Hail Flutie

Twenty-five years ago yesterday, Doug Flutie threw a pass that defines the term "Hail Mary." (For those who are unfamiliar with the term, a "Hail Mary" pass is when the quarterback throws the ball as far and as hard as he can, and hopes someone catches it - hopefully in the end zone for a touchdown.)

I was living in Boston at the time, and remember watching the game from our bedroom: the only room that had any furniture. John and I had moved to Boston after our second year in Aspen, because so many people told us how wonderful it was. And it is a great town - it just wasn't a good place for us at the time. We lived in a small apartment on a main street, an hour from downtown Boston. We rode trains and subways to get to work, and rarely saw each other. The one day John drove into town, someone broke into our car and stole his new camera (which I had just bought for him for Christmas, using money I didn't have).

Anyway, that year in Boston wasn't one of our fonder memories. But I do remember watching the Boston College-University of Miami game, and cheering wildly as Doug Flutie threw a 66-yard Hail Mary pass down the field in the final seconds to win the game. Bernie Kosar and the Miami Hurricanes stumbled off the field stunned, and the Boston College Eagles celebrated for days. Maybe years.

Even today, Flutie says a day doesn't pass that he isn't asked about that pass. It defined his college career, and the years since. That pass will go down in history as one of the events you remember where you were when it happened. (Boy, is that a poorly constructed sentence or what?)

For me, I was in Swampscott, MA, in the white four-poster bed from my childhood bedroom, watching the game on a tiny second-hand television, wishing John was home to celebrate with me (he was a chef, and worked evenings).

Hard to believe 25 years have passed since that night. There have been many Hail Mary passes since then, and there are many more still to come, but that's one that sticks in the mind of every college football fan. The night that David beat Goliath.

It was a great game, and remains a great memory.

Do you remember where you were on November 23, 1984?

Strengths and weaknesses

Recently I heard a quote, and quickly jotted it down before I forgot it (unfor-tunately, I did forget who said it.):





Play to your strengths and manage your weaknesses.

It's wise advice. Because we can't escape our weaknesses. They're a part of who we are, for better or worse. My friend Liane recently pointed out that my overly emotional state (i.e., wearing my heart on my sleeve) is a strength, whereas I see it as a failing. Perspective defines perception. What to me is a weakness, she sees as a strength. Either that, or she's just being really nice. Granted, I can see how a heightened emotional state could sometimes be better than a distant, logical one - although right now I'm not sure when that would be.

Where was I going with this? (Someone is playing gospel music on an accordion next door...I'm easily distracted. Is that a strength or weakness?) Ah, strengths and weaknesses. Capitalize on your strengths. Figure out what you're good at, and spend your energy doing those things. (Hopefully they're things that you enjoy.) We can't escape our failings; the best we can hope for is to camouflage them, like wearing clothes that accentuate your blue eyes while hiding your love handles or beer belly.

I tend to focus more on my weaknesses than strengths - at least, in my personal life. I think it's easier to beat ourselves up for what we're lacking (or at least what we perceive we're lacking) than to pride ourselves on what we're good at. In the working world, it's different: I know my strengths and use them to accomplish my tasks, meet goals, and succeed. (Guess I need to figure out how to translate those habits to my personal life, huh?)

Anyway, today I'm going to think about my strengths, and how I can focus more on them as I continue along life's path. Liane promises to help me analyze where I am, and where I want to be, when we're together over the holidays, so it might help that process if I can tell her what I'm good at, instead of what I'm lousy at. (Like grammar.) I might even make a list - if you're lucky, I'll think of other things to blog about, and not post it here!

They say it takes more muscles to frown than smile. I wonder if it takes more energy to complain about your weaknesses than brag about your strengths?

I hope that you're able to utilize both your strengths and weaknesses to achieve your goals - after all, they are all parts of the whole. Pollyanna says there are no rainbows without rain - and no strengths without weaknesses.

I'm off to work on my list...feel free to add your two cents' worth about what you think should be on that list!

Saturday night in Port Charlotte

So I get home this evening from a fun day of shopping with my girlfriends, to find cars parked up and down my street. My first thought was that my neighbors were having a party and they didn't invite me. Since they haven't come over to introduce themselves, I guess it's not surprising. The only neighbor I have met is one who killed way too many brain cells in the 60's, and after asking if I liked apple pie, dropped off a frozen peach cobbler late one night, telling me I could give it back to him if I didn't want it.

