point of view. 

For several months I was captivated by biographies of music legends   such as Frank Sinatra, The Beatles, Rolling Stones, and Jim Morrison, to name the memberable ones.  They all had interesting stories with lots of drugs, sex, fanatical fans and complete chaos. For some reason I really connected to Jim Morrison’s life story and it’s kinda scary considering the unparalleled hedonistic life he led.  Perhaps it was my connection to Venice Beach and my past life there, but I found  his history very exciting as I went on a Morrison quest during my visit to Los Angeles this past fall. 

Memorable characters such as Howard Hughs, Rob Lowe and Tina Fay also made it into my reading library as I listened to their life’s struggles and successes.  After reading all these non-fiction books I realized that we all have a story.  Each and every one of us, including myself. Some are more exciting than others but I appreciate and learn from each of them and it seems like everyone this year had a book telling their story. 

Of course I love history and the people that make it, but a good well-written novel to escape reality makes my day.  Followed by the movie, even better.  I read “The Help” and “The Girl with the Dragon Tatoo” last year and “One Day” this year all followed up by the movie…well eventually. I thought the movie “The Help” did an excellent job with character casting, acting and scenery.  The other two movies are top on my list this month.  The “Book of Joe” was also a great book but not really movie material, and that’s O.K. I still took something from it especially a writing style that emulates my own.

As for 2012, I will continue to wake up every morning and run to a powerful, joyful, life rewarding audiobook.  As for the Mayan calendar and the end of the world.  The ancient culture based their calendar on a 5,126 era, why go beyond that.  It was their conclusion of a b’ak’tun. They probably figured they could pick it up at anytime in the future and finish it, hell they have over 5,000 years to do so.  Does our society plan that long in the future?  If we are colliding with a Black Hole, I’m already doing my part…living life to the fullest.  If it’s a spiritual rebirth, I have a head start on that too with my renewed Buddhist practice.  In the meantime Carpe Diem for the new year!

Miami Book Fair International

Come visit me at the Miami Book Fair International on Saturday, November 19th, from 2-6.  I’ll be at the Black Rose Writing booth in row “E” located on NE 3rd Street.

The Street Fair is lined with authors, publishers, Indie book stores and writing associations.  It a great way to meet budding writers and gain insight into the publishing world.  They also have a world stage hosting live music and performances.  It’s very kid friendly with children’s activities and cartoon characters roaming the streets. 

Inside five of the buildings on campus world renown authors will be speaking and autographing their books from 10 a.m. until 6 p.m.  It’s quite the lineup and I hope to drop by before and after my signing.

I hope to see you there.  For more information visit:  www.miamibookfair.com

Breakfast in Bimini part 2

I clicked my beer to his and said, “to our adventure.  There’s really nothing out here, is there?  I mean nothing between Bimini and Andros?”

He lit two cigarettes and handed me one.  He took a long draw and I mimicked his inhale.  “Just ocean creatures, submarines and pirates.” 

I burst out laughing.  “What Blackbeard, lost WWII German fighters and the Lockness monster?  Perhaps my statue came from Blackbeard’s ship.”

He looked at me and I could see his gaze through his sunglasses. “I’m serious.  AUTEC has a facility on Andros, they are part of the US Navy.  They do submarine testing in the Tongue of the Ocean.  And Andros is famous for harboring pirates, they steal boats from all over the Bahamas.”

He waited for my reaction, because I always had one.  I smirked.  “OK, perhaps that’s true.  So should I start looking for subs and pirate ships.  And what about the sea creatures?”

His seriousness continued as he put his cigarette butt into his empty beer bottle.  “The sea creatures I was referring to is just ocean life in general.  Fish, whales, dolphin, porpoises and all that.  And we probably don’t have to worry about subs or pirates until our trip tomorrow.  They are generally found south of where we’re going tonight.  Are you ready to press on?”

“Yes, let’s do it.”  I sat next to Luke on the center cushion as he stood navigating the waters.  I was a bit more attentive of the possibilities that existed in the deep blue sea.   I was searching for any signs of the life that existed below the surface.  The ocean floor was probably littered with artifacts from the 16^th and 17^th century when ships traversed the region trading goods from the new world to the old and vice versa.  If I had a submarine I would be searching for ancient ships and artifacts.  I would attach a blower or device to kick up the sand and unbury the past.  “How deep is it here?”  I asked loudly after much pondering.

