I made two mistakes on Labor Day.First, I started reading a Jimmy Buffett book on the unofficial last day of summer. Talk about bad timing.Second, I quickly became melancholy because the book is …
I made two mistakes on Labor Day.
First, I started reading a Jimmy Buffett book on the unofficial last day of summer. Talk about bad timing.
Second, I quickly became melancholy because the book is partly set — in the beginning at least — in the Bahamas, which on Monday was being pummeled by Hurricane Dorian.
I’ve been to the Bahamas a handful of times. Kim and I honeymooned there. I hate to see it destroyed.
Every hurricane that makes landfall anywhere in the South always impacts some place that holds a special place in my heart. And I’m afraid Dorian is going to do it again.
I’ve been watching the projections of the path for at least a week now. Hurricanes are nature’s prizefighters. They just hang around offshore, bobbing and weaving while never showing any indication where they are actually going to strike.
And as of Monday, St. Simons Island, Ga., was in the path of Hurricane Dorian.
I’ve only been to St. Simons Island once, 1979 with Mama when I was 16.
She was a fan of author Eugenia Price who had lived there. That’s why she wanted to go.
But the thing I remember most about the trip happened on a sweltering day on a long causeway near the island.
Mama was overly cautious about almost everything. And when we hit standstill traffic on the causeway, she was convinced running the air conditioner in the car would make the engine overheat.
So, we turned off the car and rolled down the windows.
It was rush hour, and traffic stretched as far as we could see in both directions with people trying to get home from work.
Mama was also the kind of person who was happy wherever she was. The traffic jam didn’t bother her in the least. Up ahead in the distance she spied a rainbow. We admired it for a minute, then she turned to a man with a stoic look on his face in a convertible in the lane beside us.
She stuck her head out the window. “See the pretty rainbow?” she cheerfully asked him while pointing in the distance.
I’m glad this happened in the days before road rage, because the look of disdain the guy gave her was priceless.
We laughed about it for years.
I still think about it every now and again. Lots of times I think I’ve become that guy in the convertible (minus the convertible).
I know exactly how he felt.
I’ve had a nutty summer. First, Kim and I “inherited” a coffee shop back in July, which I am sure will give me endless material to write about.
A couple of weeks after that, Grant moved to Nashville to further his writing career. Although he can do that from any place, he knew spending a year at home after his pilgrimage to the Mediterranean was enough.
We knew it too, though it’s sad.
And last week, we had a catastrophic incident involving one of our business interests which I cannot go into detail about just yet.
I can’t remember the last time I saw that metaphorical pretty rainbow, but I did enjoy escaping a little bit on Labor Day afternoon with Mr. Buffett’s book — as bad as the timing was.
Tomorrow, I’ll probably be that guy in the convertible (minus the convertible) again.
But on Labor Day, I relaxed and reflected a little.
(About the writer: Barry Currin is founder and president of White Oak Advertising and Public Relations, based in Cleveland. “Stories of a World Gone Mad” is published weekly. Email Barry at firstname.lastname@example.org.)
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