Posts Tagged ‘inspiration’

The Cove

Wednesday, March 30th, 2011
Solo

Solo

 

 

 

 

 

I was reading my daily dose of Seth Godin today, and his words on initiative, really struck home for me.

Coincidentally, last night was Linchpin night here in Ventura. The Linchpin meetup is  an event Seth innovated, where self starters and doers, get together, network, have fun, and sow the seeds of creative fulfillment. We had met at the Watermark, a rather ambitious restauranting endeavor. For our podunk little town (Ventura, Ca), it is what one would call an upscale establishment. I think I must have left the meeting of bright linchpin lights pretty wound up, as my dreams were of doing endeavors…….. all nite long.

My thoughts and dreams have a way of awakening me. So at 3 am, summoned out of a fitful sleep, I began work.  I had an image to locate for a Tedx talk in Munich. The request had come via a search through my website, and the images selected were ones I had not seen in many years.

What many people do not know, is that every image is the result of a quest of some sort. So there is a story behind each. The first image in this edit request was simple to find. It was a Wiamea dawn shorebreak shot, which I had captured 10 years ago, standing right next to Warren Bolster, who was twitching in manic fashion when I would look over at him. I had not known this, but since I was staying at Wiamea that year, and heard the break fire up in the night from my bed, (I was first on it) but I had inadvertently placed myself in Warren’s favorite spot. I could see his discomfort, and found it amusing, as I was shooting with an ancient Century 650 F 6.7 manual focus telephoto. He of course, had a beautiful Canon 600 F4 L autofocus lens. I was sad when I learned of Warren’s death awhile ago. Lots of memories attach themselves to my work.

This made me think of my friend and colleague Jason Wolcott’s words, which I included in the image above. It was shot in a remote cove in Mexico 12 years ago, using that same Century 650 lens.

I had been shooting from the water at the South end of the cove that afternoon, having driven down with my friend Dean and  one of the Goleta Bodyboarders. The Cove is an amazing place. Pristine and alive with all manner of sea life. A fish farm lies just offshore.

As the light was coming on in the later afternoon, I was in the water shooting one of the guys on a left and saw an entire school of fish jump through the air in panic. We all laughed. Then I thought, hmm, why the display? And there he was, a huge tiger  shark charging down the line on the very next left hander of the set.

I turned and caught the wave, (same wave as the shark) and began to bodysurf in. As the wave began to slow, I felt something near me and looking up realized that one of the bodyboarders had gone as well, and was stalling, waiting for me. I pulled myself up onto him and we rode to the sand together, laughing in relief as Dean sat outside alone looking at us quizically.

On the beach was a cave which you could walk through to the water. I had wandered over and realized that the entire school of fish had beached itself and lay dying now. We managed to get Dean to come in after that.

So I had set up my tripod, and shot the image you see above in this post, which was of a wave, spawned by some distant storm in the Southern Hemsphere, that had traveled all the way across several seas, to expire as a backlit gem and reward me in it’s wonderful death. Jason’s words say it perfectly.

So in answer to Seth’s query: what do I do when the phone is not ringing? I engage, create. That is just what Linchpins do, and the affect is the same as that wave spawned by the storm, which travels out from the source to crash ashore in another time and for yet a new set of eyes to engage, and another heart to inspire and aspire.

I do not think any of this, or us, ever really stops.  It is just in our nature to go on. That is the gift that we have been bequeathed: to expand.  I would rather inspire than do anything else. That matters.

Amber Storm

Amber Storm

 

 

 

The Island

Monday, May 10th, 2010
The Island

The Island

A sloop rode astride disparate shades of blue, the ocean looking as if Gauguin had paletted every tone of that color available in the universe. The lone boat sheered through, cutting the briefest of white swaths, which were deftly consumed by azure strokes of the artist’s brush. Wind sung in the lines, with slap of bow and gurgle of wake, a pleasant serenade.

There is a vitality that seems to exist at the Equator. Astride the foredeck, with one hand grasping a stainless steel stay, it’s smooth gnurling carried the feel of the wind’s energy, that traveled as a throbbing pulse into the core of a weather colored form, which peered off through the broad expanse of blue forever. Green eyes rapt with sapphire horizon, reflected in mid morning light, calmly observing. Mind wandering, as creation’s flow traveled from sail to wire to body, and down through brown feet astride the rough texture, of a cream colored deck.

