C’est moi!
A LITTLE ABOUT ME & Mavericks…
I have to confess that I am a professional liar. Growing up in the road side attraction atmosphere at our beach house, overseen by the Overlord, “our” dad, Felix E. Seidler the village idiot/town drunk/master surfer/Masonic Lodge Sergeant at Arms and part time stunt man, offered me no opportunities in life other than becoming a mommy or a writer. A writer of Fiction because I had been warned and warned again to never ever tell the truth about what went on out there at the end of the boulevard where civilization butted up against the ice plant covered berm, to the house of the self-made man. But here I have decided to be more forthcoming.
In the 3rd grade I explained “our dad” to the teacher. “He’s a self-made man but mom says his foundation wasn’t poured right and so he’s always at least a bubble off the plum line.” She gave me a 4th grade reader.
“Our dad” did provide me with enough fantastic “story” to fill the pages of Mavericks – a love story. In fact the outtakes from there would fill two more novels. He also provided me with enough trauma to spend a lifetime searching for truth and meaning but hey, I got an award-winning book out of him.
Our house became the center of the surfing subculture in the city they now call Pacifica. But it all started on San Pedro Bay, in the Linda Mar Valley long before the incorporation of Pacifica, long before artichoke fields were bulldozed and the ticky-tacky tract houses were built with 99% of them ignoring the ocean view, all facing each other in block after block of boring suburbia. Magnificent sunsets but they all had to go out into the middle of their streets and stare to the west. Greed built the city of Pacifica. Greed and revenge put a sewage treatment plant smack on the beach right next to our home and, yes, for years while I still lived there the gates would open and spew partially treated sewage into the water of the “safest and most beautiful little swimming and surfing beach north of Santa Cruz where wild strawberries meet the sea.” Quote “our dad,” Felix the Cat Seidler.
I watched out my bedroom window as the dozers scraped and masticated silver green and deep purple artichoke fields, mixing in the black fertile earth, dozing it all flat and covering it with concrete and asphalt. It was heartbreaking and it still is because in this writer’s mind, in her inner eye, still shines and beacons the beautiful blue ocean, the long crescent of sand, the shore birds and all the sea life that are now scant to vanished. From the kitchen window I could watch the gulls dive for anchovies and see the school of fish chumming the waters. My mother was eating lunch on the beach one day and saw something flopping around in the shore break. She waded out to see what was happening and ended up catching a small salmon. She punched it and we had it for dinner.
Life on the beach was abundant with crabs, shrimps, abalone, salmon, snapper, halibut, and more. Sewage pouring into the bay did not do good things for the sea life or for the people who went into the water. I could lie here but I have chosen to not do that. The city screwed up the bay and they attacked our house and our family again and again until the old man died. They wanted to build a golf course and hotel on the beach, make it private, make it exclusive, fence it off like they do down south, block the view so even if the people in the tract houses stood in the middle of the boulevard they couldn’t see the ocean, lock it all up to keep regular folks from enjoying the beach. They felt our family’s biggest sin was accepting all visitors, throwing 4th of July parties that were bigger and had better fireworks than the ones the city had, saving folks from drowning and even teaching some to surf.
So the “About Me” section here will change over time. There’s so much life to cover, there’s so much about me to cover. At the very heart of me is that beach. To paraphrase Master & Commander, there was so much of my blood sweat and tears in that house, on that piece of land, that dna analysis would show we are close relatives.
But life does not stand still. The wheels of time and progress took the house and global warming is taking the beach bit by bit. My mother Mary Lou was a much married woman, simply because she couldn’t find a man worthy of the job of husband/father and had to keep hunting for Mr. Right. I am currently writing the story of mom’s life, Serial Bride, and as I was not exactly her “first mistake” I am merely living breathing (and writing) evidence of that mistake. Serial Bride – The Lost Airman, is the first in this series and is nearly completed.
Stuff i like a lot
Surfing, swimming, kayaking
My dog Django, cats Calypso and Blu, turtles Flo and Peachy-cheeks, koi fish too numerous to name and Elvis the 25 year old king snake.
Water color and Chinese brush painting, ceramics and found wood sculpture, needle felting in 2 and 3D.
Gardening
OTHER STUFF
Tai Chi
Dance
Videographer
Lyricist, poet