My Shot (from the Hamilton soundtrack)

[Sarah's Besties gave her the "Rise up" bracelet a few days ago as one of her birthday presents; I bought the "How lucky we are to be alive right now" bangle for myself at the beginning of the pandemic!]

Recently back from an overnight getaway that was life-changing.  My daughter Sarah's 39th birthday was yesterday and, to celebrate, she wanted to check into a hotel on the beach, at first as a solo adventure but, when she decided she'd rather have company, she invited me!  Be still, my Mama Lion heart... 💓

It began as a west-coast-of-Florida plan (Marco Island or Naples), because of our memories of family vacation at Ft. Myers Beach as well as hopes for a sunset viewing; unfortunately weather reports on that side of the state were not favorable, so tag, Ft. Lauderdale Beach, you're it!

I told her I'd supply breakfasts, lunches, snacks (all vegan, of course!), and beverages (alcohol- and non-) for the trip.  A bit of backstory is that I helped her make a mix CD years (9?) ago for a friends' road trip to Key West, and I still had a copy (!), so I popped that in as soon as I picked her up at 10:30 a.m. Sunday.

We got to the hotel about 11, and our room was ready so we were able to check in immediately (small Mom-and-Pop place, clean, right on the beach, 6th floor ocean view), and were down at the beach by 11:30 a.m., Bloody Marys in hand, with yummy vegan quesadillas, and seconds on Bloodys.  The resort fee included lounge chairs and an umbrella, and we were smart to avoid direct sun most of the day.  Ocean was very calm the first day (people were actually paddleboarding!), and we took multiple dips to refresh and cool off.  We segued to grapefruit vodka with grapefruit seltzer, then Long Island Ice Teas (cheers to Connie/Mom/Mimi!), then chick'n salad on whole wheat buns, then another round of LIITs.

Came out from under the umbrella about 3 p.m. for some sun; throughout the day we segued from laughter to deep conversation back to laughter.  Beach Chair Man said he was collecting lounges about 5:30, at which point the sun had dipped behind the building, so we went for a walk, and Sarah got the low beach chairs out of my trunk, and we sat for another hour and a half, then went upstairs to shower and change.  Had some wine, followed by Fireball shots (accompanied by a hilarious video that will *never* see the light of day!).  I drank more in 12 hours than I have in the previous six months.  This probably goes without saying (if you've met either one of us), but we are both fun "drunks" (nothing sloppy, belligerent, slurring, repetitive, stumbling); as I said before, so much laughter!

At that point, we hadn't decided what to do about dinner, and decided to visit their downstairs open-air restaurant about 8 p.m.; Sarah had a lobster wrap (with a side of the best fries either one of us had ever had!), I had a yummy salad with black bean crumbles instead of lobster and, yes, we also had wine with dinner... 😄

Back upstairs by 10 p.m., snacked on dark-chocolate-covered pretzels and oatmeal raisin cookies, and in the bed by 11:30 p.m., thankyoujesus with two extra-strength Tylenol and, believe it or not, I felt great the next day!  Sarah went out running on the beach (it was now officially her birthday... 🎂), back to the room by 10:15 a.m., organized our stuff to be ready for a 1 p.m. check-out, and we were back down at the beach by 10:30 a.m. with our second cup of coffee and a vegan breakfast sandwich. As much as Sunday had been a day of decadence and ruination, we declared Monday to be all about detox and rehab, only imbibing water or flavored seltzer.  We stayed under the umbrella the whole time, other than another walk on the beach, and a dip in their pool; we both started new books and, lunch was leftovers from the night before.

 

Between the breeze and the lulling ocean sounds, I managed to squeeze in a 20-minute nap; sadly, all good things must come to an end and we thought it best to get on the road no later than 4 p.m. so as to avoid rush-hour traffic.  Oh, I forgot to mention that we were toasting throughout the two days, with Sarah insisting on a selfie each time (I learned the not-so-subtle art of the head tilt... 👵👸) and, when we got back to Sarah's about 4:45 p.m., we sat in the car and scrolled through.  More laughter!

To quote Angelica Schuyler in Hamilton:  "I realize three fundamental truths at the exact same time":

~ I am in awe of Sarah's kind, generous, smart, beautiful, thoughtful, wise self.  Even if she weren't my daughter, I would choose her for a friend  

~ I can still do everything I used to do; it just takes me longer to recover

~ Although the priority of this trip was obviously Sarah's birthday adventure, it was also a much-needed getaway, to remind me there is a whole world beyond the walls of my condo complex.  I can be carefree, d*mmit!

SONG:  My Shot from the Hamilton soundtrack

BOOK:  Badass Affirmations: The Wit and Wisdom of Wild Women (Inspirational Quotes and Daily Affirmations for Women) by Becca Anderson

POEM(S):  The Daughter by Carmen Gimenez Smith

We said she was a negative image of me because of her lightness.

She's light and also passage, the glory in my cortex.

Daughter, where did you get all that goddess?

Her eyes are Neruda's two dark pools at twilight.

Sometimes she's a stranger in my home because I hadn't imagined her.

Who will her daughter be?

She and I are the gradual ebb of my mother's darkness.

I unfurl the ribbon of her life, and it's a smooth long hallway, doors flung open.

Her surface is a deflection is why.

Harm on her, harm on us all.

Inside her, my grit and timbre, my reckless.

Daughter by James Lenfestey

A daughter is not a passing cloud, but permanent,

holding earth and sky together with her shadow.