Wind and Water

Wind and Water

The singing of the rigging rose in timbre as the breeze freshened. The sails tugged more insistently: going, some place.

On a downwind run, the little boat leapt forward and the tang of salt carried on the breeze imparted a hunger for eggs with pepper, something the sailor had not tasted in awhile.

Man and boat sought an island, which lay amongst the great strand of viridescent gems, that comprise the Maldivian chain, which lie to the South East of India, astride both Laccadive and Indian oceans.

Memories convey persistent motivation, and it had taken some doing to reach this stretch of water, far removed from the busy world of commerce and hubbub, whose raucous cries, the green eyed man never seemed to miss.

Laccadivian Vision

Laccadivian Vision

In deeds past, and promises future, lay inspiration, hope, and somewhere, a particular island, where Creator touched and Creation responded, in purest form, with something unique in all the world. He knew she waited, and could feel fate in that morning wind, alongside something else, scarcely perceptible.

Tandem

Tandem

Wonder

Sunday, November 8th, 2009

It has been a very busy year. So busy in fact, that I have needed to learn how to recharge my creative battery while on the fly. Fashion, Video projects, TV projects, motion pictures, my penchant for documenting beautiful things, travel, new tech, literary projects, commercial imaging, social projects, community, and hopefully some of me for my wonderful girlfriend and family. All of these things have beat a tempo never experienced in the realm of my career as an image maker.

It comes at a time when the economy is without a doubt at one if its worst places in recent history. Things have never been so hard for so many in the scant 50 years that I can recall on this blue ball. It is so distressing with friends and Country being dragged so horribly through the gutter, that it would be a more natural reaction to recoil in horror. But I don’t.

Seth Godin dropped this fantastic blog into my e mail this Sunday morning that had me go: “AHA” and sit down to write and ply the pixel seas for this.

I am supposed to be preparing for a fashion shoot for the next couple days. In fact I am supposed to be doing quite a few things like that.   Four AM today I awoke with the Music Video for Elliot Minor that Tyler Swain and I have been whacking away on in edit for the past two days, alive in my head.  I have watched a lot of their videos recently. High budget deals. Ours is not. Tyler was simply inspired enough by them to pen a concept and call  his friends, who in turn were equally inspired at the band’s ability and desire to deviate from a Pop culture, success formula laden career path, that we threw down our various skills to make something special at a unique fork in their creative path. So we endeavor to create something that will convey passion. The song is dark. We are all about light. It is a creative challenge. Plus there is only talent, no budget. But talent and passion trump dollars every time. All my close friends and colleagues live this credo. So doing fantastic work without a lot of money is just normal to us.

I was struck by what Seth said as he pinpointed exactly why I am busy: I have been focused on fabulous, but more succinctly: on wonder. The money sure isn’t there. But then I have never had that as a motivation for what I do anyway. Much to some of my commercial colleague’s concern over my well being. But it seems to work.

The Dictionary defines wonder here as a noun. Simple word, but since it converts easily to a verb, it is a very intrigueing thing to ponder:

wonder |ˈwəndər|
noun
a feeling of surprise mingled with admiration, caused by something beautiful, unexpected, unfamiliar, or inexplicable : he had stood in front of it, observing the intricacy of the ironwork with the wonder of a child.
• the quality of a person or thing that causes such a feeling : Athens was a place of wonder and beauty.
• a strange or remarkable person, thing, or event : the electric trolley car was looked upon as the wonder of the age.
• [as adj. ] having remarkable properties or abilities : a wonder drug.
• [in sing. ] a surprising event or situation : it is a wonder that losses are not much greater.

The worse things have become for the country, the more I have said yes to endeavors that point out the fabulous, the blessing, the awe inspiring. Why? Because we need them.  I want my family, friends and country to thrive. Inspiration is the fuel of innovation and we need that right now.  Possibly like never before. So I am going to continue with tail feathers on fire and hope the sparks ignite something in enough people that I feel it is safe to rest a bit.

I wonder. Here is some. It is all that I have to offer you. But it may be enough, if you treat it as seed. We need to plant seeds right now. No future harvest exists without them.

Liam: Wonder

Liam: Wonder

Looking for Rainbows

Looking for Rainbows

Hans Rathje

Hans Rathje

Zuma

Zuma

Hans: Zuma

Hans: Zuma

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Minor Monitor Burn

Minor Monitor Burn

Contrast

Contrast

Bliss

Bliss

Indian Summer Sunset

Indian Summer Sunset

My son Jon, me: Family

My son Jon, me: Family

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A Bali Journal: 1

Friday, August 14th, 2009
David Booth's Welcome To Bali Text

David Booth's Welcome To Bali Text

Uneventful smooth sky sailing into Bali, and here we are in one of the most beautiful locations I have ever seen.