So anyway, I'm sitting on my couch, watching football and drinking cheap wine. I'm enjoying the cool night air, now that the weather has broken and I can finally leave the windows open. But I'm feeling sorry for myself that there's a party going on a few feet away and I'm not invited. Until there is a lull in the football game and I can hear music.

Polka music.

Accordion polka music.

My neighbors are having a party, and their chosen form of entertainment is an accordion player.

Suddenly I'm not feeling so bad that I'm here and not there. I watch a little more football, the music softens - maybe an accordion ballad.

Then it perks up again. Louder.

I recognize the song. It's "Act Naturally" by Hank Williams. Played on - you guessed it - the accordion.

Hank must be spinning in his grave.

Welcome to Saturday night in Port Charlotte, Florida. In other parts of the world, folks are going to plays, basketball games, out to dinner or a movie.

I'm listening to country music, played on an accordion.

I wonder if there's really a person over there, playing said accordion. I guess I could wander across the street and peek in their windows. Then again, they might see me - and invite me in.

Wait, I just heard applause. Cheering and clapping. Unless they're applauding the neighbor's iPod, there are real people over there playing accordions and other assorted unidentifiable instruments.

Please don't think I'm bashing accordion players. It's just not the music I choose to listen to on a warm fall evening. Maybe if I was over there, drinking their cheap wine, I might feel differently.

Maybe I'll head over to Benedetto's and listen to Jack Mosley after all. TropRock is a MUCH better alternative than vicariously partying with Mr. Accordion.

I hope your Saturday evening was a little more exciting than mine.

I really need a date.

I Wish

My friend Katie (well, she's my sister's friend, but she's adopted me virtually) did a blog about wishes recently, and I loved the idea. So decided to copy it. (Thanks Katie!) Although hers were wonderful, and I can't begin to match them.

Feel free to add your own!

I wish...

I was better at letting things go

The world was still as simple as it was 50-100 years ago

Chocolate wasn't fattening

Idaho wasn't so far away

I could drink wine all night and not get drunk, or hung over

Amusement parks like DisneyWorld didn't cost so much

There was less sadness in the world

I could see into the future and know what my life will look like in five years

I owned a log cabin in the woods

My sister lived closer

Football lasted all year

I was better at saying no

I was better at saying yes

I was braver

Someone would mail me a check for $1 million

I could remember how to be wild and crazy

Snow would only land on the grass and mountains, and leave the streets and sidewalks clear

My life resembled the one other people think I live

I had a fireplace

There were no more homeless people or animals

I could have a real life party with all of my virtual friends

Someone would invent a device that would throw the ball for my foster dog until he was too tired to chase it

Pasta was a diet food and celery was fattening

I could find the one thing that I'm missing

Scottie really could beam me up.

200,000 - again

Yesterday, the odometer on the Solara officially ticked over the 200,000 mile mark. Now, it really went over 200,000 here, since the odometer is approximately 12,300 behind the car's true mileage, but now at least the numbers look right.

I missed the monumental flipping of the digits, since someone in a Scion was trying to kill me (no traffic anywhere until the numbers started changing, and then cars were everywhere) and I had to pay attention to them instead of my odometer. But at least I saw the numbers before and afterwards. I actually drove in circles around the mall parking lot so I could pull over as soon as it changed and take a picture; kind of hard to do on the interstate, or one of the busier roads in town. (I'm sure the policeman parked in the Sears parking lot wondered why I kept passing him every few minutes.)

Hopefully my little car will last another 200,000 miles. Or at least 100,000. I can't imagine retiring her to spend her days languishing in my garage (no reason to sell - I won't get a penny for her). We've had some great adventures, the Solara and me - and I hope more lie ahead. Although I'm not as confident in her ability to carry me safely cross-country as I used to be - I've had no problems so far, but with my luck we'd be in the middle of Oklahoma and the engine would go TU. Anyway, my circumstances these days don't lend themselves to long road trips, although who knows how long that will be true. Already I'm feeling the pull of distant places, and the company of friends I haven't seen for a while.

