Its 4:55am as the first alarm of my cell vibrates on the nightstand. I wake with a flutter in my chest on this day. I turn off the alarm and snuggle up with the covers to repeat the same process, for two more alarms. A morning ritual I have practiced for many years now, I suppose it’s another expression of how I ease myself into things.
5:20 the flutters continue, I’m up out of bed and getting ready for the big day ahead. Alex already up, dressed and standing in the kitchen waiting. I dress warmly, in wind pants and a fleece; brush my teeth, and wrap up my long red hair. Lastly I slip on my sneakers, and lace them tightly. My cell vibrates again, a text from Tania wishing me good luck for the day. My bags packed the night before we head out the door and down the stairs. Both the flutters of nervousness and of excitement move from my chest to my belly.
Ready.
We cross town in my vehicle and pick up his. One pit stop in Trenton, I don’t dare eat anything, just a strawberry protein shake. We head northeast up Route 3 to catch I-95. Southbound we head down the highway seeking exit 150. I photograph the sign as we exit to document today’s adventure. Were looking for Harrison Avenue; the sun just high enough to shadow the sign and we miss it. We turn around just up ahead, right across the road from a cemetery, that’s not very reassuring I think to myself. Back in route we take a left and head on down to the end of Harrison and park at Curtis Air. The directions instruct us to walk across the aircraft parking area and warned to watch for airplanes!
A pretty chilly morning, not a cloud in sight and the bright blue sky beckons. We walk on the edge of the runway and head up toward the tree line where we are greeted by a man driving a golf cart.
“Hey there!” He shouts, “You going skydiving?”
“Yes!” We reply with smiles and giddy laughter.
“Hop on.” He invites and gives us a ride up to the Central Maine Skydiving building.
We enter the barn like structure; harnesses and parachute packs hang the length of one wall, the other hangs helmets, jumpsuits and goggles and such gear. A few funny posters and stickers stuck here and there, a tiny operation down this way. We are immediately handed waivers to sign over some of our rights.
“Be sure to read and check each of the boxes.” The lady explains.
These documents confirmed our willingness to chuck ourselves out of a perfectly good airplane. These rights we gladly exchanged for the experience to fall from the sky. Being our first jump we must jump tandem, harnessed to an experienced skydiver.Matt our instructor begins to explain the process and the steps we must follow. We listen closely and attentively, and discover that only one of us can jump at a time. I impulsively claim the liberty of jumping first and Alex complied.
I’m geared up in a jumpsuit, goggles, and a cap. The harness has been fashioned snugly around my petite frame. I collect my affirmations from my purse and stick them up the sleeve. A few words written on paper, things I want to embrace in my life and a few things I want to let go of. I give Alex a big hug, a tight squeeze and I’m off.
Set.
Another ride on the golf chart we head across the grass back to the runway to the plane. As instructed, I sit back-to the pilot, this being the tinniest airplane I’ve flown in and probably the oldest, a 1965 Cessna 182. Matt climbs in behind me and the other two jumpers follow suit. We taxi on down the runway, full throttle ahead, we take off. With wind beneath our wings, we elevate off the earth and into the air. Matt video tapes the view out the front windshield and I watch out the sides at the trees and watch as they slowly become blobs of color divided by lots of land, and water and buildings.
Jim is jumping first, at 5,000 feet. Jim unlatches the door and it swings open. The wind speaks loudly and nips at the face with its crispness, the engine cuts along with its sound. Jim steps out with one hand on the bar under the wing, one foot on the platform and the other foot behind him in the air. Then he steps backward and disappears from view, falling through the sky beneath us. I turn to the other jumper, Randy he looks at me and says, “Your next!”
Matt wears a wrist band altimeter, a digital device that calculates the level of elevation. I watch the digits rise.
“How are you feeling?” Matt inquires and turns the camera to me. Now this is when the nervousness hit me. Anticipating the next moments, I just sat there with my hands folded in my lap, calm and collected, peering out the window, anxiously awaiting my turn to fly.
“Your not gonna chicken out?” He asks.
“Hell no!” I shout and shake my head assertively.
“There no turning back now?” He asks
“No’sah.” I confirm with Downeast conviction.