David Booth and Sam Holcomb of East Bali Poverty project “get it” when “it” means hospitality apparently. The villa they arranged for us to rent in Ubud is far and away the most amazing location I have shot in. I will save the description for the images which hopefully I can scare up time to post.

Long days ahead. Colorful and bright, dark and pulsating, with a richness  that one from a society with less dimension, would appreciate and relish.

Fashion, Art, Design, Creativity Love and Perseverance. All capitalized with intent.

Bali has long been an inspiration to artists. Here is a link to what may be the greatest collection of stories and surf art ever. The book was compiled by Rob Havassey, whose love and inspiration we all wish we had along. Rob is amazing. I am so grateful he included me in this impressive project.

Aaron Marcelino lands tomorrow, to lend his considerable talents to this project. A talented young film maker Aaron defines the term savant in his unassuming mannerisms and high standards. Mary Osborne and Jeanette Ortiz will arrive three days hence.

The list of concerns we will produce work for is a bit lengthy. Multiple fashion lines, several art based projects, and a film that defines Donna’s strange life, dedicated to making a difference, one person at a time. Funny thing about altruism, when you  do what seems right, the blessing turns around and catches you. Same goes for Art. Art does not imitate life, it is life, and death, and rebirth.

Shot motion picture of a pig being slain in the family compound of our friend Gusti Made Merta. Part of two days preparations for a ceremony. Sierra came with me and met the large extended family. Me, I was just the guy with the Canon5D M2 on a steady cam mount with a migraine, using a wide angle and on camera mic, I had to get close. Interesting experience with the pig. He knew. Standing next to his trussed form he was all about communicating the knowledge of his fate.

I listened, held the lens steady and felt him go, as salty smelling blood splish splashed into a blue plastic bucket.  Watched the pain and struggle,  heard the last breath go, as his carotid drained bright crimson arterial flow and life.

You appreciate life when you experience death. Part of the circle. The Balinese embrace it with a bit more honesty than most. I have always thought it essential to the family centric nature of this society. Part of privilege and duty.

Sierra post experience, biting down into a fresh cake, green from the banana leaf if was wrapped in. Quite the amazing woman. It was out of respect she drank ginger tea with Gusti and ate the cake, probably the last thing she wanted to do. I declined the offer to watch the cleaning of the carcass. More due to the headache, than any sense of wanting to spare Sierra the experience. The cake was especially good. Life moving along in a tempo unique to us.

Sierra's Sacrificial Rice Cake

Sierra's Sacrificial Rice Cake

Life Spiral

Life Spiral

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Donna Von Hoesslin

Donna Von Hoesslin

” My family helped make me who I am…and they join me in dedicating this book to our larger families, those countless millions around the world who lack money and security, but possess dignity and an indomitable spirit. For there time is coming and this story is for them. ” Dedication for “The Blue Sweater”.
The word family goes a long way here on Bali. If we were able to institute it in similar fashion in the US, a lot of social illness would expire.

Living is Training

Thursday, August 6th, 2009
Double Cool: Discipline, Dedication

Double Cool: Discipline, Dedication

Many speak of the debt created in dying for a cause: “So and so died for this country.” But it is much more difficult and strenuous, to fight and live for one.  I am convinced that many of the vanquished would agree. Nobody embraces dying for a cause. Many will not live for one either. It seems honor is something increasingly rare in our commoditized culture. Have a look around. How many people do you see daily, whose moral compass swings by virtue of the gravitational pull of a situation, not being directed by word nor duty?

A pastor of all people, asked one time: “How about you, will you die for what you believe in? Would you live for it?” He was crucified shortly thereafter. So I hold duty, and honor in high regard. I would not want to do what a Law Enforcement Officer does, or a Surgeon, or a Court Justice, or a Soldier. I am indebted they went, and spared me, and my own sons. To say I am grateful is an understatement of grand largesse.

We all have heard the famous quote by General George Patton, which paraphrased, says that no one wins a war by dying for his country, but by making the other poor bastard die for his. But what strikes me is this quote:

You cannot be disciplined in great things and indisciplined in small things. Brave undisciplined men have no chance against the discipline and valour of other men. Have you ever seen a few policemen handle a crowd?
- General George S. Patton Jr, May 1941.

