The sun winks at me from the Palm tree with the oyster eyes, Mona Lisa smile, coconut bra and grass skirt. Goddess is lying under my feet. Fran's thousand shades are radiant with splendor. A bird belts a solo backed by a choir of cicadas. The sky is a brilliant blue, the marsh grass stands tall above the high tide and the ocean is peaceful and calm. The house is festive and filled with joy and love.
All is right with the world.
From the moment my plane landed and the sweet humidity of coastal Georgia kissed my skin. Walking down the hall out of the airport my heart was filled with delight. The cold and damp of Minneapolis/St. Paul is just another story to tell. As soon as we hit the island we were summoned by the carnival of friends who gather daily in front of Fannie's On-The-Beach for the daily celebration of life on this clump of sand.
I crawled into Roma's baby chair with her ... the woman once dated George Washington knocking his teeth out ... she's old!
"Get off my arm," she screeches.
I adjust and ask "So you okay?"
"I am now," she firmly explains. "I can see except peripherally. Straight ahead is fine but I'm good cause I can't see you at all."
"Oh," I say, "you're a peripheral visionary. You can see the future but just way off to the side?"
"Get out of my chair," she commands.
So I sit with Johnny O and Judy, O Johnny and the other Judy, an extremely hot thing in a black dress and Al. Everybody's having fun, laughing and toasting and loving the hell out of the fact that we are all together again.
"When's Cheryl getting back?" Judy asks.
The rest of us shrug our shoulders. Cheryl lost her mind and went to Chicago for like three months.
"Well," Judy says ,"whenever she does get back ... it's a party with chocolate martinis."
We all agree.
Then this little girl wearing a bathing suit and riding her bicycle comes to a halt beside me. She has freckles and long brown hair. Staring intently at me she smiles and says hello.
I recognize her from Bar Church ... the celebration of God, life and survival of Saturday nights ... the place that smokers and flip flops are welcome ... where pirates worship and wenches sing hymns.
"Can you show me a trick?" I ask her.
She grins and takes off on her bike. Half a block away she hits the brakes and skids around facing me. She did it perfectly!
Then it was time for home and the Goddess and the pure and holy love that fills me with dreams ... where I imagine the future ... and forget the losses and the settling ...
I sit here now in the dawn of the day and the little girl has filled my head with little girls ... and the sun rises above the Palm Tree with the oyster eyes, Mona Lisa smile, coconut bra and grass skirt. It warms my bare skin. The celebration of home has begun. Today there will be songs, food on the grill the pure joys of what Sunday's should be.