I turn around to be harnessed to Matt. He tightly fastens the buckles to their straps and clasps the hooks to their loops. The door opens, the wind and its noise make the moment real. Still seated we turn together and I step my feet out onto the platform. The engine cuts and the plane slows. Feet together, I say to myself. Matt rocks forth, one, two, and
Go!
Free falling for 40 seconds at 10,000 feet above the land of Mother Earth, traveling through her bright blue sky at over 100 miles per hour, the video cam seated on his left arm captures this all. The look on my face, the air as it fills my mouth and puffs out my cheeks. I swallow that air and come to and greet the camera with a wide smile.
Randy is then seen free falling just a short distance away. We fall 5,000 feet of the sky until the parachute is deployed. We are quickly jolted backward and upward rapidly reducing speed.
“The chute was the scariest part!” I yell and Matt agrees.
Held together by rope, nylon and some trust we float along descending. I pull the pieces of paper from my sleeve. I read each one by one to myself and release it into the aerospace and into the cosmos.
Matt hands me the reins of the multi-blue colored parachute, I grip them evenly as we glide on down, I hand them back as the ground grows closer. The blobs reemerge as trees, and branches and leaves, Alex and a small group stand staring up at us. My legs straight out in front of me, like instructed and we fly in by the seat of out pants across the grass sopped in dew and we return to the earth.
“That was so much fun!” I exclaim and giggle repeatedly, grinning from ear to ear.I am over come with this sense of calmness, like I shed some nervousness up there in the big blue. I just learned how to fly, and experienced what goes up must come down. Devoured the taste of liberation, I was ready, and set to go.
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Scorned Woman
It’s Friday night in the Village, and I am dressed like the cat’s meow, in a strapless Victoria Secret dress, the color of chocolate; complemented with a pair of strappy high heels and golden arm bands.
A group of us have just left the improvisational comedy show. I had just gone up on stage in the last bit. I was asked to describe my day, they then used this information to make a crazy dream skit by scrambling up the events.
I’m just glowing, high on endorphins and a little buzzed off the brandy.Smiling and still laughing the four of us strut up Main Street in search for one of the hot spots in town, Brit’s tending bar tonight. We arrive and cross the packed patio to make our way inside. Quite a few of familiar faces to mingle with,so I hang for a while, and sip from my glass until it empties.
My party members have already gone upstairs to check out the DJ and the only dance floor in town.I slip out the side door and up the front steps to The Veranda. It’s always packed up here on Friday nights, late especially. The drinks are stiff and the music loud, it’s where the bodies touch and the ruckus unfolds. The Veranda and Brits bar are where you’ll find whoever you’re looking for, come last call.
I don’t pay any cover, I just strut on through. I make my way pass the bodies to the bar and indulge in another drink. I step out on the veranda and greet my friends. The music bumping, the chatter of the voices growing louder and louder, the ladies dressed and pressed for a night of provoking boys, the boys dressed and pressed and wanting to be provoked.
A boy approaches me and remembers my name but his I do not. His face familiar, yet unsure of how I recognize him. He tells me his name is Brian and then tries to engage in what I think, he thought was flirtation, but really what just turned out to just be bad game.
He asked me what sign I was, and said he too was a Scorpio and began rambling off about their compatibility. I am a third generation, redheaded Scorpion woman, I know a lot about the zodiac and what he was saying frankly, was not true. So I called him out.
He corrects himself by saying, “Yeah but the sex is good.” Followed by the statement, “You should give me your number. “
In response, I zipped up my purse, turned back to and began conversing with my friends. I guess he didn’t catch my drift. He interrupts, says something that I didn’t hear and then whole-handedly grabs my ass. Impulsively I smack him on the arm and he just walks away.
I turned to my party in shock, “He just grabbed my ass!” I exclaimed. None of the boys in my party would say anything. I turn to a neighboring acquaintance and convey with conviction, “Ross you need to control your boy!”
“He’s not my boy.” He shrugs.
The tunes thump from the speakers, the panes of glass vibrate. The chatter boxes continue, mostly just yelling over each other at this point. The veranda clouded in the stench of cologne and body odor, alcohol and cigarettes. Still in shock, pissed, and not a man around to stand up for me, I seek a resolution.