A colleague of mine has a very unique position in the workplace. They (the company) are a civilian contractor, who on a regular basis trains military personnel.

What this means is that a government has seen fit to outsource for an expert to supply people whose bodies belong to that government, training which increases operating efficiency, and may help to keep them alive in the pressure cooker of human endeavor, that is warfare. The task carries a weight of responsibility with it that would be daunting for most people.

Shawn Alladio is a 48 year old personal watercraft specialist, Ocean Rescue Instructor, PWC racer, and master of training psychology. She is a 48 year old woman. Her hero(ine) is Joan of Arc. But unlike Joan, I truly believe Shawn is fire resistant. The number of hits she has taken is staggering. Harrowing, vast, incomprehensible endeavors, that are far past legend. They are in the realm of fairy tales. But having been involved in some, I assure you that they are real. I am one competent SOB. But I remain convinced that were I to have swapped places with her, I may have perished in some of her escapades. I consider myself to be on the receiving end more often than I would like, being a member of her K38 team. She gives. That is Shawn.

But it is not luck that has this middle aged woman with the physique and mindset of a Spartan, staying alive and thriving. It is conditioned response, education, and training. When you look at Shawn, behind the facade of the flirty, attractive, joke spinning female, is the eye of a hawk, and heart of a lion. I have never met anyone quite like her. So I spent a few years. I got inside her head. What I found was a capacity for service and a moral and ethical compass that could not point anywhere but true North. She will never die for a cause. She wages war. She lives for it. Shawn Alladio is as relentless as the Sea, and a perfect example of how love is far stronger as a force, than any entity in existence.

I slammed the boot of my car closed, having off loaded my gear into the Jeep of Mike Arnold, who had come to meet me just inside the gate of the Camp Pendleton Marine base. Mike had been in active duty as an infantryman and had been a drill instructor. His long list of service accomplishments were unknown to me. But I did know that he was a Tactical Safety Specialist now. The title meant chops, where they counted. Everything about Mike was measured, calm and precise. As I watched big paws slip across the wheel of the jeep as we headed off in search of the First Recon group that Shawn was working in the surf, Mike and I slowly got to know each other a little bit. Shawn’s phone was off, so she was in the surf.

An hour later, as Mike and I wrapped a quick walk and reconnoiter, not having found the group, I asked him something pointed: “So out of all your years of service, what do you have the strongest memory of?” The crunch of beach sand  and rumble of surf, played counterpoint to his answer. “I was in the first group to go into Afghanistan.”  He went on to describe the 79 day tour. “It was 98 degrees when we landed, and made camp. We lived on one liter of water a day and two rations.”  The 120 pound pack with all his gear for the tour in it was a constant companion. “By the time we left, we had seen 105 degrees and it was  18 degrees. It was just suffering. I don’t know what Hell is like, but if it is anything like that I am never going there”

I felt I knew what sort of man this was. They never snivel. Things just are what they are. The aspects implied, yet unspoken, of what this man had done in those 79 days bore elements of true deprivation and a discipline and dedication to duty that one rarely experiences in any civil occupation. I was humbled that he shared this. He could not know it, but he had just won me. I have a deep respect for a person being able to bear suffering without complaint.

Back into the jeep and off onto the south end of the beach, we came across a truck and three men who watched over a gaggle of PWC’s running in and out of a 3-5 foot surf. As Mike and I trudged up the beach, I spotted a PWC tracking seaward at speed, straight at a four foot line of whitewater. “Oh man, watch this Mike. This is gonna be good” Mike gave me a puzzled look. Seconds later the impact with the whitewater had the boat upside down and men in the water. From the sidelines I saw Shawn doing her energizer bunny dash to them , and I knew what she would be saying. It made me smile. They had the boat upright and all aboard in short order.  As an operator, I knew what they had just learned. That is what Shawn was there for.

Setting up a long lens, I caught Shawn smiling at me as she flew up and over a line of white water, mother henning another boat as they worked inshore. In a few minutes I was lost in the ballet of it all. I scarcely noticed the quiet guy who was suddenly standing next to me. He was a Navy Corpsman.  I saw a backboard stowed nearby along with a pack and pelican case. The “when shit goes down guy.” A medical officer assigned to the group.