Who knows what lies ahead? The memory of how I spent those 200,000 miles is intoxicating to Ms. Abby Normal, stuck in the land of Regular.

But for now, I'll stare at the 2s and 0s for a while, remembering the miles that lie behind us, and dreaming of the ones that lie ahead.

Maybe I need to take a 12,300 mile trip backwards, and then the mileage will match the odometer....right? Right?

Here's to 200,000 miles together, little Toyota, and 200,000 more to go!

Athens, part two

So I promised to tell you the octopus story...

You've been introduced to John, my partner in crime in Aspen. We lived together for seven years after college, and had some wild adventures. One of which occurred in the summer of 1985. We'd been ski bumming for a couple of years, and he'd switched from auditing to cooking as a vocation. But John being John, he was always looking to better himself. Being a cook wasn't enough; he wanted to be a Paris-trained chef. So he found a cooking school in Paris, signed up, and headed across the Pond. I stayed with my parents for the 2.5 months he was gone, and then joined him for another couple of weeks. And had a blast - much better than dashing into town for a few days and then dashing out, tourist-style.

After three intense months in Paris, John was ready for some fun in the sun. So we headed to Greece. He'd spent some time on Ios (correct me if I'm wrong, JBM) during college, and remembered it as a secluded paradise. So we thought we'd spend a few weeks there, relaxing on the beach in the Greek sunshine, before returning to the real world.

We landed in Athens late at night, and searched for a hotel. A man on the street handed us a business card and urged us to stay at his place but we said no thanks - how good could a hotel be if the owner was trying to find guests on street corners? We eventually found a reasonably priced place - it was clean, but noisy. The sounds of the street and the bar downstairs echoed through the courtyard and into our room, so we didn't get a lot of sleep. But that was okay - we were heading for the beach.

To make a long story a lot shorter, we eventually found tickets on a ship heading for Ios - but it didn't leave for three days. So we had to find something to do in the meantime. We discovered a small island off the coast, and decided to hop a ferry and check it out. We hopped ferry, hopped off ferry, and found ourselves on a quiet main street. Watched the ferry disappear into the distance as we realized there were no stores, no hotels, no anything. Just houses.

Oops.

Luckily a man came over and asked if we needed a room. He just happened to know of a place - his mother-in-law (or aunt, or second cousin twice removed) had a room she rented to travelers, and we could stay there. But it had to be for three days. And we had to agree to that before he'd show us the place. How bad could it be? We were young and adventurous, and needed SOMEWHERE to sleep that night. So we said sure, gave him the requested amount of cash, and followed him through town.

He led us through a house, where we greeted the family. Then followed him across a courtyard. But stopped short when he ducked under a clothesline and motioned for us to join him. Because hanging from the clothesline wasn't his family's wardrobe. It was his family's dinner. An octopus hung from the line, drying in the sun. And apparently we were supposed to duck under it, too, to get to our room.

Um.....

But we handled it with sufficient aplomb, and entered our room. Our pink room. Our very pink room. Bare bones, but clean. He nodded his head and disappeared, leaving us in the pink room being guarded by a dead octopus. With no idea what to do next.

The rest of our time there is fuzzy. I know we must have found food, because we didn't starve. We found one small beach littered with broken glass and loud families. There's a picture of me standing in the ocean, staring wistfully into the waves. John thought I was enjoying the sun and the water, when actually I was wishing with all of my heart that we were anywhere but there. At night I'd curl up around a transistor radio and search for familiar music. When I found Lionel Ritchie singing "Hello," I sung along and dreamed of being home. We became accustomed to ducking under the octopus to go to the bathroom, and maybe even smiled at the family when we saw them.

We dashed to the harbor on the third day, anxious to escape this strange little island. We bought peaches for the ferry ride - and didn't wash them. So within a couple of hours, Beth was in the throes of a nasty case of food poisoning. I huddled miserably on the floor of the train station while passers-by tossed trash and insults at me, wishing I would die and get it over with.

Eventually, I recovered enough to take a train to another harbor, where we would catch the ship to Ios. We got there early, and stashed our knapsacks in the travel agent's office. But when we returned, it was locked. We spent a few frantic hours trying to find someone to let us in, until they returned and we grabbed our bags.