I look down at the drink in hand, take a deep haul and remove its straw. I hesitate as my heart palpitates at what I was preparing myself to do in the next moment. My eyes scan once more, he is spotted seated at a table directly at the door, and he’s mackin’ on his next victim.
I walk right up and interrupt his conversation by dumping coffee brandy, milk, ice and all into his lap. And bark aggressively, “You need to learn some fucking manners! And don’t you ever do that to me again!”
He was stunned. He just looked at me all wide eyed, his jaw hanging, and his crotch soaked. Like he didn’t know what he had done wrong. With no back up to aid me, I swiftly step out the door, round back down the stairs and seek refuge at Brit’s bar.
I come in invigorated, and petrified, and exhilarated; announcing,“Brit, you’re not going to believe what I just did!!”
A group of us have just left the improvisational comedy show. I had just gone up on stage in the last bit. I was asked to describe my day, they then used this information to make a crazy dream skit by scrambling up the events.
I’m just glowing, high on endorphins and a little buzzed off the brandy.Smiling and still laughing the four of us strut up Main Street in search for one of the hot spots in town, Brit’s tending bar tonight. We arrive and cross the packed patio to make our way inside. Quite a few of familiar faces to mingle with,so I hang for a while, and sip from my glass until it empties.
My party members have already gone upstairs to check out the DJ and the only dance floor in town.I slip out the side door and up the front steps to The Veranda. It’s always packed up here on Friday nights, late especially. The drinks are stiff and the music loud, it’s where the bodies touch and the ruckus unfolds. The Veranda and Brits bar are where you’ll find whoever you’re looking for, come last call.
I don’t pay any cover, I just strut on through. I make my way pass the bodies to the bar and indulge in another drink. I step out on the veranda and greet my friends. The music bumping, the chatter of the voices growing louder and louder, the ladies dressed and pressed for a night of provoking boys, the boys dressed and pressed and wanting to be provoked.
A boy approaches me and remembers my name but his I do not. His face familiar, yet unsure of how I recognize him. He tells me his name is Brian and then tries to engage in what I think, he thought was flirtation, but really what just turned out to just be bad game.
He asked me what sign I was, and said he too was a Scorpio and began rambling off about their compatibility. I am a third generation, redheaded Scorpion woman, I know a lot about the zodiac and what he was saying frankly, was not true. So I called him out.
He corrects himself by saying, “Yeah but the sex is good.” Followed by the statement, “You should give me your number. “
In response, I zipped up my purse, turned back to and began conversing with my friends. I guess he didn’t catch my drift. He interrupts, says something that I didn’t hear and then whole-handedly grabs my ass. Impulsively I smack him on the arm and he just walks away.
I turned to my party in shock, “He just grabbed my ass!” I exclaimed. None of the boys in my party would say anything. I turn to a neighboring acquaintance and convey with conviction, “Ross you need to control your boy!”
“He’s not my boy.” He shrugs.
The tunes thump from the speakers, the panes of glass vibrate. The chatter boxes continue, mostly just yelling over each other at this point. The veranda clouded in the stench of cologne and body odor, alcohol and cigarettes. Still in shock, pissed, and not a man around to stand up for me, I seek a resolution.
I look down at the drink in hand, take a deep haul and remove its straw. I hesitate as my heart palpitates at what I was preparing myself to do in the next moment. My eyes scan once more, he is spotted seated at a table directly at the door, and he’s mackin’ on his next victim.
I walk right up and interrupt his conversation by dumping coffee brandy, milk, ice and all into his lap. And bark aggressively, “You need to learn some fucking manners! And don’t you ever do that to me again!”
He was stunned. He just looked at me all wide eyed, his jaw hanging, and his crotch soaked. Like he didn’t know what he had done wrong. With no back up to aid me, I swiftly step out the door, round back down the stairs and seek refuge at Brit’s bar.
I come in invigorated, and petrified, and exhilarated; announcing,“Brit, you’re not going to believe what I just did!!”
Monday, September 06, 2010
Some of us do and some of us don't.
It is one hundred degrees on the island and it’s the first week of September! This is unheard of ‘round these parts, yet creates a blessed day for a dip.
My friend Alec and I arrive eager for relief from the heat. We walk down the path sprinkled in dried pine needles, and down over the bank. In some places the roots of the trees have grown across the path creating steps, as if Mother Nature were helping us to reach the water. We plop our things down and undress to our swim clothes.
