IOP FOR ME

Amy and I made our way to Isle of Palms for an annual vacation. We’ve been coming here for years believe that it’s the best place to spend a week. Over that time, we’ve left early on more than one occasion for a variety of reasons.  

We are lucky not to have little ones to care for on vacation. The family used to go to New Smyrna for a week of swimming and other activities. We stopped when reports named the place as one of the places that sharks visited often. We also went to Disney World a couple of times. I’m not a fan of theme parks, mainly because I won’t ride roller coasters or things that spin. Even the teacups can make me nauseous.  

Before the turn of the century, we traveled to Alabama’s Gulf Shores for a week of sun and fun. I attached a travel case with bungie cord to the top of the old Pathfinder. As we sped down the highway toward a carrier tour, the cords let go, and the utility box skidded across five or six lanes of traffic. I don’t think we even tried to retrieve the thing since the contents consisted of our dirty underwear.  

Isle of Palms is a small place that has its share of young families, teens, and senior citizens. By the time we travel in mid-September, most of the visitors are gray haired or bald and walk with stooped shoulders or limps. Yep, it’s a senior citizen haven.  

The beaches at IOP are wide and smooth. They don’t have the best assortment of shells; I’ve never seen one bigger than a couple of inches in diameter. Amy and I rented a couple of chairs and an umbrella. On one occasion, we brought our own, but a gust of wind yanked our umbrella out of the sand and blew it half a world away. Having things set up every day is much nicer, and we take advantage of the service.  

On vacation weeks, we sleep late. These days, that means 8:30 a.m. Eventually, we crawl out of bed to brew a pot of coffee. Then we’re off to the beach. A cooler and towels take up the most room in our little wagon. We also toss in snacks, books, iPads, and earphones. For the next four or five hours, we read, listen to music, and nibble on snacks. At least a couple of times, we walk along the water and let the waves creep up to wet our feet.  

Breakfast and lunch are eaten at the place we rent. However, our evening meals are more special. The first night, we ate at Acme Seafood. The place is listed as one of the top seafood restaurants in the area. I can eat seafood for supper every day, although I’m not keen on scallops and refuse to eat anything that looks like the product of a bad head cold (oysters). Like most tourists, we put on a pound or two during the week. I’m sure that I’ll lose the extra pounds when I return home and once again work in the yard and visit Planet Fitness. 

This year, we are leaving our favorite place due to the death of the uncle of our “adopted” son Josh. We’ll only miss one day, and that’s fine if we can help Josh and his family in any way. Three years ago, we left early because Amy’s appendix went haywire. The doctor at IOP wanted to wait until the blood thinner was out of her system, but I had no place to stay. We hit the road for home, and she had the thing removed at 8:30 the next morning. The first time we left early occurred because we rented a small house a couple of blocks from the beach. The place looked and smelled like a condemned building, and Amy and I decided we couldn’t take any more of the dilapidated structure. 

Vacation will be over in one day. The six-hour drive will have us home by midday, another factor that makes IOP a wonderful place to visit. If the good lord is willing and the creek doesn’t rise, we’ll be back next year, if not before. Our drive to Isle of Palms feels like going to our second home. I’ll count the days until we are on the beach again.  

A LICENSE TO CHILL

I dipped my toes into the warm water of the Atlantic, bowed my head to offer a prayer for Jimmy Buffett, and listened to his music as I walked and splashed in the breaking waves. I admit that my eyes were close to filling with tears. However, that’s not how Jimmy would have liked anyone to spend time at such a wonderful at the beach. My mind also chooses to believe that the leader of the Parrotheads was more than tired of the squabbling that has infected this country. 