As I reeled off a series of images that illustrated the diorama offshore, I shifted my attention to this obviously calm and handsome guy. We began to chat. In short order I found that he had wound up heading into the military at the behest of a Mom who really did not like the fact that he spent way too much time surfing. We talked about girls. A pretty normal subject if you are on the cusp of testosterone overload, created from lots of physical conditioning. He told me a funny, albeit hair raising story about showing off for a girl and doing a back flip off his board and missing, striking his head. He broke his neck. The gal wound up saving his life.  I could see where his  Mom had been going. Into the military he went, and medical training was his modus.

As the sun began to drop, the surf training for USMC 1ST Recon came to a close. In short order we were all back in the Marine storage compound and I watched as the group serviced their boats methodically. Shawn had been busy. The men knew exactly what they were doing and it did not take long before assembly and final debriefing.

I like watching Shawn. She has a line of questioning she uses, which in a subtle manner, locates each person, spirit, soul and body. She files the information away and uses it as advance reconnaissance on operations, as training intensifies. That is how K38 does things. The training is layered much like the strata in a geologic formation.  The trainee on Monday is unrecognizable by Friday, such is the load they carry with increasing proficiency. I have found myself surprised after a session with K38. “Wow I cannot believe I just did that” becomes a daily refrain. And that is how it all works. Shawn is the catalyst and layered stress, is the refining fire. At the end, you have discipline of spirit, mind, body and boat. A modus is created that limits risk. In rescue, risk assessment is the name of the game.

To better understand the scope of watching a forty eight year old woman training fighting men, you may want to have a look at this link which explains exactly what First Recon is and does, if you poke around a bit. It gives one an idea of the warrior ethic, and mindset. Many of us liberal sorts, would never know otherwise. It is an idiosyncratic world to which Shawn has dedicated herself to serve. The job requires her as a leader, to do what her trainees do, plus go one step or more beyond. That is just one of the basic tenets of leadership. Think crucifix, and you will comprehend my point with greater alacrity. Discipline starts at the top.

A quick shower with the men (you read that right) and we were all off on dinner break at o dark thirty. Into Oceanside, Shawn and I went to a quick meal at a Mexican food takeout joint. As we got up to leave, Shawn asked if I had any extra small cash. She pointed out a gaunt man who had been standing around and busing the tables in the little greasy spoon. Social detritus, trying not to be that thing. I had not noticed, having never seen it before. But Shawn had and left some money at the table. Out the door and through dingy glass, I saw the man bus our table and pocket the cash. Shawn just gets it better than most, she sees, and always does.

Back on base, SSgt Fabre told me that my boat was ready for night ops so I went to my car and readied my gear, figuring I would be shooting from a PWC all night. Wetsuit, waterproof case, helmet, PFD, fin belt, etc.. I knew the drill. Checking in a little later, I asked which boat I would be using and saw Shawn’s sly smile. My first thought was: ooookay what is she going to do to me? (she is sort of notorious for jokes). “Hey there’s your boat” she said, pointing at one of the gleaming aluminum, red and white giant RHIB’s with two magnificent Mercs hung on the stern. I had been admiring the Zodiac built expeditionary craft earlier, and dreamed a little. My heart rose, then fell. Shawn smiled again and turned away.

I was afraid to ask. In short order my helmsman arrived and had me get aboard for a tow to launch, with my gear. In my mind I was Kenny from Southpark with the biggest Southpark smile. A little Southpark voice inside, kept going: “Really? Really? Noooo, really?” But I never showed it. Oh my God, they were letting me play with their toys, er tools. The Navy medical corpsman joined us, and in short order we were on the water.

The Mercs throbbed, and our bow sliced inky black, star and moonbeam strewn waters. In short order First Recon joined us and recovery drilling commenced. I used my Canon 5D M2 on a high ISO setting and used my strobes as little as possible, not wanting to destroy night vision for the Marines who diligently settled into work mode. we worked inside the harbor mouth.

After awhile I saw the boats raft up, and could hear Shawn give her echelon instructions. Offshore we went, as the moon sailed through a fog that seeped in on a faint salt laden southerly breeze. Every once in awhile as I stood at the rail of the RHIB at part throttle, I would see Shawn accelerate a bit. She was testing. Watching to see what the echelon would do, who would stay, who fall off. Recon work again, she filed the information away. Know your team.

Here is the thing about Shawn: she is fast. Having a background in racing and winning, she reads water at speed better than anyone I have ever met. A lot like a drag racer. She was soft peddling. I have seen her light it up, made her do it the first time. She is amazing to watch when she throttles the 250 KZ and hooks the pump up, and keeps it in the water, converting all the ponies into forward motion.