Alec wades in first, I find myself tip toeing around the waters edge, barely wetting my feet. Slowing I step, cautiously and deliberate, timid to move forward.
Eventually I lunge ahead and swim into the refreshingly cool spring feed lake; finally, the relief I was seeking. We play around for a while under the warmth of the fiery sun, in this unusually late summer’s heat.
Alec then decides he will swim across the width of Lake Wood; me on the other hand, I retreat and sit lakeside on a rock watching. I watch him as he ventures, he appears as just a dot floating on the water. The sun still high, its reflection glimmers. I lose sight of him as he disappears into the cast shadows, but spot him once more as he climbs up on the rocks, on the other side. He too sits and peers across.
I bath in the sun and blow bubbles. At that moment, I recognized all the elements present. I sit upon the earth, the sun and its fire, the water and its depth, and the breeze that carries these bubbles.
I look across the lake and think of summer camp. In the morning all the cabins would line up. There was a series of morning rituals that went on, one being to yell across the lake in unison, “Gooooood mornnnning West Side!” To the boys side of the lake; and they would respond in unison, “Goooooood mornnnnnning East Side!” This caused my thoughts to wander. To think of boys and girls, day and night, the good and the bad, the duality of this world, and its constant companionships.
The more time spent in the woods, with Mother Nature, and the elements, the more you feel filled with insight and inspiration. Possessing the ability to draw in that positive energy and channel it and manifest it in your life is the tricky part.
I watch Alec submerge for the trek back across. That’s quite a commitment to swim across unknown waters, knowing that you have to swim back. I think about the commitments I make in my life. The time is spend in limbo, deliberating. I acknowledge my approach in the water, timid and cautious.
Forthcoming Alec arrives. Breathless he sits and rests.
The sun has moved across Lake Wood and has begun to fall behind the tree line. I want to jump before the warmth disappears. I have to jump today. Alec collects himself, we walked up bank to the bluffs.
I stand on the edge and peer into the deep water. My red hair and my freckles are glowing, illuminated by the sun. I raise my arms to embrace my choice, and push off into the air. A short free fall until I am submerged once more in the water. I rise to the surface and take a deep breath.
I tread water for a while, looking back up at my friend as he still stands peering in. He stood for so long, till finally he just sat down on the ledge. So I swam in. He couldn’t bring him self to do it. He just couldn’t.
The sun is well hidden by the trees as this point. I climbed back up to jump another round. I stand still once more with my arms raised, and push off.
It’s truly a liberating experience, to do something without delay, to move forward in an assertive and active way. These thoughts take me back to the boys on the West side, and the girls on the East. Some of us do and some of us don’t.
My friend Alec and I arrive eager for relief from the heat. We walk down the path sprinkled in dried pine needles, and down over the bank. In some places the roots of the trees have grown across the path creating steps, as if Mother Nature were helping us to reach the water. We plop our things down and undress to our swim clothes.
Alec wades in first, I find myself tip toeing around the waters edge, barely wetting my feet. Slowing I step, cautiously and deliberate, timid to move forward.
Eventually I lunge ahead and swim into the refreshingly cool spring feed lake; finally, the relief I was seeking. We play around for a while under the warmth of the fiery sun, in this unusually late summer’s heat.
Alec then decides he will swim across the width of Lake Wood; me on the other hand, I retreat and sit lakeside on a rock watching. I watch him as he ventures, he appears as just a dot floating on the water. The sun still high, its reflection glimmers. I lose sight of him as he disappears into the cast shadows, but spot him once more as he climbs up on the rocks, on the other side. He too sits and peers across.
I bath in the sun and blow bubbles. At that moment, I recognized all the elements present. I sit upon the earth, the sun and its fire, the water and its depth, and the breeze that carries these bubbles.
I look across the lake and think of summer camp. In the morning all the cabins would line up. There was a series of morning rituals that went on, one being to yell across the lake in unison, “Gooooood mornnnning West Side!” To the boys side of the lake; and they would respond in unison, “Goooooood mornnnnnning East Side!” This caused my thoughts to wander. To think of boys and girls, day and night, the good and the bad, the duality of this world, and its constant companionships.