So we're sitting on the dock, exhausted from our island adventure. We've heard that Ios isn't the secluded paradise John remembered - it had been discovered, and was a tourist nightmare. We were tired and hungry. I was sick. We had no idea where we were staying in Ios. I watched a jet soar overhead and thought, "We could be home in a few hours." My parents had just moved to Florida that month, and were minutes from the beach. Why were we fighting so hard to find beaches in Greece when we had a perfectly good one waiting for us at home - and it was free?

I mentioned my idea to John, and within minutes we were tearing up our tickets and running for the travel agency. We found cheap tickets home - although we had to wait a couple of days. And returned to Athens. Where we ran into the same man with the same business card for the same hotel - so we took the chance. And found an incredibly nice place. Quiet, clean, in a good part of town - we chided ourselves for not trusting him the first time.

We spent the next couple of days wandering around town, eating good food (although we were vegetarians, and it was hard to find non-meat meals), and seeing the sights. Then made our way to the airport, and within hours were safely in Florida. (The flight was another story that I'll save for another time - I can't tell all of my stories at once!) My mother showed us into the guest room, and in a few days we were tan and fat from home cooking. And our adventure in Greece was a distant memory.

It's a great story. But at the time, ducking under an octopus to shower wasn't my idea of a good time.

I haven't been back to Greece, but haven't ruled it out. You can bet that I'll make better plans next time, though! Beth learns not to be spontaneous...

Keeper

As you might already know, I have a foster fur kid living with me these days. His dad was looking for a temporary home for his best buddy, and I was looking for a dog without having to shoulder all of the responsibility. So we recognized this situation as the perfect answer to our needs, and a deal was struck.

Keeper moved in last Monday. He's a yellow Labrador retriever, five years old, and a complete sweetheart. A little weirded out over the change in his circumstances, but pretty flexible all in all. He's slowly settling into a routine, which includes his dad coming over every day to hang out with him. I feed him and walk him and discipline him, he keeps me company, and John stops by and gives him medicine, plays with him, and gives him a sense of continuity.

I'm remem-bering what it's like to have a dog around. The company is great - the dog hair means I have to clean house more than once a year. He's going to force me to take a walk twice a day, and get some much-needed exercise. Now that the weather has cooled down, that will be a welcome way to start and end the day.

Anyway, the pictures aren't great, but we haven't had much time outside to get decent ones. I'll keep trying. In the meantime, know that I'm not sitting home alone any more - but I have to teach him to start rooting for the Broncos instead of the Saints!

Hug your own furry kids - and tell them Keeper says woof woof!

Girlfriend time

The past few days I've been enter-taining girlfriends from Idaho, and Ireland. And San Antonio (no, not Texas - Florida). They arrived on Thursday, and I dropped them off at the airport this afternoon. So tonight I'm reflecting on our time together, wondering how it went so quickly.

Ali, Beth and Lynne showed up on Thursday with Anne, their friend from Ireland, in tow. I've been hearing about Anne for years, but we never found ourselves in the same place at the same time, so hadn't met. So my quiet house turned into a madhouse overnight, with five women and a dog squeezed into 1200 sf. And we had a blast. (Lynne, Beth and Ali watching sunset at Harpoon Harry's)

Our days were filled with wine, snacks, talk, laughter, and music. I introduced them to the Nav-A-Gator and Stump Pass Grille, to the music of Jim Morris and John Reno. They met my friends, laughed way too much, and decided to move down here ASAP. They just don't have people and bars and musicians like this in Idaho - ore Ireland, I guess - so they fell in love with my friends and my life here in SWFL. (Beth looking for shells)

It's funny to see your world through different eyes. I have a better appre-ciation for what I have here, after seeing their reaction to it. Not that it's going to convince me to stay here forever, but at least I like what I DO have more than I did last week. (Sunset from Harpoon Harry's)

We walked on the beach, shopped, ate, drank, laughed, listened to music, and reminisced about old times. Caught up on each other's lives, and made plans for future get-togethers. I never thought of myself as a party animal until they went to bed at 9pm, and I considered going back out to play (I didn't). (Ali sorting through shells at Englewood Beach)

We watched sunsets, slept late, went to bed early. They collected shells, and brought home Nav-A-Gator coozies (thanks Rick!) and Nav-A-Gator beer (thanks Nancy!). We even ate oranges and grapefruits from the trees in my yard. (Sunset over Lemon Bay)

Friday was Anne's birthday, so John and Jim helped us celebrate, which was sweet of them and made her feel special. (Anne sorting through her shell treasures)









The days flew by, and suddenly our time together was over. We've been planning this trip for months, and now they're gone. I'm left with a few extra pounds, wonderful gifts, and great memories. And a fridge full of food that SOMEONE has to eat!