“About twenty feet,” he shot back after a brief glance at his depth finder.  “It’s going drop to about 6000 feet here shortly and then shallow again as we approach Andros.”  He pointed straight ahead.  “There’s the northeast tip.”

I stood up and squinted.  “I see it.  Would you like another beer?”

“Yes. Please.”

I grabbed our two empties and carefully walked to the cooler on the back of the boat.  I pulled out two Klick lights and made my way back to Luke.  

“6000 feet.”  Luke called out.  “We’re in the Tongue of the Ocean briefly to get around some reefs.  And tomorrow we will be in the deep water until we get to Nassau.”

“Sweet.”  I hung over the side of the boat and peered into the sapphire sea, memorized by its depth and color as translucent and solid as the sapphire ring on my middle finger.  Unyielding at first glance but upon further examination I noticed the water’s diaphanous character.  Then without warning a dolphin shot into the air with a graceful flip back into the ocean.  “WOW.” I started clapping as Luke slowed down to a sailboat pace.  Two more leaped from the water and then started playing with the bow of our Intrepid.  I crawled up front admiring and cheering them on as they effortlessly shot back and forth in front of the boat. “Were not going to run them over, right?”

He smirked.  “No, they are very smart and know their relation to the boat.  They are just playful.”

I watched and sought out a connection.  I wanted to see the face of one of them.  I wanted to swim with them but I was terrified of jumping into the deep sea.  They played in our wake then I got a joyful glance just prior to another 180 flip into the air.  She was smiling, I least I thought of this dolphin as a she, although I can’t tell the difference between the sexes in porpoises. I guess the grace of these creatures is more feminine than masculine.  I smiled back and naturally started clapping again. 

“You know, porpoises are the only mammals who stay with their partner for life,” Luke said out of nowhere then continued. “They will have other sexual partners, but they go back to their mate.”

I contemplated this thought.  OK, what is my lover telling me.  Another flip, a solid smile and clap from me.  “What’s that mean,” I finally answered.

“I’m just saying.  Just sharing information.”

I gave him a sideways glance.  He grinned.  “OK, good to know.”  It makes sense to me and I like the idea of having a partner for life.  But human relationships are so much more complicated.  We bring in complex emotions like fear, jealously, and anger to name a few.  It would be nice if relationships existed with pure pleasure and playfulness and without negative emotions.  I let the thought go as the dolphins disappeared into their lighthearted world.

Pumpkin Season

For me the first sign of fall is not a change in the weather, especially here in Florida, but the sudden ubiquitous appearance of pumpkin flavored and scented goods.  I had a pumpkin smash from Jamba Juice today and it was like drinking a pumpkin pie.  It was delicious, but far from the healthy drink I intended to buy for lunch.  Sure the orange squash itself  is full of vitamins, but the amount of sugar in their yogurt flavored smoothy outweighs any health benefit.   Oh, but the pure pleasure of drinking sweet pumpkin for lunch was blissful.

So why does the pumpkin represent the onset of fall?  And is pumpkin an all American vegetable?  It did originate in the ”New World“ and according to Archeologists variations of squash and pumpkins were cultivated along rivers and creek banks along with sunflowers and beans. This took place long before the emergence of maize.  Native Americans used the sweet flesh in numerous ways: roasted, baked, parched, boiled and dried. They ate pumpkin seeds and these seeds were also used for medicine. The blossoms were added to stews. Dried pumpkin could be stored and ground into flour.

But the use of the pumpkin didn’t stop there.  The hard shells were cleaned and dried then used for bowls and storage containers.

Native Americans introduced this important food source to the Pilgrims since pumpkins stored well and lasted through the winter months.  The Pilgrims cut the top off  scooped the seeds out, and filled the cavity with honey, cream, eggs and spices. They then placed the top back on and buried it in the cooking fire. When it was blackened they lifted it from earth then scooped the contents out along with the cooked flesh of the shell.  It was like a custard and not too far off from my pumpkin smash from Jamba Juice, minus the extra sugar.