The more time spent in the woods, with Mother Nature, and the elements, the more you feel filled with insight and inspiration. Possessing the ability to draw in that positive energy and channel it and manifest it in your life is the tricky part.
I watch Alec submerge for the trek back across. That’s quite a commitment to swim across unknown waters, knowing that you have to swim back. I think about the commitments I make in my life. The time is spend in limbo, deliberating. I acknowledge my approach in the water, timid and cautious.
Forthcoming Alec arrives. Breathless he sits and rests.
The sun has moved across Lake Wood and has begun to fall behind the tree line. I want to jump before the warmth disappears. I have to jump today. Alec collects himself, we walked up bank to the bluffs.
I stand on the edge and peer into the deep water. My red hair and my freckles are glowing, illuminated by the sun. I raise my arms to embrace my choice, and push off into the air. A short free fall until I am submerged once more in the water. I rise to the surface and take a deep breath.
I tread water for a while, looking back up at my friend as he still stands peering in. He stood for so long, till finally he just sat down on the ledge. So I swam in. He couldn’t bring him self to do it. He just couldn’t.
The sun is well hidden by the trees as this point. I climbed back up to jump another round. I stand still once more with my arms raised, and push off.
It’s truly a liberating experience, to do something without delay, to move forward in an assertive and active way. These thoughts take me back to the boys on the West side, and the girls on the East. Some of us do and some of us don’t.
Friday, September 03, 2010
Intro of Self
I reside in a crooked little tree house, on an island off the coast of Maine. I serve up the Downeast experience to tourists by summer and attend classes and paint during the quiet of winter.
I grew up out in the country. My siblings and I had fourteen acres of woods to play around on. Mind you though, living out in the boonies isn’t always what it’s cracked up to be. We had to find ways to keep ourselves entertained. I spent a lot of time coloring and playing with school supplies; trying to make things, out of other things.
I blossomed after a two experience at catholic school. Seventh and Eighth grade I discovered that I was not only an artist but a painter, and not a catholic at all.
When I returned to public school, academically I enjoyed it, but it turned a little rough for me socially. I wanted out. With the support of my advisers and family, I sailed through rough waters as an honor roll student and graduated as a junior.
I continued my education attending college classes as a non-matriculated student. It suited me at the time. It provided me with the opportunity to take a whim; to come and go as I pleased. I have traveled across the country coast to coast by plane, by car, and once and only once, by greyhound bus. I have been to thirty one states in the U.S. I have wintered in warmer places.
Having spent that time collecting my wits about me, I eventually became a matriculated student.
I am now a Phi Theta Kappa member, enrolled in the Liberal Studies Program at Eastern Maine Community College. I have been picking away at this for some time now. I’m down to six classes to earn my degree. I am also an award winning artist at the annual Blue Hill Fair.
After it’s all said and done, I intend to leave this island and this crooked little tree house. I aspire to weave together my passion for academia and for art into one and to venture off to a school of art.
I grew up out in the country. My siblings and I had fourteen acres of woods to play around on. Mind you though, living out in the boonies isn’t always what it’s cracked up to be. We had to find ways to keep ourselves entertained. I spent a lot of time coloring and playing with school supplies; trying to make things, out of other things.
I blossomed after a two experience at catholic school. Seventh and Eighth grade I discovered that I was not only an artist but a painter, and not a catholic at all.
When I returned to public school, academically I enjoyed it, but it turned a little rough for me socially. I wanted out. With the support of my advisers and family, I sailed through rough waters as an honor roll student and graduated as a junior.
I continued my education attending college classes as a non-matriculated student. It suited me at the time. It provided me with the opportunity to take a whim; to come and go as I pleased. I have traveled across the country coast to coast by plane, by car, and once and only once, by greyhound bus. I have been to thirty one states in the U.S. I have wintered in warmer places.
Having spent that time collecting my wits about me, I eventually became a matriculated student.
I am now a Phi Theta Kappa member, enrolled in the Liberal Studies Program at Eastern Maine Community College. I have been picking away at this for some time now. I’m down to six classes to earn my degree. I am also an award winning artist at the annual Blue Hill Fair.
After it’s all said and done, I intend to leave this island and this crooked little tree house. I aspire to weave together my passion for academia and for art into one and to venture off to a school of art.
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