Into the night and miles offshore, First Recon worked and the dolphins decided to join us. Pretty special. Part of the night’s deal apparently. The medic and I had some time to chat.  He told me about chasing pirates off Somalia. The soft spoken man described a rescue his group had accomplished, reclaiming a boat full of refugees, abandoned by their captors, left at sea to die, who were in the last stages of dehydration.

He spoke with increasing enthusiasm about his onshore African work with his group, building support systems for impoverished villages. I heard the story of his entourage of kids, who would follow him around. “Each day I would get a lunch with two sandwiches. In all the time we worked on relief I do not think I ever ate one. I would separate them and give them away, and the kids would follow me all day long. If I ever make a lot of money, I know how how I will spend the rest of my life.” And there it was: servitude. Honor. Grace. I am not going to mention this guy’s name. I do not think that he would want that. But his heart for his country and being an ambassador of our Constitutionally mandated moral code, was not what the uninitiate, myself included, would ever expect.

Later back in the Marine yard, First Recon broke it all down again, boats were left clean, fueled and ready for service. We headed to Ryan Levinson’s condo where his wife waited up. It was 2 am.

Dawn came quickly and we met with Michael Arnold again for some breakfast. Shawn eats. On the table in the midst of the post meal carnage I saw a pocket US Constitution. She always has it. Go figure. Perfect. She is so used to me holding a camera I doubt she realized I had captured her. The image is below in the gallery.

We went back on base, to turn in her paperwork and there was a muster. Marines stood around on a yard. As we followed a staff officer to the office from out of the group came a taunting voice: “Hey, are you giving your parents a little holiday tour?” Being an older brother I recognized the taunt and laughing I immediately wanted to tackle the guy, and give him the wedgie from Hell. Shawn simply spun around looked at him and exclaimed: “F you, I will kick your fing ass right here right now in front of everybody.” I was teary eyed, stifliing myself so hard I thought I was going to pop. The yard was quiet. On we went.

Soon I was in my little Speed 3, turbo gliding towards the 405 and holiday traffic. Tomorrow was the Fourth of July. Independence Day. Imagine being on a boat, headed towards a strange land, a new world. Now imagine you may need to kill all that stand in your way, yet be strong enough to adhere to your strange special code, that truly does make you a minority in our civilized world. Would you die for that code? Would you live for it?

Could you?

I am glad I do not have to answer those questions. I mean I do, but I don’t, truly. Neither do you most likely. But in a society that has turned everything into dollars, will you choose to take a stand and live by the laws others lived and died for, out of duty and honor? Would you enforce those laws in word and deed in your own community, if you saw others endeavor to violate them? Do you love this country? Really? Lets see. Because somewhere right, now a forty eight year old mother with a tattered US Constitution in her pocket, shows us all, how to be a patriot.

The following video is a long one. It says a lot about honor to me, and gratitude. I made myself watch the entire thing and my perspective changed. I am a surfer from California. I needed to see this. Just as I needed to see and hear the things I had on Pendleton. My mind raced with all that I had just experienced in 32 hours, as I spun through the holiday traffic and lines of motor homes, headed to beaches everywhere. I cannot imagine what a Marine knows. But I am going to try.

Yes I am, because I was……

This piece says a lot. I heard it played at my Father in Law’s funeral. He was a Marine. I get it now. Twenty years later, I see. I hope you don’t take as long to get it as I did.  I value peace in a deeper way now.

Thanks to Tony Luna for passing thing to me. A good thing.

Conscientious Subjector

Conscientious Subjector

Breakfast

Breakfast

Recon

Recon

Training is Living

Training is Living

Trust

Trust

Did I really just do that?

Did I really just do that?

Lanyard? Seconds and Feet.

Lanyard? Seconds and Feet.

Rescue One

Rescue One

Marine

Marine

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Work Ethic

Work Ethic

My Southpark Moment

My Southpark Moment

Pass The Soap

Pass The Soap

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250 Ultra X

250 Ultra X

Throttle is Relative

Throttle is Relative

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Onboard RHIB

Onboard RHIB

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Base Safety Officer, Michael Arnold

Base Safety Officer, Michael Arnold

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Not Your Average Fashion Icon

Not Your Average Fashion Icon

© 2009 David Pu'u. All rights reserved.

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