There's nothing like old friends to make you feel loved (not that my new friends don't, too!). Today I'll clean house and wash sheets and towels, and try to remember what I was doing before my friends showed up. I'm sure there are lots of loose ends to tie up. But first, I'll get some rest, go back to eating cereal, skip the wine for a few days, and reminisce about the fun we had. (John composing a song about Idaho)

Thanks to everyone who made my friends feel welcome - they're ready to move here tomorrow, and it's mainly because of you (well, and the weather, but they haven't been here in August). And thanks to my girlfriends for a special weekend - I love you all, and can't wait to see you again! (Well, you might want to wait a few days, until I catch up on my rest - us old folks can't play as hard as we once did!)

Stay tuned for more adventures...

And now for a word from our sponsor

Sorry re the lack of post. Brain is drained. Spending the day in Tampa today, saying goodbye to my friends. Will be back tomorrow with (hopefully) something relatively interesting. If I can pull together enough brain cells to write something during the MNF game.

Hope you had a good weekend - I did! Rest and relaxation ahead...

More tomorrow - have a great Monday!

Stay tuned...

Success

I've been thinking about success, and how it means different things to different people. How what is success to one person could be failure to another. It all depends on your perspective.

You can judge success by the amount of money in your bank account, by the awards hanging on your wall, by the number of fans you have. It can be the knowledge you've amassed, the friends you've met, the strides you've made in your career. But success can also be walking a block after a knee replacement. Skipping the key lime pie when you're trying to lose weight. Throwing away that pack of cigarettes or bottle of vodka, swearing never to touch it again.

I guess the same rules apply to happiness. You can be content in a small studio apartment near the beach, or a log cabin in the woods, or a mansion in Beverly Hills. You could also be equally miserable in each of those locations, depending on your perspective. If you're a beach baby, living in a snow-covered world is hell. But to a skier - heaven.

Success depends on the goals you set for yourself. Set them high, because you need something to work toward. But while it's great to aim for the stars, be sure to set reachable goals too, so you feel like you're making some kind of progress. Writing a novel is a lofty goal that many never reach - but you can write 1,000 words. And then another 1,000. Those baby steps will get you there just as fast as trying to write all 90,000 words at one sitting. And is a heck of a lot easier!

So the secret of success looks to be pretty simple. Figure out what you need, and what you want. And then figure out how to get there. For some people, success looks like one application filled out at one company. For others, it's curing cancer. But that doesn't mean if I don't cure cancer, I'm a failure. My successes don't look the same as yours.

So what's the secret of success? I think only you know that answer. What would move you forward on your path - a path that's very different from mine? There was a poem that was popular when I was a kid titled "Desiderata" - I had a copy of it hanging on my wall. And it said, in part, "If you compare yourself with others you may become vain or bitter, for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself." Very wise advice.

Celebrate your successes today. And remember - only you can decide what they are. Don't let anyone else tell you what to aim for, or when you've reached it. (That would make it THEIR goal, not yours.)

(picture: my first completed manuscript)

Tiny Bubbles

Another Beth story...

In the late summer of 2004, I started a habit that continued for over four years...I'd hop in my car and take road trips. Not to the mall, or to the next county - I'd drive 15,000 miles. I'd wander around the country, visiting friends, pretty places, and anything that caught my fancy. I had just escaped from a bad marriage, and spent a lot of time trying to find myself - and the road seemed to be the best place to do that. I'd look in the eyes of friends from high school and try to remember who I was before the years of sadness descended. And it worked. I slaughtered demons and rediscovered my joy for life, on the road.