She sleeps upstairs like mystery in a story,

blowing leaves down the stairs, then cold air, then warm.

We who at sixty should know everything, know nothing.

We become dull and disoriented by uncertain weather.

We kneel, palms together, before this blossoming altar

QUOTE:  "What greater aspiration and challenge are there for a mother than the hope of raising a great son or daughter?" ~ Rose Kennedy

"I tell my daughter every morning, 'Now, what are the two most important parts of you?' And she says, 'My head and my heart.' Because that's what I've learned in the foxhole: What gets you through life is strength of character and strength of spirit and love." ~ Viola Davis

2020 (Ben Folds)

[thanks to my daughter Sarah for this most perfect meme!]


It's the last day of July, significant in that normally (ha, I don't think that word means what you think it means, Susan!), I would be attending the Falcon Ridge Folk Festival in The Berkshires.  Except that we talked about going to the New Bedford Folk Festival instead... and now both plans are moot... null... kaput.  Anne and Bub, the powers-that-be at FRFF have actually managed to present it online this year, starting at 1:30 p.m. today.  As someone said in the chat of Dar's livestreaming concert last night, "I won't miss the porta-potties and/or the mud", but it will be fun to pop in over the course of the weekend to enjoy the music and community, virtual though it is.  Also, my friend Sheila (who I've known and loved forever, and watched her girls grow into beautiful and kind young women), whose husband Bob volunteers for the parking crew, sent this brilliant and hilarious video... 😄

Had a lovely walk with my friend Dave Wednesday evening, and he gave me some chives from his garden, the better to vegan-cream-cheese-and-bagel with, my dear!  Great phone chat with my sister on the way home, which continued another hour sitting in my car in my condo parking lot.

Yesterday was another perfect beach day with Nancy and SusanP.  Not to jinx it, but we always manage to have perfect weather.  Ack, speaking of... there is some sort of crazy hurricane watch in effect for this weekend, a name whose pronunciation is difficult and counter-intuitive.  What?!?  Anyway, sounds like it won't make it past a Category 1, and we do have a stockpile of supplies, but hoping for the best... and I will update on Monday.

Wonderful livestreaming concert with Dar Williams last night, Histories and Mysteries.  It's archived, if you missed it! 

Taking dinner to my former UUCFL minister and her husband this afternoon.  They were in a tragic car accident earlier this month (Rev. Susan's mom was killed), and I wanted to do something.  For Italians, food is our love language... 💓

NR:  The Second Home by Christina Clancy.  Not very far in, but already enjoying... :-)

So, it is indeed Feel Good Friday.  As is tradition, five items below of beauty, interest, and humor to brighten your day/weekend/week.  Enjoy!

~  ‘The Moms Are Here’: ‘Wall of Moms’ Groups Mobilize Nationwide:  The movement that started with a few dozen moms in Portland now has offshoots in cities across the country. (I loved the idea and the intention but now, two days after this article was published/updated, there seems to be controversy.  Such a shame!)


~ From Bob Dylan to The Beatles: 8 songs horror hero Stephen King couldn’t live without:  There are few more imposing names in the world of horror, both on-screen and off, than the extraordinary writer Stephen King. A huge figure in the world of film, King’s works have always been underpinned by the expert use of music. But what were King’s most cherished songs?


~  GEE, ANTHONY FAUCI!:  A Randy Rainbow Song Parody (thanks to SusanP for the heads-up!).


~  Without Music, Tanglewood Is Empty, Eerie and Beautiful:  The usually tourist-packed Berkshires confronts a season without the music festival that anchors its summers.


~ Danny Schmidt and Carrie Elkin, Online Together, Saturday (tomorrow!), August 1, 2020 - 2pm CDT, Facebook Live:  Once a month, Carrie and I have been trying to do a full show of our own, swapping songs back and forth, and singing harmonies with one another. The shows are totally free to watch (though donations are much appreciated) and usually last about an hour and a half. We try and mix up the sets so they're very different shows each time. We hope you'll come join in the festivities!


SONG:  2020 by Ben Folds

BOOK:  What Time Is It? by John Berger, Selçuk Demirel (Illustrator), Maria Nadotti (Introduction)

POEM:  a homeopathic remedy for longing** by Maya Stein

Return to the edge of the ravaged garden, vines stripped while you slept.
Stand mute at the piles you keep adding onto, the leftovers you keep forgetting, 
the trash can that keeps filling and filling and filling. Pause in the brute light 
of unmet plans, the rusty edge of old wounds, the plaintive vacancy of what you 
didn’t say and didn’t do when you had the chance. Roll these losses in your hands. 
Steep in the tea of the stain that follows you everywhere. Gather regret’s knotty fibers 
to your body and enrobe your bones in the steely wool of dread. And now,
now that you’re nearly buried by your own blight, pitch your heart to the sea. Watch it
bobble and weave in an unseen current, tip and tumble as the wind rakes through.
Remember, there is no right answer to where you are going, except forward.

**I borrowed this title from an Instagram post by photographer and writer Lisa Field.

QUOTE:  "What lies behind us and what lies ahead of us are tiny matters compared to what lives within us." ~ Henry David Thoreau

I've Been Everywhere - Covid 19 version (Jonathan Byrd)

Considering the circumstances, another good week.  Three nice Zoom calls, two of them in regular rotation, and the third with our book club, which hadn't met since February (our March meeting was obviously cancelled).  We kept thinking things would get better and, now that they aren't, we are pondering our options.  We were already scheduled through June, and will probably discuss those four choices September through December (or January).  It's sad to me that our longstanding tradition of theming the food around the book will be temporarily discontinued but... we can still drink wine, albeit in the privacy of our own homes.  However, none of that matters, as long as we can keep our book discussions going!