The pumpkin season seemed to arrive earlier this year along with new innovations in incorporating pumpkin into awkward places.  Take pumpkin peanuts for example.  Should a peanut taste like pumpkin or a peanut. What about pumpkin beer or coffee.  And the traditional pumpkin pancakes, bread, muffins,scones, ice cream, cookies and cheesecake.  Pumpkin shower gel and candles are abound at Bath & Body Works. I could get “pumpkined out ” before Thanksgiving even arrives.

Pumpkin pie is and always will be my favorite pie.  I’ll have another seasonal Jamba pumpkin smash, but I’ll skip all the other innovations and patiently wait for the pie on Thanksgiving and Christmas.

Marina Del Ray and Venice Beach, part two

Image via Wikipedia

A morning cup of Joe when your just steps from the Cow’s End Cafe on Washington Boulevard is a divine way to start the day.  Although Starbucks is just an extra step away, the Cow’s End is by far superior.  My husband earned bonus points for ordering for me a triple skinny white latte before I even emerged from the covers. It became my morning beverage while in Marina Del Ray as I watched the local KTLA and their familiar but sometimes obnoxious news.  When did Entertainment overcome real news in L.A.?  One morning the local anchor was severely distraught  over the remake of Dirty Dancing…get over it.  Perhaps I’m just more wise now and didn’t notice the bad news coverage when I lived here.  But then again, I’ve had an aversion for the news the past decade.

My husband and I hopped on our rusty rental bikes and casually cruised through the Marina and the last remaining wetlands in L.A. We rode over to Playa Del Ray and lined ourselves up with the runway at LAX to watch jets pass over us.  The bike path was busy for a Friday afternoon.  I suggested continuing south for lunch in Manhattan Beach, but my hubby thought that was a bit ambitious so we did a u-turn and ended up at a Mexican restaurant back in the Marina. 

We spent the rest of the day people watching in Venice then we took an evening trip to Downtown.  I should have known better, but I was open to suggestions.  After all most big cities have a lively downtown area.

“Let’s go downtown tonight,” my husband suggested.

“I never went downtown at night when I lived here, except to see Skid Row.”  I paused and thought about the concept for a moment. ”But I did read about the newly developed area called Downtown Live.” 

“Let’s drive by Skid Row and then eat in China Town,” he innocently said. 

I thought about the adventure and responded, “OK, I’ll get out the maps and do a bit of research.”  I’d hadn’t been to downtown L.A. in perhaps 15 years, and I did enjoy China Town for lunch back then.

We drove by Skid Row around 8:30.  The homeless were technically forbidden to put up their boxes until 9:00, but the effect for the boys was still priceless.  Groups of men stood on every corner.  Some restless ones were assembling their boxes and tents.  Everyone locked their doors as we drove through the eerie streets.  Police on bicycles patrolled the area.  The boys had a million questions one moment and complete silence the next.  They observed in amazement at the amount of homeless on Skid Row.  Their hunger forgotten for a brief moment.  But in the face of all the sadness their was no violence and therefore should have been no fear.  My husband let the boys know that if they didn’t live their life straight then they could end up in the same situation.

We cruised over a few blocks to China Town, which was dead at night.  A few restaurants were open, but not the hustle and bustle of daytime downtown.  So we went with plan B, Downtown Live.  I wasn’t impressed, it could have been a mini mall in any town and the wait for all the restaurants was over an hour.

So onto plan C, Hollywood.  My old familiar stomping grounds.  By this time the boys were famished.  I found our way to one of the best Mexican restaurants on Sunset Boulevard in Hollywood.  The wait, 1 1/2 hours.  So we walked along the Boulevard past a photo shoot for “Girls and Corpses” magazine.  Why does such a magazine exist?  Not sure, but only in Hollywood.  We ended up at a small restaurant with no wait and a decent menu.  Bread and drinks arrived as we glanced at the couple finishing up their dinner next to us.  All the tables in the restaurant came with crayons for creating tablecloth art while waiting. The beautiful girl and her partner drew images of pentagram crosses and other satanic images.  When they left the boys stared at their artwork.

“Is that 666,” one of them said.

She was gorgeous, why are they drawing that?”  Came from another’s one’s mouth, like I had the answer.

My typical response, “It’s Hollywood.”

I think the night made quite the impression and memories for our little surfers and adults alike.

