Wednesday, November 21, 2012

Coming at you from 1857.

there is a light that never goes out

Some time ago, this space used to be about experiences I had as a guy who used to dress up like Elvis on occasion and sing telegrams for fistfuls of dollars. That didn’t last all that long. It then became a place where I could share the sights and sounds of the various parts of the world I traveled with my last job, which went on to last for years on end. Now it’s, well, I’m not entirely sure what it’s become. A mixed bag of sorts? Something all new? In the spirit of its beginnings then, here’s a snapshot of that present.


Tonight I’m on a rocking chair on second floor wooden porch, enjoying the night air of Fernandina Beach, in the oldest inn still operating in all of Florida (Laurel and Hardy, Henry Ford and the Rockefellers are among past guests). It’s been here since 1857, it really has! There are cicadas that have just piped up. There is a little bar next-door where someone is singing a song about the President (and yet managed to squeeze a great rendition of a Big Bad Voodoo Daddy song in there as well). I’m wondering how long I can get away with just sitting here and soaking up and writing whatever comes to me.

Earlier, I rummaged around a couple of antique stores and took myself back in time. Managed to score some pristine vinyl for $2 a record (Bing Crosby, Nat King Cole and Louis Armstrong in that mix). Sang along to some Christmas songs. Put my toes in some surf in St. Augustine. Tasted an altogether new kind of honey. Took a bath in a tub that had claws (you know the ones).

If I could have fit all of that on the back of a postcard, I would have. Maybe you’d have received one.

Tomorrow, I take myself to Savannah to see how they do Thanksgiving. Why there? Why not? In the past, I’ve constructed long lists of things I’m thankful for. Tonight, I’m keeping it much simpler. Tonight, I’m just letting on that I’ve a grateful heart.

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