Yesterday was a lovely beach day with Nancy at SusanP's home... three hours of sun, sand, surf, spritzers, and scintillating conversation.  I have not been this tan in years.  P.S.  Yes, watershoes are a gamechanger, both on the hot sand as well as at the pebbly shoreline...  :-)

My dear grandbaby Colin will turn 2 this Tuesday, July 21... and we are celebrating Sunday morning, a few days before, with a car parade in Sarah's apartment complex.  Recap to follow on Monday, but let's just all sit a minute to let this impossibility sink in.  Two years old?!?  Crazy!

Cleaning house today (ugh!) but it must be done.  New library book as a dangling carrot.  Speaking of, I met my Book A Week Challenge a few days ago.  Every year I either get close to 52, or just barely hit it.  This year, between retirement and the pandemic, I am 5 1/2 months ahead of goal.  At this rate, I might hit triple digits!  It's not a race, and it's not a gauntlet.  It's a pleasure as well as a coping mechanism, and I am truly enjoying vetting the books I check out from the library, so as to set myself up for success, interspersing fiction with non-, current with older, popular with classic.  Find me on Goodreads if you wish, and check out the sidebar on my home page to see what I'm reading... 💗

As is tradition, five items below of beauty, interest, and humor to brighten your day/weekend/week.  Enjoy!  


~ Broadway Continues to Keep the Lights On:  Theatres across the country may currently be silent, but in every Broadway house, a lamp sits centerstage burning bright. It's called a ghost light, and it's a tradition that goes back to the late 1800s.  CBS Sunday Morning speaks with members of the Broadway community about how we are keeping the lights on during this dark time, onstage, and in our hearts.


~ This Pickle Is a Cake:  Welcome to the viral world of hyper-realistic cake slicing videos.


~ Alex Trebek Is Still in the Game:  In his new memoir, the longtime “Jeopardy!” host delivers clues and facts about himself, and looks back on his life as he struggles with advanced pancreatic cancer.  (Despite the fact my friend Stephen thinks he is "smarmy", I have a long-time crush on AT:  not tall, which is my usual criteria, but smart with mischievous eyes.  Heads-up that I have asked my husband to buy this book for my upcoming birthday... :-) )


~ Greetings from BookCation:  Vacation is wherever your book is


~ Hamilton Act 1 but it's Muppets:  This is a fan-made parody. It is no way affiliated with The Muppets or Hamilton, and I claim no ownership of either. This is purely parody. (cast and tracklist included in link)



SONG:  I've Been Everywhere - Covid 19 version by Jonathan Byrd

BOOK:  Private Investigations: Mystery Writers on the Secrets, Riddles, and Wonders in Their Lives by Victoria Zackheim

POEM:  first, we have to start with nothing by Maya Stein

We have to wake, nakedly, from the place of dreams. We have to stumble from the sheets
and gape, slack-mouthed, at the morning ahead, our feet shoddy on the floorboards.
We have to pitch into an empty kitchen, hands clawing toward a clean mug.
We have to feel shaken from what we’d carried, our bones awkward with the
unburdening that sleep was, everything that had looked so certain, so clear, even
when we knew it wasn’t. We have to squint against the sharpness of this rough canvas
of a day, the questions that scratch impolitely before we are ready to listen. We have to
remember how small we really are, how permeable. We have to linger in this raw reality
before the task of proving ourselves can begin. We have to marry what we wish we could
abandon forever. We have to be willing to save ourselves again and again and again.

QUOTE:  "Let's cultivate our capacity to be astonished... to be thrilled by every subtle mystery that sneaks into our daily rhythm... to make ourselves
fully available for the unexpected riddles that life is always setting in front of us." ~ Rob Brezsny

I Remember Everything (John Prine)

[Lesley Anne Numbers for the win... again!]


Life is good, especially with that mid-week recalibration.  Still challenges, as there will always be, even B.C. (Before Coronavirus), but I am working at backing off, as opposed to confronting something head-on.  I am in the most Zen-like ever stage of my life, very difficult for a control freak Leo, but am finding it more than a bit liberating.  

Had a lovely day at the beach yesterday with friends SusanP (who lives on A1A) and Nancy.  Spent almost four hours enjoying the sand, the surf (it was rough, so I only went in up to my knees!), the sun, and the serenity.  We of course did the obligatory social distancing, and it felt great to be in the open air, with conversation and cocktails (I brought wine and flavored seltzers, to make spritzers), and also bought us these cool tumblers:  Infoxicated; Oh, for fox sake; zero fox given; don't fox with me...  :-)

I also made what I called "adult lunchables":  plastic rectangular Chinese take-out containers, each one containing an individual hummus, grapes, mini-cucumber, sliced carrots, semi-soft sun-dried-tomato-and-garlic vegan cheese, crackers, and a clementine.  SusanP provided chairs and a beach umbrella, and Nancy brought her famous homemade vegan banana-mango bread.  I am tan, I am grateful, I am soooo relaxed.

Had a family get-together shortly thereafter.  Caught up on jobs, unemployment payments, grocery shopping... all while watching Colin run around with a jumbo stick of chalk in each hand.  Lovely!