Re-visiting Venice Beach, part one

As we flew into Los Angeles the thin Marine layer butted up against the San Bernardino Mountains leaving the city sprawl below unseen and unappreciated.  Just moments prior to landing, the airport and its immediate surroundings came into view.  A familiar sight for me albeit a long overdue one.

We arrived at our two bedroom modern oceanfront home just steps from the Venice pier.  It’s located south of the madness where bikes are not allowed on the boardwalk and normal people and dogs flourish.  People watching for me would become a favorite pastime while my Snorkie would dog watch and dog patrol over the next week.  A whine here, a growl there, and lots of sniffing of the air, other dogs and the ground in general.  I too would use my sense of smell in a different way to bring back memories of when I lived near here.

Although Venice was cool with the marine layer, a rarity this time of year, the beach was crowded with surfers, families and hard bodies working out.  Couples doing squats, groups practicing yoga,  and individuals running and walking all day into the evening.  Mid-day the sun peeked through and some people just sat on the beach absorbing the afternoon warmth, but for the most part Venice is an active beach with movement overcoming inertia. 

The following morning I chose the southern route for my morning run around Marina Del Rey.  I ran around an endless sea of sailboats as I jogged through all the nooks and crannies of the marina maze.  I stumbled upon a friend’s condo not recognizing it until the faint familiar smell of hot bleach and laundry detergent hit me.  I stopped, looked around then confirmed that it was the building she used to live in.  What may appear to be a common smell in this particular instance was very unique and memorable.  I ended my run by cutting through a trail that I had never experienced.  It was a short dirt path between the Venice canal and million dollar houses with awesome landscape and architecture.  Over an hour passed without me even breaking a sweat.

Image via Wikipedia

  Continuing my desire to exercise my body and mind by reliving my past life in L.A., I rode my bike to the Santa Monica Farmer’s Market on Arizona Street.  I filled my backpack with fresh organic fruit, sourdough bread and gourmet nuts then headed back down the Venice boardwalk to our temporary home.  I’d worked up an appetite and wanted to visit another favorite place of mine, Trader Joe’s.  After convincing my husband that it’s worth the extra ten minute drive we arrived at my beloved grocery store.  We would be cooking dinner during part of our stay so he stocked up on meats for the three teenage boys while I strolled the isles for old-time favorites.  I was like a kid in a candy store, not sure what to get while trying to figure out what I could take back to Florida.  I ended up getting fresh and frozen vegetarian prepared meals and bottles of wine priced at $1.99 a bottle.  No wonder I didn’t cook much when I lived in Santa Monica, Trader Joe’s did it for me.  I would be back without my husband trying to rush me, I decided.

The following day I had an equally rewarding run through Venice Beach to the Santa Monica pier.  I decided to listen to music instead of my audiobooks so that my mind could wander through diverse memories and thoughts.  I let it without judgement or surveillance.

I craved a hike through the Santa Monica Mountains so my husband dropped me off at Topanga State Park at Temescal Gatway Park and then took the boys to Zuma Beach in Malibu to surf.  I took the more challenging route of the ridge trail, a hike I used to do once a week without effort.  The switchbacks led me uphill for almost an hour.  It’s a well-traveled trail but somehow a rather large non-venomous snake managed to cross in front of me, startling me for a brief moment.  As I winded through the mountains, sage and juniper filled the air.  The scent of nature and the views of the city and ocean were divine.  It had been over six years since I traveled this route that had inspired me for the preceding decade.

A visit with a good friend and a late lunch at Gladstone’s completed my awesome day.  The rest of the evening was a  gift.  Laid back with no agenda, just the beach and family.

The last shuttle launch

                                                                                                   

On May 15th, 2011, I had the privilege of watching my first and last shuttle launch from Kar Park, a little known viewing site adjacent to the launch pad.  As the second-to-last flight, the Endeavour, soared off  from the Space Coast, my skin crawled and I was thrilled to be an American and a part of history.  Check that off my bucket list, I thought as I smiled.

Getting to the park was easier than I had anticipated.  This was in part because the original launch date was delayed for three weeks.  Those that had waited weeks prior did not witness the Endeavour‘s last journey and most would not return because of the uncertain nature of actual lift-off, due to Florida’s unpredictable weather and unforseen technical difficulties. 

