The waves are bringing the tide in this morning and Goddess and I listen to the sea sing its song. Fran's thousand shades of green have ceased her dance to listen too. The blooms of the Hibiscus plants explode around me on the Beloved Back deck. Brown leaves litter the wooden planks making it look like the fall but it's already seventy degrees and the sun has yet to craw out from under the blanket of clouds. The Palm Tree with the oyster shell smiling face, coconut bra and grass skirt looks happy and awake.
My bare feet dangle from the table underneath the colorful umbrella and Pandora throws "James Taylor" at me ... he's telling me about "Copperline" but the waves keep him from coming to close. Who wants to be in North Carolina when you can have this?
Now this is the way winter should be!
I know it won't last. Those bastards who work for the weather stations are already throwing their gloom and doom my way. Apparently next week it's going to get cold ... and they seem so damn happy about it.
Have you ever noticed that the Weather men and women of this world are the only ones who are gleefully happy when a Hurricane is coming? I mean they have Hurricane tracking maps printed to give to loyal viewers so they can plot the coordinates all the way from the Lesser Antilles to your house. I'm talking about you Pat Prokop.
Once I was running down the beach when an alleged Hurricane was coming our way. The Weather Channel had trucks set up. John Cantore was here so it must have been serious. He had a room at the Old Desoto beach club and was doing a live broadcast from the beach ... meaning he stood in the sand with a raincoat on while his cameraman filmed him with one hand and squirted him with a garden hose with the other.
I swear!
Though that is not my favorite Weather Channel story. The first time they arrived on Tybee Island to do a live broadcast they stood near the Pier. For those who don't know, the Pier is very close to Doc's Bar which has a television. The moment the live remote was seen by the patrons of Doc's, they knew what to do. Everybody left their Bar Stools, except Mrs. Sylvia, and went to the beach. When John Cantore did his next live remote, they all took their clothes off and went streaking behind him on live television.
I love this island!
The other thing about Doc's Bar is they have Hurricane Parties. While everybody else evacuates inland, "any excuse for a party!" is a lifestyle commitment. So a few dozen arrive at Doc's, nail themselves inside to keep the Hurricane and the Police Department out and ... a good time is had by all.
Still, I'll take Hurricanes over the other weather that people have to deal with. Tornadoes, snow storms, mudslides, Tsunamis, flash-floods and severe storm warnings show up so fast that the Weather People cannot predict them. So everybody's caught off guard and bad things happen.
Come to think of it, this is probably why the Weather People love Hurricanes so much. Hurricanes are slow moving and you have days to plan ... even if you live on an small island in the Caribbean.
A couple of years ago one hit my beloved St. Martin. My dear friend Verna went nuts. My dear friend Carlos told her to calm down. My other Chelsea ... the black one ... went to bed. The storm came and the winds were fierce. Verna was up all night crying and praying to God and stuff.
When Carlos woke, Verna was a pool of sweat and tears. Carlos shook his head and put his arm around her.
"Cum'here," he slurred in his French West Indies voice as he opened the front door.
"You see any fish in the yard?"
Verna shook her head.
"Exactly," Carlos said, slamming the door. "Let's go back to bed."
So they did.
These things make me smile this morning. The sun is now kicking behind the clouds. The waves are singing louder. Fran's thousand shades have draped themselves over my shoulder. Goddess is biting Hibiscus blooms. The Palm Tree with the oyster face, coconut bra and grass skirt is doing a hula dance.
My bare feet hit the planks of the beloved back deck littered with brown leaves.
I look southeast and say out loud to my dear friend Carlos. "Thanks Buddy! See you soon I hope. Give my love to Verna and Chelsea."
Then ... like him ... I go back to bed.
It's Hurricane Season.