Then home to watch the beautifully-done John Prine tribute (you can view the whole thing here), with amazing artists like Jason Isbell and Amanda Shires, Todd Snider, Brandi Carlile, Bonnie Raitt, etc., interspersed with heartfelt words from Brene Brown, Bill Murray (who called JP "a unicorn among nags"...  :-), Billy Bob Thornton, and of course John's wife Fiona.  "Start with a blank piece of paper, and don't write what shouldn't be there", said Prine about songwriting.  When I wasn't crying, I was laughing uproariously.  And we were treated to a new song, previously-unreleased (today's subject title).  I donated to Alive, and I bought a T-shirt...  💖

So, it is indeed Feel Good Friday.  As is tradition, five items below of beauty, interest, and humor to brighten your day/weekend/week.  Enjoy!  


~ Despite efforts to quash them, Black Lives Matter protests lead to change in Miami-Dade:  The baseline ill, racism in policing, remains with us.  But despite efforts to quash Black Lives Matter protests in South Florida, the demonstrations of outrage over George Floyd’s murder — and the community activism that has risen around them — have already led to some positive change.


~ Sellers of Sex Toys Capitalized on All That Alone Time:  As the pandemic approached its peak, online retailers saw sales spike.


~ Former Green Beret, who advised Colin Kaepernick to kneel, talks about others taking a knee in solidarity:  NFL commissioner Roger Goodell has issued an apology saying the league was wrong in the way it handled its response to player protests in the past against police brutality and racial injustice.


~ With a Turn of the Can Opener, Make Sorbet:  An almost 25-year-old hack lets you use a food processor and canned fruit to create frozen treats.


~ We are witnessing the birth of a movement — and the downfall of a president:  We've reached a turning point in the Trump era. The 2020 campaign is in the streets and he's losing



SONG:  I Remember Everything by John Prine

BOOK:  Stitches: A Handbook on Meaning, Hope and Repair by Anne Lamott

POEM:  Study Electricity, Etc. by David Kirby

Third item on Jay Gatsby’s self-improvement schedule after “Rise from bed” and “Dumbbell exercise and wall scaling.”

You did that already—not electricity,
but the et cetera part. Et cetera means
“and the rest,” and you’ve mastered that.
You work from home, as we do these days,
but you put on a nice top and a dab of makeup
and combed your hair. When the children
need help with their homework, you make
time, and when your husband says he wants
to give them two more math problems
and some vocabulary, you say fine. The four
of you have lunch together, and when he takes
the kids out to play with the dog, you manage
a quick nap. Then tea, then you wrap up
your work and make notes for tomorrow.
Scrambled eggs, toast, and fruit cup
for the children. Let them watch Frozen
for the hundredth time—how could it hurt?
Now you and your husband can have dinner
on the deck: goat cheese, shrimp with
mushrooms, a bottle of Sancerre so cold
you think your teeth might crack. You walk
around the block, making room as others
approach. Bath time. PJs. Their books, yours.
When you were walking, you waved to other
families on their porches. They waved back.

[David Kirby: “Low-effort thinkers make headlines every day by reacting angrily and even dangerously to the guidelines we have to follow if we’re going to heal our world. To prepare for his future, young Jay Gatsby resolves to ‘study electricity, etc.’ For years I’ve wondered what that ‘etc.’ is, but COVID-19 has given me my answer: it’s the hundred unrecorded daily ways in which we care for ourselves and others with patience and love.”]

QUOTE:  “Wherever you are, at any moment, try and find something beautiful. A face, a line out of a poem, the clouds out of a window, some graffiti, a wind farm. Beauty cleans the mind.” ~ Matt Haig

Bring My Flowers Now (Tanya Tucker)

This post has the potential to go long, as I describe the adventure ("isn't that what you would call it?", sings Dar) that was the 30A Songwriters Festival last weekend.  I give you permission now to pull the plug at any time...  :-)

My husband and I flew up to Pensacola Thursday evening (1/16) to meet up with my college roommate Linda and her husband Craig.  I had booked our flights on Silver Airways, because it was the only airline that flew non-stop from Ft. Lauderdale (we hate Miami Airport).  I knew something was awry when I checked in the night before and saw there were only 48 seats on the plane.  Yikes!  We got to the airport, went to the gate and, when they called our flight, I looked out the window and joked to Chico that the little pink prop plane on the tarmac was ours.  Um... yup.  Taxied so far and long on the runway, my next joke was that we were just going to drive I-75/I-10 all the way to Pensacola.  Fortunately, we did take off at some point, and to be fair to them, it was a nice, smooth flight, as was the return trip ("and I'd do it again", Dar, different song).

Linda and Craig picked us up at the airport, we spent Thursday night, swung by Wendy (Linda's co-teacher before they retired, and her husband) and her husband Don's house Friday morning, ate lunch in Destin, and finally got to our cabin in Santa Rosa Beach about 3:30 p.m., whereupon we quickly got settled so we could hear some music.  The festival is named 30A after the highway most of the venues are on, with a few offshoots.  It's pricey, with an extensive line-up, and sets you up for failure in that you're never going to see everyone you want to, and basically have to decide on a venue to sit through for the evening, as opposed to bopping around from place to place. Wah!