Previously,  my husband and I were on our way to Cape Canaveral and then turned around half way after I checked my iPhone for updates and realized it was canceled.  No big deal since we lived only a few hours from the Cape.  When we returned for the real thing weeks later, we stayed over night and made a mini vacation out of it.

There was enough traffic to build my excitement, but not enough to create anxiety of possibly missing the launch, given we only gave ourselves a half hour to get to the park.  According to the countdown we had 10 minutes until lift-off.  Just enough time to find our spot and let my dog sniff around. 

I eagerly watched the large clock and listened to the countdown.  Three, two, one…  A smoky trail appeared, then the ground shook and a loud rumble followed.  We watched the shuttle climb into the clouds until it disappeared.  It was only 10 seconds of excitement but one that I will always remember.

The last launch of NASA’s space shuttle program is scheduled tomorrow, June 8th, with Space Shuttle Atlantis.  It may or may not happen on time, however, it is worth the wait.   It’s the last chance to experience such a wonderful part of our history.

world news and US TV

Why is it impossible to find real news on American TV anymore?   It has gotten progressively worse over the years. In the morning when I’m drinking my morning coffee I just like to see what’s happening around the world. Nowadays, this seems like an impossible task. 

It’s all political.  Don’t get me wrong politics is part of the news  but it seems like that’s all stations cover anymore.  And it’s all biased.  What happened to news reporters being non-biased?  Fox is obviously Republican and so is MSNBC.  CNN is Democratic. The elections of 2012 is over a year away.  Do we really have to listen to this for the next year and a half? 

 HLN is also part of CNN, but they don’t really cover anything.  Brief stories of things going on around the nation and entertainment news.  Wow, really.  At least they have weather, unlike Fox who recently added a meteorologist.  But I find myself watching HLN to get away from the annoying political coverage. 

Fox approaches every story as if it’s an emergency.  “BREAKING NEWS”  is constantly streaming across the screen.  The reporters are animated and over-react.  CNN on the other hand kills a story by talking about it in an inquisitive manner to the point where the reporter sounds completely like an idiot.

BBC is on a different time schedule and at 8:00 or 9:00 on the east coast they cover afternoon decorating programs and other random shows. 

I could read my news on the internet.  But that’s not the point.  I want to wake up and listen to someone else report important information around the world.  I don’t need to get into an in-depth discussion for a half hour on Weiner’s sexting while fires, floods and war ravage the world.

MAYDAY MAYDAY

 Here’s a short story I recently wrote.

“MAYDAY, MAYDAY.  We need to talk.” My husband said while frantically switching radio frequencies between Miami Departure and Miami Center, trying to reach anyone as our altitude decreased. I was concentrating on flying the airplane, but at 1200 feet we would impact the water within minutes.  We lost our engine at 4500 feet and after setting the best glide speed at 75 knots I tried to restart the engine.  I checked the magnetos, fuel selector, and fuel pump.  Nothing but eerie silence filled the air. “Fly the airplane, you can do it” I said faintly to myself.  Talking to air traffic control was my least concern but a very real one for my husband, Luke.  He was solely concentrating on how we were going to be rescued, while I was focused on surviving the crash into the Atlantic Ocean. I frantically reviewed everything on my checklist again and prepared for the ditch.

My husband made one last feeble attempt to reach Miami, “MAYDAY, MAYDAY.  This is 8547 Whiskey going down fifteen miles northwest of Bimini.  MAYDAY.” Luke released control of the radio.  He reached for a life vest and placed it around my neck and then secured one around his own. “I love you baby,” he said with sincerity.

“Me too.”

My mantra was “just pretend like your landing on a runway,” over and over I tried to convince myself—as Luke was counting down our altitude. “Fifty feet to go.  Hold on.”

I stalled the airplane just a few feet above the water for a hard but upright landing.  I already had the door unlatched so I immediately released my seatbelt then swung the door open.  I glanced over at Luke who was right behind me with our red life raft in his right hand.  My leap into the ocean was filled with relief that we landed safely.