Many Americans are simply tired of the battles between political parties. I’m not saying either side is right or wrong. Like others, my tolerance for partisan politics is at its end. On one end of the spectrum, we have congressmen and congresswomen who are carping about all sorts of social ills. They demand that the moneys spent for defense be moved to pay for such things as student debt, freely allowing immigrants to cross the border and settle in the U.S., and civil rights for all peoples and genders. On the other end, politicians are busy developing a national abortion ban, cutting spending for Ukraine, and tax cuts. Yes, many more things can be added to the agendas of both groups, but these are enough to develop the point. 

What happened to us? I’ve been around since the 1950’s, and the only time in our history that comes close is during the Watergate Hearings and Nixon’s resignation. We’ve had hippies versus workers, Muslims versus Christians, and black versus white. Yet, at some point, we let those disagreements go when a larger problem occurred.  

The United States was never more united that when the Twin Towers were destroyed. President Bush threw out the first pitch before a Yankee-Red Sox game. Every fan in the Boston stadium stood to cheer for him and the country. 

The assassination of John Kennedy brought us together as well. Children and adults all mourned the murder of the country’s leader, and people of all groups and races stood shoulder to shoulder to say goodbye as Kennedy’s casket passed. 

Americans have put differences aside during disasters. Nobody asked an individual’s political affiliation before pitching in to clean up or rebuild a house. No firefighter refused to battle wildfires in California with another of a different color.  

For the most part, this country has always felt sure that when push came to shove that citizens would set aside squabbles and differences and join forces to work on making America safer and stronger. This country was more important than any personal ambitions or adversarial group. These days, members of the same political party fight each other. Nothing much is accomplished because parties are determined not to allow the “other side” succeeds in helping the American people.  

Books are filled with stories of how bitter political opponents waged war all day in the halls of the Capital and then shared dinner, conversation, and laughter in the evening. Today, an elected person’s talking to a member of an opposing party is enough reason to be ostracized by his party. The plans for both sides seem to be to deny any success on bills passed or plans developed.  

The majority of Americans are “sick and tired” of the situation. Most folks live in the middle; that means they aren’t extremists of either side. The folks who are on the outer fringes don’t decide many elections. Their failure to use common sense and “give and take” only hurts the entire country. Only in political organizations can one man hold up the promotions and leadership of our armed services. No one should ever have the ability to freeze such important things; the narrow-minded act shows his love of self over country. The time has come for our leaders to work together for the good of the country. If they continue to play “gotcha” with the other side, the voters must vote them out. Jimmy Buffett would have advised these chronic troublemakers to “get a license to chill.”  

PARROTHEAD PAIN

 Labor Day 2023 wasn’t much of a cause for celebration. On September 1, the man I always equate with the holiday, Jimmy Buffett, died at the age of 76 The cause of his demise was a rare form of skin cancer.  I can’t imagine how he managed to be so old. Now he’s gone, and millions of mourners are trying to figure out how their lives will be the same again. 

I didn’t know about Jimmy Buffett until the 1980’s. During a trip to Nashville to visit my older brother Dallas, I listened to a CD. It featured some of the artist’s best-known songs. “Margaritaville,” Pencil Thin Mustache,” “Come Monday,” and “Cheeseburger in Paradise” were just a few of the tunes on the recording. Instantly, Jimmy Buffett became a favorite of mine.  

Jimmy Buffett’s music wasn’t overly deep. It was open, sincere, and happy. Fans easily learned the words to songs and sang along with them on the radio or at a concert. Amy and I make a yearly pilgrimage to Isle of Palms, South Carolina. Sitting on the beach under an umbrella with a cold drink in hand, I open up my list of iTunes and call up Jimmy. Listening to his music is my way to relax. Not much else in the world matters when those things make up a day or even a whole lifetime. 

Plenty of folks have been fans of Jimmy Buffett. They are known as Parrotheads. I wasn’t sure where the name came from, so I googled it. Parrothead originated in Cincinnati when fans attended a concert carrying inflatable parrots and wearing Hawaiian shirts. The affectionate name also refers to people who enjoy a laid-back, beachy lifestyle. I tend to think that some Parrotheads also enjoy the use of medicinal weed. A thick fog of smoke hangs just above fans’ heads at Buffett concerts as they groove to the music.  