We collaboratively agreed on a Friday night plan, and headed out to see two rounds: Eliot Bronson and Danielle Howle, both of whom I am familiar with (she opened for Ani DiFranco at the Carefree Theatre in West Palm Beach a bazillion years ago!).  Amazing set, and a great way to start our festival experience.  Next round was Sierra Hull and Steve Poltz, the first a discovery of Craig's at Merlefest and the second a Bucket List item for me (Jewel's boyfriend and co-writer a long-time ago).  She was a young, beautiful, mandolin whiz and he an older, energetic nutjob (in the best possible way), such that, even though I'm on a buying moratorium, I had to spring for a T-shirt.  Another great set, to end the evening...  :-)

Back to the cabin for late-night snacking and drinking, up again Saturday morning for coffee, then on to the outdoor amphitheatre, where the gates opened at 11 a.m., music beginning at noon.  The festival modus operandi for both Saturday and Sunday is to showcase three big-name acts at this large venue exclusively, with no other music running concurrently.  Saturday was Tanya Tucker, Indigo Girls, and John Prine.  Tanya is back on the scene after a 17-year hiatus, largely due to the support/encouragement of Brandi Carlile (and just had a showcase spot at the last night's Grammys).

The next two sets were Indigo Girls (Emily had a bad cold, which really affected her voice, but we did get to sing along to Closer to Fine and Galileo); and John Prine, who looked and sounded amazing, showcasing several tunes on his new CD, Tree of Forgiveness, which I need to listen to immediately.  He also called Tanya Tucker back to sing harmony with him on Angel from Montgomery and Paradise.

We all went on to the next venue, got there just as they were taking a break, and breezed right in, waiting only 10 minutes for a round with Sierra Hull (previously-described mandolin whiz), Allison Moorer (ex-wife of Steve Earle, sister of Shelby Lynne), and Mindy Smith.  All were great, but I was especially captivated by Moorer who, after decades of keeping it quiet, has recently written a book and a companion CD, about her father murdering her mother, and then turning the gun on himself, which she and her sister witnessed when they were children.  Her song Nightlight broke my heart.

Then... TODD!!!  When I discovered early in the festival that I was never going to be able to see everyone I wanted, I basically said that as long as I could hear Todd Snider, I was happy.  Mission Accomplished, in the best possible way!  His performances can go either way:  on-task, focused songwriting and storytelling, or off-the-rails, drugged-out, mumbling, stumbling, possibly cutting his set short.  Fortunately, he was more of the former, as Linda had seen him a few years back (exhibiting latter behavior), and was unimpressed. We got to sing along to Beer Run, and he did some introspective songs as well.  He also told a story about wearing shoes lately on stage, as he had performed barefoot all his life, which his doctor said was probably the reason for many of Todd's health problems.  "Well, that and drugs", he said, "but at least I met him halfway".  Hilarious!

Back to our cabin for more late-night snacking, drinking, and conversation.  I am fond of saying that I can still do everything I used to; it just takes me longer to recover.  That was the theme of this weekend...  :-)

Sunday morning, back to the outdoor amphitheatre to end up in the same place we were the day before, a few rows behind the fence of the VIP area. Good sightlines, plus they had a Jumbotron on either side of the main stage with close-ups.  I said before that this festival is pricey, and VIP tickets were even more so.  It's a wealthy demographic, and I joked all weekend about the plethora of animal prints in the women's clothing:  jackets, shirts, headbands, and boots.  Begone the rain of the day before; it was now sunny and cold.  I wore my pussy hat...  :-)

As I was headed to the food tent to buy a cup of coffee, I ran into someone I had met the day before, who told me that David Olney had died onstage the night before, and a feeling of such sadness overtook me.  From Amy Rigby...

The day's line-up was nostalgia:  Herman's Hermits with Peter Noone, Don McLean, and Brian Wilson.  Peter Noone was charming and spritely, saying that they didn't write any new songs for this gig; instead they would perform all the songs we knew and loved... and they did!  From Henry the VIII to Mrs. Brown to There's a Kind of Hush, they led us on a journey of our past, and muscle memory kicked in and the audience sang along to everything.  Such fun!  Don McLean was a big yawn/snore, ending up with American Pie (he didn't even do Vincent), which was cool but not enough.  Brian Wilson lent his name to the next set, and sang on about every fourth song, but all the "heavy lifting" was done by the other 10 guys on stage, who were amazing.  Brian just looked sad and cold, even wiping his nose on his sleeve a few times, and the camera crew soon learned to focus elsewhere.  There was a part in the middle of the set of "new" songs, which no one in the audience knew, and people began to leave.  Again, so very sad.

Back to the room to warm up and eat, then into town again to hear an in-the-round with four songwriters in the venue where Olney had died the night before, which set the mood for a very somber evening.  Then on to hear Mary Gauthier (who I adore), accompanied by Jaimee Harris, her accompanist/girlfriend, and Will Kimbrough (who used to play lead guitar for The Nervous Wrecks, Todd Snider's band, and is quite the talent in his own right). The night continued on a serious note, as Will shared that Olney was his across-the-street neighbor, and said that he would be going home to a very different neighborhood.  He then quoted the iconic singer songwriter Townes Van Zandt:  "Anytime anyone asks me who my favorite music writers are, I say Mozart, Lightnin' Hopkins, Bob Dylan, and Dave Olney. Dave Olney is one of the best songwriters I've ever heard – and that's true. I mean that from my heart", and then proceeded to play To Live Is to Fly, which I adore.  Not a dry eye in the house.

Back to the cabin for our ritual of eating, drinking, and yakking... then up the next morning to pack and check out.  The cabin was within walking distance of the gulf, so we of course had to do that, and we strolled along the beach for over an hour, witnessing the beauty of Mother Nature's blue skies, fluffy clouds, and sun sparkling on the water.  Tried to see a bit more music on our way out of town, but all three venues we stopped at were packed, so we bid adieu to 30A, and headed back to Pensacola.