I pulled the cord on my life jacket and started kicking my legs as we bobbed around in the vast Gulf Stream struggling to release the life raft. It was caught in the door. As we worked to get the raft untangled I noticed blood streaming from a gash at my husband’s temple.  Not wanting to alarm him, I stayed silent. Not only could his injury be more serious than it looked, it could also attract sharks.  In the Gulf Stream there are several types of sharks including the deadly Oceanic White Tip Shark.   Thoughts of the wreck of the Indianapolis crossed my mind, one of the most gruesome shark encounters mankind has witnessed.

Luke freed the raft from the wreckage as I watched him. “How are we doing on getting the raft opened?” I asked with a slightly shaky voice.  “Do you need help?” Luke was still struggling with the raft as his blood dripped into the water.  “Honey, what can I do?”

He grunted.  “I got it. But, I think…I think it might have a tear in it.”  The raft slowly unraveled.  The sides expanded as the middle sank.

I looked over at our Cessna and saw only the tip of the tail above water.  “There goes the plane,” I mumbled. The ocean’s expanse seemed more vast and looking over my husband’s shoulder so did the fin I saw coming towards us.

“Sweets jump into the raft, NOW!”  He hesitated afraid to lose the buoyancy of the raft.  “Honey a shark is heading towards us.  Now please.”  I jumped onto the side of the raft and Luke dove onto the other side.  Our bodies were out of the water but we didn’t know if the raft was going to hold us. 

A ten foot shark slowly circled the raft. “That’s a White Tip,” Luke said with conviction as he moved closer to the inside of our inflatable boat.  Our raft resembled a donut. The sides were completely inflated with a big hole in the center.  Blood from my husband’s head continuously dripped into the Gulf Stream.

“Sweets.  Why don’t you lie on your back and let your head rest.”  I said, hoping that his blood would coagulate.  “You’re bleeding a little.”

“A White Tip is about to bump us and you want me to lay down.”

I shimmied out of my shirt and gave it to him.  “At least put this over your head,” I said as I leaned over and handed him my shirt.  He balanced himself with his legs and one arm while tying the cloth around his head.

I looked at the donut hole and noticed only an inch or so of water covered the bottom of the raft.  “So should I lean inward if we get bumped?” I asked as I tilted into the raft.

“HOLD ON,” he shouted.  I hugged the boat like an infant being taken from its mother.  My body completely enveloped the rounded edge of the raft.  The bump felt like a strong push, not enough to dislodge me into the water.  My husband apparently did the same.  I relaxed my grip, and for the first time since the accident smiled at Luke.

He grinned back.  “Why are you smiling?” 

“Because we are still both on the raft; we are still alive—and I think we are going to live through this.”  He looked around for the shark’s fin.  I wondered, “Do you think ATC heard our Mayday?”

His grasp on the boat relaxed a bit as he took turns looking at me and the ocean.  “It’s possible that they heard us and we didn’t hear them.  Hell anything’s possible right now.  We filed a flight plan and notified customs.  They should know we are missing by now or at least in the next few hours.”  I noticed his face turn grim again.  “The shark is back.”

“Did he bring friends,” I said trying to make light of our situation.  “The hole in the bottom of the boat is not that big, should we try and sit inside?” I inquired.

His eyes followed the fin in the distance.  He quickly glanced at the center of the boat then back into the water. “It’s too risky.  Oceanic White Tip’s are known for attacking from the bottom and it could easily bite through the thin rubber layer.”  He glimpsed at the donut hole again then at me.  “And our weight could increase the water flow.”  His eyes darted around looking for the shark as I noticed his grip on the raft tighten.  The concern in his eyes made me tense and copy him. 

I scanned the Atlantic Ocean and noticed its deep violet color radiating light with the reflection of the sinking sun.  The waves were gentle and peaceful allowing me to relax my body and mind.  I closed my eyes and tried to pretend like I was on my raft in the pool when I realized I was thirsty as I tasted the salty air.  Dried salt water left a sticky residue over every inch of my body and stiffened my clothes. I suddenly craved fresh water.  A craving I realized I couldn’t satisfy.  Trying to forget about my thirst, I looked around the ocean again for any signs of the shark or life in general.  A flying fish whizzed by just feet above the water.  I smiled and my lips cracked with dryness.

I turned to my husband, “Sweets, why don’t you relax a bit and rest your head.  I don’t see the shark.”

“That concerns me even more,” he said as he repositioned my shirt on his head.  “Is my head still bleeding?” he asked.