I never really had a schedule or destination, except to arrive at my friends' houses at a convenient time for them. And to be back in Idaho before the snow fell. (Not that I wanted to get home in time for the snow; rather, just get off the road to avoid having to drive in it!)

From 2001-2004 I worked at North Idaho College, and one of my duties was running the Booster Club. I eventually took the Administrative Assistant job in the Athletic Department, and the coaches/athletes/teams became a huge part of my life. The volleyball team adopted me as their mom, and I got to know and love each girl. So when I found out that they would be playing in the national tournament in (I forget - somewhere in the middle of the country) in fall 2004, I decided to tweak my schedule to watch them play.

I found out what hotel they were staying in, and made a reservation - getting one of their last rooms, since there were a lot of teams in town. But when I arrived, after a long day on the road, they couldn't find my reservation. There were no other rooms in town - or at least none close by or affordable - so I begged and pleaded and put on my best smile, and voila. They found me a room. It was a jacuzzi suite - and since they lost my reservation, they were willing to give it to me for the same price as a regular room. I'm not stupid - I said sure! (I later found out that I made the reservation at the wrong hotel...okay, so maybe I WAS stupid!)

So I spent the day in a cold gym, sitting on hard bleachers, watching game after game. Our team did well, and afterwards we gathered at a nearby pizza joint for a quick dinner before heading to our rooms. I visited with the coaches for a few minutes, then headed next door to my room. Needless to say, my poor body was aching, and that jacuzzi looked pretty darned wonderful. So I turned on the water, and then decided to pamper myself. I would have a bubble bath. (You can see where this is going, can't you?) But I didn't have any bubble bath. (Which was surprising, since my car was packed to the gills - after all, I was on the road for months, and you never know what you're going to need.) I found a small bottle of shampoo, and happily dumped the contents into the steamy water. Slid into the tub, and hit the button to turn on the jacuzzi jets. And watched the bubbles start to build.

I closed my eyes for a couple of minutes, savoring the warmth, daydreaming about the coming day. Drifting away...until something tickled my nose. I opened my eyes - and saw bubbles.

Bubbles...EVERYWHERE.

Bubbles building into mountains around my head. Bubbles oozing over the sides of the tub. Bubbles cascading to the floor. I was drowning in bubbles. And this is a room where the jacuzzi is in the bedroom, not the bathroom, so bubbles are spreading across the tile floor and heading toward the bedroom carpet.

I frantically felt through the bubbles for the switch, and the jets stopped. Phew! No more bubbles were being created - but the situation was far from remedied. Because I had to figure out what to do with the bubble mountains filling the room. Not having salt, or a shop vac, or a bucket, I started whacking at them with a towel. (Well, what would YOU have done?!) After I opened the drain, of course. But too little, too late.

So there I was, standing naked and wet in the middle of a hotel room in the midwest, whacking at mountains of bubbles with a wet towel. And I started laughing. And laughing. And laughing. Pretty soon I was rolling on the floor, laughing hysterically, surrounded by bubbles, gasping for breath. And then someone knocks on the door and calls out, asking if I'm okay. It's one of the coaches from next door, wondering what the heck was going on. I squeaked out a reply and pulled myself together, and continued the assault.

I eventually conquered the bubbles. Cleaned up the mess. Got dressed, and went next door to explain what happened. I guess it lost something in the telling, because they just looked at me funny. No sense of humor at all, those coaches. (Well, okay, they DO have a sense of humor - guess the visuals would have helped.)

I've done some stupid things in my time, but combining jacuzzi jets and shampoo has to be near the top of the list. I bet the maids were thrilled when they came to clean the room the next morning, and found the bathroom spotless. And the bedroom carpet damp.

I won't bring shampoo if you invite me to hot tub at your house...I promise.