The F*cking End!

SONG:  Bring My Flowers Now by Tanya Tucker

BOOK:  A Month of Sonnets by David Olney

POEM:  The Uses of Sorrow by Mary Oliver

Someone I loved once gave me

a box full of darkness.

It took me years to understand

that this, too, was a gift.

QUOTE:  "When your time comes to die, be not like those whose hearts are filled with fear of death, so that when their time comes they weep and pray for a little more time to live their lives over again in a different way. Sing your death song, and die like a hero going home." ~ Tecumseh


P.S.  I think the hardest thing about coming back to blogging is going to be... not repeating songs, books, poems, and quotes I've already used.  Ack!

Ma-Me-O Beach (Joan Armatrading)

Was it really only 48 hours I was gone? - amazing the tricks time can play on us...

As noted previously, my husband and I celebrated our 33rd wedding anniversary last week - actually, the date of our union was September 18... but the celebration took place the last few days, as we decided to check into a hotel on the Ft. Lauderdale beach as a well-deserved and long-overdue getaway...

Since I spent the majority of my summer taking care of mom, and then the last month at home attempting to catch up from being away, I had forgotten how much I'd missed being outside... in the sun... particularly at the beach - my husband and I have now vowed to do this at least once a month, even if for only one night. There's much to be said for the curative powers of the ocean, an overload of sights, smells, sounds, sensations and salty tastes - I am tan, I am relaxed and, most importantly, I feel that I am on my way to a self-healing of great magnitude...

It has been a most difficult year, as I was reminded often over the last few days, remembering back to August 2008 when we took the family beach vacation Mom had always wanted, which would be our Last Hurrah, since she went on 24/7 oxygen a few weeks later - I segued from being a mess as I watched her decline... to experiencing the redemption of aiding in her peaceful passage...

I just felt so aware and flexible and receptive during this time off - what could have been a problem... wasn't... because I didn't allow it (room changes, husband's behavior, inclement weather). It all happened for a reason, and I took delight in whatever came my way (the trade-off of a larger room for one with a balcony, letting go of expectations and rediscovering the prose of two of my favorite authors: Pat Conroy and Anna Quindlen)...

I slept... a lot... I woke up to watch two glorious sunrises... and then went back to sleep... I stretched... I walked (some days twice!)... I gave and received love... I had my favorite meal (calamari and a dirty martini)... I reclined on a rented beach chair under the shade of a fluttering umbrella... or not, when I wanted to bake in the sun's rays... I wore my mom's bathing suit... I felt more limber and thin and self-confident and, yes, even beautiful than I have in a while...

I immersed, literally and figuratively, in the reconnection with my husband... as well as solitude and serenity - may this be the start of a new year of health and gratitude and acceptance... in my relationships with family and friends... and for myself...

SONG: Ma-Me-O Beach by Joan Armatrading

BOOK: Rise and Shine by Anna Quindlen

POEM: All My Body Calls by David Whyte

All my body calls

for something in this sleeping

earth

we call the spirit.

But how

from lifted arms

where stars run through fingers

and the night is like sand

do I breathe a fragrance of its wisdom
do I call its name

or listen to the drops
that trickle down to earth

and hear

life being given

not only through the moving hands of the forest

but through the hand that reaches in

the dark unmoving regions of the chest

and uncovers slowly

the enormous

indistinct

shape of the ocean.

QUOTE: "Don't grow up too quickly, lest you forget how much you love the beach." ~ Michelle Held

Pools of Eden (Eliza Gilkyson)

We returned from our beach vacation this past Saturday, August 9 - the days following have been full of overload and catch-up and life re-entry, oh my!

Preparations the night before leaving had me almost pulling an all-nighter, getting in the bed at 4:00 a.m. to be up at 7:00 a.m... only to find there had been a power outage somewhere in that time frame - we had hoped for an 8 a.m. departure and, two hours later (no surprise there) we were on the road. My husband R and I took turns driving and, with the iPod on shuffle (everything from Roberta Flack to the B-52's to Joni Mitchell), the miles flew by. About an hour from our destination, I blipped on navigation and missed a turn (too busy singing along to Cat Stevens' Father and Son), adding another hour to the trip - sorry, family!

As we drove along the coast, we could see the island of St. George in the distance, and it seemed forever before we finally reached the bridge to get us across and over - each house we passed looked more beautiful than the next, as we drove by Whelk Way, Coral Street and Dolphin Drive. We finally pulled into the driveway of Seaclusion, our rental for the week (pictured above) to find my mom, brother, sister and her family (hugs all around!) had made themselves at home - organizer Mari had their food and supplies already stashed in the refrigerator and cupboards, drinks had been poured and bedrooms assigned. R and I were generously gifted with the master suite, with a king-size bed and a view overlooking the Gulf - thanks, Mare... :-)

Since it was close to 8 p.m. before we had our stuff unloaded and stored, we decided to order pizza and sandwiches from a bar and grill in town - Mari and Sarah went to pick up, and sweet S paid the tab. Our first night on the island was spent having dinner on one of the two decks, watching the waves and smelling the delicious salt air, sipping beers and anxiously anticipating the next 6 days - who knew how quickly they would fly by... yet how tangibly embraceable the magic moments would be...

Highlights:

~ our first full day there (Sunday, August 3), as we each followed our own path (getting up early or sleeping late, gravitating to the heat of the beach/pool or staying in the shady comfort of the deck, eating a heavier breakfast/lunch or snacking throughout) - I loved the hit-and-run pockets of conversation at various points and places along the way...