I couldn’t tell with the dark brown color of the shirt so I suggested, “why don’t you dip it in the salt water and put it back on your head.  Salt water heals.  That’s the best thing right now along with you resting.” 

Luke rinsed the shirt in the center of the boat, wrung it out and tied it back on his head. He placed his head down facing me and sighed. “You know with the wind direction we won’t hit land, not in the Gulf Stream… not until Africa.”

I grinned.  “I’ve always wanted to revisit Africa. Did you figure out how to turn salt water into fresh water yet?” I said sarcastically.  “And I can learn to like fish.  You’re such a great fisherman; I know you can provide for us.”  He snorted.  “Seriously, rest your eyes and we’ll take turns looking for the shark.  Just lean inwards in case we get bumped.”

I continued to scan the vast ocean for any signs of life, staying alert for sharks and even for possible vessels in the distance.  I let my feet dangle but I still had a firm grip on the raft.  I tried to stay positive but thoughts of dying in the ocean crossed my mind.  Thoughts of sharks, dehydration and starvation, drowning and losing my partner forced their way in as I determinedly pushed them back out.  I’m a survivor I reminded myself.  I pictured Luke and I back home having a beer at the end of the day and concentrated on good thoughts of a long life together.

The sun was lower in the sky and I figured we had a good hour left of sunlight.  A Marlin jumped in the distance and I was awed with its beauty.  I was getting tired but I refused to close my eyes.  Luke had to rest with his injury, not me.  If only I had an energy drink, I thought. 

The quietness had developed a slight buzz in the background, an unnatural sound of a distant engine.  The sound was moving closer so I called out to my husband. “Honey, are you awake?  Luke, I hear an engine.”  He lifted his head and looked around.  I followed his gaze.

“It’s a helicopter!  I can tell by the sound.”  We both stared at the sky straining to see what was creating the noise. As the buzz became louder and I could recognize the distinct hum of the blades spinning.  A black dot on the horizon quickly came into view.  I sat upright and began waving.  Luke did the same.  “It’s a J-Hawk,” he called out with enthusiasm.  “That’s what the coast guard uses.”

“Do we have a flare?” I asked.  Already knowing the answer would be no—Luke didn’t bother to answer.  I fumbled around in the side pocket of my khaki’s for a small mirror that I usually carry on me.  I pulled it out and faced it towards the sun in hopes of creating a reflection.  Luke continued to wave his arms as I flashed the mirror. 

The crew of the J-Hawk were in sight, with one wearing a mask and snorkel.  A basket was lowered to our raft.  Luke grabbed it and lifted a VHF radio while continuing to hold on waiting for instructions.

“Captain, this is Coast Guard.  We are unable to follow normal procedure and send a man in to help you. We are watching a large White Tip circling your life raft. It’s too dangerous for our rescue swimmer to jump into the water.  I’m going to need you to follow my instructions very carefully.”

“I’m ready,” Luke shot back.

“We can only take one at a time.”  The voice said from the VHF.  “It’s best if you help the female into the basket, then we will send it back down for you.”

“Come here baby.”  Luke called out.  “Crawl along the outside of the raft.”  I inched along the border as he grabbed me and helped me into the basket. 

I sat in the basket looking down into the ocean.  The blades from the chopper were spraying my husband and the shark was aggressively closing in on him.  “Hold on baby,” I shouted.  “He might bump again.”

Within minutes I was safely in the helicopter and the basket was lowered back down to pick up Luke.  I suddenly realized I was topless as one of the men put a blanket around me.  I squeaked out a thank you and focused on Luke.  “He’s injured and might need a hospital.”  I held my breath then glanced down and saw my husband on his way up.  The shark was still circling.

I threw my arms around my husband as the Coast Guard helped him into the aircraft.  They removed my shirt from his head to look at his injuries and began first aid.  “Let’s go to Jackson Memorial,” I heard one of them say. 

“How did you find us?” Luke asked. 

“We were on a routine patrol mission looking for human traffickers and drug runners when we got a call to be aware of a small plane that went down off of Bimini.”

“So I guess they heard my Mayday,” Luke said with satisfaction.

archaeology and the Hughes legend- LA style

archaeology and the Hughes legend- LA style.