(picture courtesy daisysgourmetdogtreats.com)

Lighthouse Court

So as I told you earlier, during Meeting of the Minds there are a TON of singer/ songwriters performing in venues all over the island. I wear myself out walking from bar to bar, especially since I have places I like to go that have nothing to do with MOTM, so I have to fit them in as well. It would take a rocket scientist to figure out how to see everything! Or Scotty, beaming me from Schooner Wharf to Hog's Breath to Willie T's to the Green Parrot. (Kelly McGuire, our host - check out his cool guitar)

But my favorite is Kelly McGuire's daily gig at the Lighthouse Court - a hotel next to the lighthouse (who'da guessed?). Picture a shimmering pool in the middle of a quiet courtyard. Lush tropical plants surround it. Folks relax in chairs scattered around the pool, sipping on colorful rum drinks. The breeze tosses the palm trees towering overhead. And singers perch on stools, playing their songs. (Kelly and John Patti, the cutest man in TropRock)

Kelly McGuire is the mastermind behind this event, which happens every afternoon of MOTM. Artists wander in, play a song or two, and move on to the next event. Folks sit in on each other's songs, laugh and joke with each other - the TropRock community is a close-knit one - and put on a heck of a show. (Kelly and Sunny Jim, the nicest man in TropRock)

There's a wide variety of music to choose from - everything from blues to hard rock to country to - well, TropRock. And I love it all, and wear out a pair of shoes hiking from concert to concert. But my favorite part of MOTM is sitting by the pool, laughing at Kelly's jokes, clapping and cheering and singing along with some of the best musicians in the genre. It's a nice respite from the insanity of Key West - an oasis in the midst of Parrotheads. Kelly keeps reminding us to keep it a secret, because we like the intimate atmosphere. So if you go next year, don't tell anyone how you found out about it. (Kelly and the two Robs - Mehl and Peck)

In my dreams I'm back in the courtyard, feet in the pool, splashing my toes in time with the music. Listening to the palms rustling overhead, and debating if I should have another rum runner. And wishing it would never end. (Rob Mehl from San Diego and - doggone it, I forget his name - Brady? - plays steel drums for Jimmy Parrish and the Ocean Waves)

Here's to next year in the courtyard - I'll save you a spot by the pool!

Eleven Eleven

On November 11, 1981, I arrived in Aspen, Colorado, excited about starting my career as a ski bum. Well, okay, so it wasn't a career. My ski bum adventure, how's that?

I had just graduated from college when I met John (hi Bink!) at a wedding (his frat brother and my sorority sisster), and we starting dating. I spent four months in grad school before he announced that he was moving to Aspen to work as an oyster shucker for his uncle, who owned (managed? was friends with the owner of? I don't remember) a restaurant.

Being a HUGE John Denver fan, I knew he lived in Aspen. Grad school was both easy and hard: easy academically, but hard socially to be at the same school where I did my undergrad work - I was changing, and my undergrad friends weren't. Moving to Aspen sounded like a lot more fun. My parents wrung their hands, but understood. Or at least pretended to. So I quit school, gave away my puppy, packed my room, and headed west.

John had already been there a week, scouting jobs and housing. We stayed in a hostel-like hotel for a few days while we found jobs, housing, and ski passes. And for the next few months, lived the ski bum life. (But that's another post.)

We were together seven years. We lived all over the country, traveled to Paris and Greece (remember the octopus story? that's when it happened), and had amazing adventures. Luckily we remained friends when the relationship ended. During our time together, we noticed how often we looked at the clock and saw that it was 11:11. Not 11:12. Not 11:09. 11:11. It's uncanny how often it happens, even now.

It took a while for me to realize that we started our adventures together on the 11th day of the 11th month. And who really knows why those numbers come up so often? He was the first one to point it out, and since then I think of him and smile when I glance at the clock and notice those repeating ones.

Obviously other, more important things happened on this date. But in my world, 11:11 reminds me of Aspen, and John, and easier times. Or at least they seem easier as I look back on them, although we were broke, had no health insurance, one car, no possessions. Funny how perspective changes. I look at all I have today, and wish I was back in those carefree, ignorant days when we could do anything.

Anyway, I know today is the 12th, but now you know how I spent my day yesterday. Of course I sent John mail, and reminded him of the date. Not sure how he spent his day, but mine was bittersweet, remembering my misspent youth. Then again, I'm not sure my misspent youth is over yet...

Meeting of the Minds

So, I'm back from spending five days in Key West with 3,499 of my closest friends. The first week of November is the annual Parrothead convention, and this was the second time I've gone (but not the second time I've been to Key West!). It's basically 4+ days of non-stop concerts. Folks gather from all over the country, renew friendships, celebrate TropRock music, and raise money for Key West charities. (And yes, adult beverages are often involved.)