~ the island and surrounding area is called "The Forgotten Coast" because of its lack of development (what a concept), thereby presenting an amazing blanket of stars in the dark sky night after night - we could even view clusters of galaxies and constellations...

~ my brother took us all out to dinner at The Blue Parrot, and I had fried local oysters and broiled Gulf shrimp - washed down with a Yuengling, I was in seafood heaven!

~ finding sea turtle nesting in full swing on the island - we rented lounge chairs and umbrellas the first day, left them on the beach and woke to find everything tagged by the sea turtle watch volunteer organization, asking us to move the items off the beach each night, as they were in the path of the egg-laying females. There were also notices throughout the house, reminding us to turn off outdoor lights at night, so as not to be confused with the pull of the moon - it's a very respectful, protective emphasis on the birthing cycle...

~ we took turns cooking throughout the week, my husband and I serving up grilled bacon-wrapped fillets, roast potatoes and steamed veggies; my kids cooking plain and blue-cheese-stuffed turkey and regular burgers, corn on the cob and french fries; my sister making baked salmon and grouper one evening and chicken parmesan with homemade pasta (more on that later) another few evenings - yum!

~ we vowed to have Cocktail/Happy Hour each night, and we lived up to the promise - cheater that I am, I had bought frozen mini-quiches and sandwich spirals for our turns, while Martha Mari whipped up bacon-wrapped water chestnuts and salmon spread (god, she's good... :-) My son Rob (the bartender) mixed up frozen and over-ice concoctions each night - my fave was a spiced rum mixed with kiwi-lime sparking water with a wedge of lime run around the edge of the glass and then added to the mix).

~ one my favorite things to do at the beach is to immerse myself in a good book and, although reading opportunities were less optimal because of wanting to spend time with mom (and everyone else), I still managed to savor three terrific novels, the first of which was one of Mari's library books (but which I begged to read first because I'm such a fan of the author, and hadn't yet picked up the new one): Run by Ann Patchett, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer and The Probable Future by Alice Hoffman - I also had my sister read Broken for You by Stephanie Kallos (my new favorite novel), and urged mom to take it home with her to enjoy.

~ we celebrated my 54th (yikes!) birthday at the beach with a key lime pie, presents and cards - my brother had given me money and I had a grand time spending it during our souvenir shop excursion Thursday, picking up a very cool white lacy straw cowboy hat with shells around the crown ("borderline WT", Sarah told me), perfect for shading my face at the beach/around the pool, and some sun readers - who knew there was such a fabulous invention?!? (for the last decade, ever since I needed reading glasses, I'd just place my sunglasses over them... two inconvenient layers). We also came home with pirate mugs ("time flies when you're having rum" and "Surrender your Booty" from The Jolly Roger Shop for co-workers and friends and a sea turtle windchime for my next-door neighbors who brought in the mail) - photos of trying on hats and glasses: priceless!

~ I was proud of myself for walking my usual 45 minutes 4 of the 6 days we were there - I had brought my walkman as accompaniment but, given the solitude of the island, chose not to use it, instead concentrating and meditating on the breeze, the sounds and the smells.

~ our beach house faced south, so we had to drive to the northwest side of the island for a sunset angle - our three visits delivered one better than the other two but none perfect. No problem - you know what they say: "even a bad sunset at the beach is better than a good evening anywhere else!"...

~ our weather was perfect the entire trip, with about three drops of rain one afternoon (what? - gone!) - I slathered enough sunscreen on each day so as to tan but not burn (mission accomplished). We experienced daily dolphin sightings (mostly in groups of three or more) - there were dragonflies everywhere on the island (Dave, Dave, Dave... :-)

~ so, we did make a gigantic batch of pasta (under mom's expert tutelage), dried it out on the kitchen table for a few days and boiled it up to go with Mari's Thursday night dinner - it tasted even more delicious because of the memories embedded...

~ we are proud to claim we recycled all week (although it was frightening the amount of beer/wine bottles and soda cans we went through), and made two drop-off trips to the bins in the middle of the island - yay, us!

~ dear Sarah borrowed her office camera and documented all the snippets of magic moments that came together to make this a trip to remember (Julia on Eric's shoulders, our sandcastle decorated with shells, beachgrass and Corona bottles on the turrets, Rob playing Guitar Hero, etc.)... and she'll be uploading them to Shutterfly to make a bound book (complete with captions) for mom's birthday September 9... as well as for the rest of us.

Needless to say, mom was beyond thrilled at our ability to pull this trip together on such short notice (not to mention being able to take the week off), our desire to help her have this family vacation and our commitment to spending quality time together each day - she smiled, she laughed, she cried tears of joy... and she couldn't stop repeating how blessed she felt, surrounded by her children, he grandchildren and her sons-in-law...

As long as we retain the memories, we can return any time we choose... and we're already thinking positive and planning an encore trip next August - there's no place like St. George Island, there's no place like St. George Island, there's no place like St. George Island... :-)

SONG: Pools of Eden by Eliza Gilkyson (can't seem to find the lyrics anywhere... but here is an audio sample)

BOOK: Chicken Soup for the Beach Lover's Soul: Memories Made Beside a Bonfire, on the Boardwalk and with Family and Friends by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen, Patty Aubery, Peter Vegso

POEM: The Gardener of Eden by James Broughton

I am the old dreamer who never sleeps
I am timekeeper of the timeless dance
I preserve the long rhythms of the earth
and fertilize the rounds of desire

In my evergreen arboretum
I raise flowering hopes for the world
I plant seeds of perennial affection
and wait for their passionate bloom

Would you welcome that sight if you saw it?
Revalue the view you have lost?
Could you wake to the innocent morning
and follow the risks of your heart?

