In my book “Running with the Dolphins” I talk about how I carved out this schizophrenic life. On the one hand I was this public figure, relentlessly trying to make Savannah a better place by trying to save people from themselves and ridiculous government policies. I wore a coat and tie, socks and underwear to work every day. It was hard work and I did it for 23 years.
On the other hand, when I wasn’t working I was living on Tybee Island. I sat on the beach, cooler by side, UGA cap on my head and sunglasses on my face. I wore the barest of tan through bathing suits…well …when I wore bathing suits. Beach music played in my hears and worship services consisted of the “Buffet break” Sunday’s at 12;30 on my buddy Jerry Rogers’ radio station. Jerry is also a beach bum.
My days consisted of bouncing back and forth between the two alter egos. I think one of the reasons that I survived the work for so long was because of the escape to the Island.
Since June virtually all of my time is spent on Tybee (though some will argue that I remain schizophrenic!). While I still travel and work every day, the pace is slower and I am often interrupted by Fran’s thousand shades of green, egrets resting in pine trees making them look decorated for Christmas, and the way the sun dances on the ocean. It takes longer to get things done with such distractions.
Yesterday I returned to Savannah to have lunch with my friend Erin Jenkins (who is famously in SOUTH Magazine right now). Strolling down Liberty Street to Soho Café, a trolley bus full of tourist pulled over to the curb and the door opened.
“Welcome back Micheal,” said my friend Trolley Joe was driving the bus and is a charter member of “The Bored” back on Tybee. He deemed it more important to be stop in the middle of the tour he was giving to say Hi. The bus full of tourists stare at me and I’m certain that Trolley Joe told them numerous lies about me as he continued their tour.
Erin and I had a nice lunch and laughed, gossiped and told stories. Walking back to our cars afterwards, a car stopped at a red light and the driver was waiving at me.
“She wants to talk to you,” Erin said.
So I walked into the street and it was Ellen, who I used to work with. “Where have you been?”
“Having fun,” I replied.
Then it was back to Tybee where I hosted a conference call with my bare feet propped on the rail of my beloved back deck. Afterwards I grabbed my lap top and spent the rest of the sunshine hours typing away at the outdoor table on the deck.
The only thing wrong was the music that I was listening to. Some band was crucifying John Lennon with the worst version of “Imagine” ever recorded. It was kind of like “The Cure” combined with “Lou Reed” just to butcher one of the greatest songs ever written.
Then the sun set and I was ready for a break. After taking Goddess for a walk and watching the sun set from Shirley’s sad little holy dock, I hopped in the car to grab some dinner and ended up at Nicki’s where I ran into friends from the Breakfast Club.
I should have immediately fled.
But I didn’t. I crashed their party and learned that my friend Val has mastered the utilization of the following formula” “One verb + One pronoun = One sentence.”
It was fascinating!
So today I’m back into the sunshine hours hoping that it all happens again.
Except for that version of “Imagine”, which suddenly made me believe in violence and the N.R.A.
Oh.
And I’m writing this from the table on the beloved back deck.
No shoes.
No underwear.