It was crazy. I carried a spreadsheet in my pocket so I wouldn't miss anything. But it's impossible to catch every artist who's down for the week, plus the ones who are there normally. Not to mention that the concerts are spread all over the island, and I walk everywhere, so sometimes I'd miss something because I couldn't face walking the mile back across town to catch it. (Kelly McGuire from Texas, Rob Mehl from San Diego, and Rob Peck from St Augustine)

Anyway, I won't give you a blow-by-blow description, because you'll fall asleep. But my days were pretty much the same. Get up, eat a bowl of cereal (except the day I ate at Camille's and had french toast with white chocolate Godiva liqueur sauce and fresh strawberries, yum yum), then hang out in the room and rest up for the day. Grab a bagel on the way across town to the first concert. Then every hour move from bar to courtyard to hotel to bar, catching a wide range of TropRock artists. Some are my friends, some are familiar though not friends. It's a close-knit community, and it's so much fun to see the singer/songwriters inviting others to join them on stage, jamming, and helping their careers. (John Reno at Terry's pool party)

Dinner was usually another bagel (still haven't learned the cheap places to eat) - and more music. By 9:30 I was beat, and would stagger home and collapse. I caught a sunrise and a sunset, although there weren't many because Hurricane Ida was lurking. Not that I'm complaining - the wind and clouds kept the heat and humidity down, which was a welcome relief.

We had parking lot parties, street parties, acoustic concerts in hotel courtyards, concerts in bars and on hotel stages and in plazas. There were meet-and-greets with the artists, singer/ songwriter fests where folks would wander in, play a song, and then wander out. Some of the bigger Parrothead clubs threw parties. One of my friends invited a slew of artists to play by the pool at his hotel, so Saturday I sat from noon til 9:30 in one spot (well, except for a quick dinner at the Southernmost Beach Cafe) and listened to a bunch of different singers - a nice change from hiking back and forth across the island. (Street party on Duval)

Friday morning I caught the sunrise as it turned the clouds pink and purple, and met folks from Maryland who were there to celebrate their friends' renewal of their vows, 25 years later. I watched the sunset from the Casa Marina (the convention's host hotel), and took pictures of the cold front as it bore down on the island, which ensured there were no more sunsets or sunrises while I was there.

I wandered the back streets of Key West, soaking up the atmosphere, enjoying the peaceful neighborhoods with their funky houses piled one on top of another. Dodged chickens and bicyclists and lost tourists. Watched the ocean's fall and rise. And enjoyed spending time in one of my favorite places. (Rob Peck and Dusty, lead guitarist from Jimmy Parrish and the Ocean Waves)

I also met some wonderful locals (thanks Ryan and Robyn!), who welcomed me as one of their own and worked hard to convince me to move down there - or better yet, not go home at all. If I didn't have guests coming to visit - oh yeah, and a house - I probably would have stayed! (Troy Allan at the Lighthouse Courtyard)

I didn't drink much - too expensive, too many calories. It's cheaper at home, and I didn't want to waste a minute of my time there regretting the night before. Someday I'd love to eat in good restaurants, wander the art galleries, stop for a drink in a quiet bar - but that didn't happen this time.

All too soon, I had to head home. My excitement level grows as I head south - and the disap-pointment deepens as I head north again. This week is Boat Week - we watched the sleek speedboats parading down Duval on Sunday, and Robyn warned me that it's the loudest week on the island - basically NASCAR on the water. I think I'll pass. (A woman I met in Sloppy Joe's who showed me her tattoo, and we were amazed that we both have flip flops - so HAD to take a picture!)

Overall, my memories of MOTM 2009 are of the music. And the magic that's Key West. And my wonderful friends. There were some hiccups, but the memory of those will quickly fade.

I don't know when I'll be back in Key West, but you can bet it's not going to be too long. Especially now that I'm meeting locals, and I owe them a drink! I'm just hoping Lacey shows up next time...

Hope your week was a fraction as much fun as mine was. And that you check out Key West if you ever get the chance. But if you can't, just find a TropRock artist in your neck of the woods and learn their music - and you're halfway there!