Every day I grow a dream in my garden
where the beds are laid out for love
When will you come to embrace it
and join in the joy of the dance?

QUOTE: "I find myself at the extremity of a long beach. How gladly does the spirit leap forth, and suddenly enlarge its sense of being to the full extent of the broad, blue, sunny deep! A greeting and a homage to the Sea! I descend over its margin, and dip my hand into the wave that meets me, and bathe my brow. That far-resounding roar is the Ocean's voice of welcome. His salt breath brings a blessing along with it." ~ Nathaniel Hawthorne

Lone Palm (Jimmy Buffett)

Eight years in a row, after we moved to South Florida from Atlanta, my family of five vacationed in the same spot every year - friends of ours turned us on to the Sandpiper Gulf Resort at Ft. Myers Beach (on the west coast of our state) and we so looked forward to the annual ritual of our week-long mid-August getaway, rolling our deposit over from one year to the next to reserve the same ground-floor, oceanfront room. The name sounds substantially more upscale than the place actually was, thank goodness - we loved the mom-and-pop operation, the laid-back atmosphere and the family-friendly vibe.

Unfortunately four summers ago, management from the hotel called us in June, said they would be doing renovations on the hotel and were going to have to cancel our stay - we were devastated but, when Hurricane Charley came through the area on August 13, 2004 (the week we would have been there), it felt like an opportunistic meant-to-be we were safe at home. For a variety of reasons (scheduling/financial), we never resurrected the routine and we haven't been back to Ft. Myers Beach since - this week got me thinking how much I've missed the tradition. A memory stream-of-consciousness follows:

I adore my husband and three children and we certainly made a point to cross paths and spend time together during this very special week - they also acknowledged and respected my desire for alone time (as opposed to my normal cycle of nuturing and giving, whether to family members, friends, work or civic organizations).

I packed a totebag full of books and read in my lounge chair by the pool or ocean during the day... and on the patio until the wee hours - as I drank my morning coffee on the very same patio, I watched the pelicans and gulls and sandpipers do their little beach dances, whether it was with flying swoops in the water or graceful arcs over land or tiny footprints in the sand.

I meandered down the shoreline in the early a.m., for shell- and thought-gathering, searching the glassy sea for dolphin sightings or a surfside stingray migration - I took another, faster walk in the afternoon, usually with my walkperson, for exercise...

I loved the taste of salt on my lips, the smell of pina-colada sunscreen and the feel of the warmth on my skin, transforming it to glorious shades of mixed copper/bronze - I made a point to be showered and seated on the seawall to celebrate the sunset each evening... and I awarded this amazing feat (and feast) of nature with a round of applause (yay, god!), and swore never to take it for granted.

Some nights found us savoring ice cream from a local vendor in town (enough said!) and we enjoyed at least one family miniature golf excursion - we saw the same families at the hotel year after year... and I ate and drank my weight in seafood and Coronas (put de lime in de bottle and drink it all up... :-)

This became our way of marking time - some people chart the year by the last day of summer or January 1 but, to us, it was always that particular week in August. We went there to regroup and replenish and refill... as a couple, as a family and individually... and we left, knowing we had gathered enough inner resources of love and comfort and serenity to last us another year. Some of it we did holding tightly to each other and some of it we did side by side and some of it we did alone, but mission was accomplished all the same - as long as we all still considered this special time a "vacation", in some way, shape or form, it continued to fulfill our needs, in warm and secure and sometimes unpredictable ways... and I am now vowing, despite obstacles and difficulties, to make it happen in August 2008...

SONG: Lone Palm by Jimmy Buffett

BOOK: The Shell Seekers by Rosamunde Pilcher

POEM: Beach Glass by Amy Clampitt

While you walk the water's edge,
turning over concepts
I can't envision, the honking buoy
serves notice that at any time
the wind may change,
the reef-bell clatters
its treble monotone, deaf as Cassandra
to any note but warning. The ocean,
cumbered by no business more urgent
than keeping open old accounts
that never balanced,
goes on shuffling its millenniums
of quartz, granite, and basalt.
It behaves
toward the permutations of novelty--
driftwood and shipwreck, last night's
beer cans, spilt oil, the coughed-up
residue of plastic--with random
impartiality, playing catch or tag
or touch-last like a terrier,
turning the same thing over and over,
over and over. For the ocean, nothing
is beneath consideration.
The houses
of so many mussels and periwinkles
have been abandoned here, it's hopeless
to know which to salvage. Instead
I keep a lookout for beach glass--
amber of Budweiser, chrysoprase
of Almadén and Gallo, lapis
by way of (no getting around it,
I'm afraid) Phillips'
Milk of Magnesia, with now and then a rare
translucent turquoise or blurred amethyst
of no known origin.
The process
goes on forever: they came from sand,
they go back to gravel,
along with treasuries
of Murano, the buttressed
astonishments of Chartres,
which even now are readying
for being turned over and over as gravely
and gradually as an intellect
engaged in the hazardous
redefinition of structures
no one has yet looked at.

QUOTE: "Every time we walk along a beach some ancient urge disturbs us so that we find ourselves shedding shoes and garments or scavenging among seaweed and whitened timbers like the homesick refugees of a long war." ~ Loren Eiseley