Jimmy Buffett’s voice is different. In some songs, it has the qualities of an old man like me. It’s not particularly strong and is prone to hitting offkey tones. The music of the songs isn’t necessarily difficult to play. However, the inclusion of a Buleador (Carribean drum) changes what might be just another song into one that takes listeners to the beach and the seaside places. 

What makes Jimmy Buffett music so good are the lyrics. “He Went to Paris” tells the story of a man whose life has been filled with tragedies; however, he shrugs off those sad times with the realization that they are parts of life. “The Captain and the Kid” is a loving tribute to his grandfather. The old man had spent his life on the sea. Perhaps that song is true because Buffett, too, seems to have longed for a constant existence that included sand on his feet, salt from the ocean on his skin, and sunlight on his face. 

Now, we’re left with a life void of new music from a man who has entertained us for years. We are better for Jimmy Buffett’s life and music. Many of us have managed to calm our nerves and worries by listening to his catalog of songs. Beach trips forever more will be touched with the sting caused by his absence.  

Heaven has changed since September 1. I imagine Hawaiian shirts are now the standard attire. All God’s children are gathered on the shore of Heaven’s ocean to eat a wonderful meal of seafood and listen to the soothing, happy melodies that newcomer Jimmy Buffett performs. If we’re lucky, someday we might just have the opportunity to hear him again.  

Thank you, Jimmy, for making this sometimes-crazy life a bit more bearable and enjoyable. Find your grandfather and board that boat of his.  

DARK TO LIGHT

 it the floor early. On my workdays, the alarm jolts me awake at 5:00 a.m. I chose the job and knew that many people must rise that early to be at work on time. Even if I stay up late and rise early, I enjoy the time. 

The morning world is filled with a quietness that is missing during most of the day. I pass a half dozen cars on the drive to the golf course. The starting of my car seems offensive to the night by breaking the silence and resting in homes around the community. My nosiness makes me wonder where those drivers are going, are they awake, and do they dread the day ahead. The night hypnotizes most living things; howling dogs are curled up into balls and sleeping deeply. 

A golf course is a beautiful place. However, it is even more so during the dawn of a new day. The dark stays longer these last few days of summer, but as the sun rises, the natural beauty becomes more evident. I’ve seen snapping turtles the size of a car tire rims making their ways across the fairways. A skunk or two is heading for its nest after a night of searching for food. At the edge of the woods, a doe and her baby are munching on breakfast. They look at me, hesitate for just a moment, and then scamper deeper into the woods where protection awaits them.  

The dew on the grass is thick during these humid, steamy days of August. Any imperfections on greens or tee boxes are hidden with the moisture. Resetting tee markers leaves my socks soaked and my shoes covered with a thick layer of clippings. Some turns and climbs to those areas are slick and leave the mower wheels spinning. 

Summer brings out hordes of golfers. One man arrives early every day that he plays. Although he has a portable oxygen system on his back, he swings clubs with ease and experiences plenty of success. Two women play together; one walks while the other rides. I’m amazed that they play so early because I’m still mowing with the lights on to see the outline of the boxes.  

On those days when I work, I can be found on the couch during the afternoon. My feet are up, and my head is turned to the side as I take a needed nap. The boxes are in good shape for the weekend players. I’ll enjoy late nights for the next couple of days, but on Sunday night, bedtime comes about 9:00 p.m. Most mornings the alarm never rings. I lie awake well in advance of the time when it sounds. Amy is snug in the bed and Sadie is curled in the crook of her legs to be near her and protect her from harm.  

Monday, I’ll once again arrive at the golf course in the dark. The route is branded on my brain, and I can finish many of the tee boxes before the sun comes up.  I hope to see the deer again and pray that I don’t encounter a skunk. A little time in the dark is a peaceful, comfortable time. I’m glad to have it.