And so it begins …

I’m here, by my lonesome, which isn’t so lonesome, in the shade beneath my awning, typing away, tummy filled with a healthy salad, a glass of Albarino half-sipped, sunscreen-slathered, listening to the crashing waves, sheltered in my cozy van, away from the summer tourists; today I’m an open canvas with nothing on my agenda except a belated birthday lunch with a dear friend next Monday.

It’s been a summer! I’ve stopped and started writing projects so many times, but the interruptions jarred whatever flow and writer’s state of mind I was in. Six weeks! SIX weeks with family, grandchildren, in my van, in a condo, in a New York apartment shared with four other adults, five children, a big black dog and snarly cat. It was wonderful, energizing, uplifting, at times frustrating, and now over. A memory. A depleted bank account. Everyone back to their respective routines, before school and the chores of day-to-day start all over again. 

But not me.

Routines, rituals, the predictable, proverbial, school bell aye-aye soldier-trumpeting class period changes, lunch, nutrition break, fire drills, school start and dismissals, are KAPUT from my life. When I retired after teaching 8^th grade English Language Arts for almost two decades, I thought I’d struggle with the transition, thought I’d go back into the classroom as a volunteer, maybe sub. Never happened. I moved on, made a right turn, read books, helped with grandchildren, ex-husband, gardened, organized, tossed out, then a year into retirement, sold my house. 

“I don’t want to be responsible,” was my mantra. 

My grown kids didn’t get it. They were mad, sad, irritated at what looked to be a foolish decision. 

I don’t know, maybe it was raising children as a divorced, 23-year-old single parent with a crappy ex-husband then devoting five decades to serving others that shifted my life’s course, my thinking. My shoulders were tired and I needed an extended vacation, as in, the rest of my life vacay, aka experience the 20s I never had because I was so busy being a responsible mom and wage-earner. 

Being responsible is noble, necessary and important, but what I’m becoming increasingly aware of is that every time I get caught in the trap of feeling responsible for someone else’s problems, and trying to help, it never ends well. It’s depleting, aging and resurrects all kinds of flashbacks, failures, and self vows never again to get sucked in. 

But I do. 

I’m the boxer in the ring who fights longer than she should and gets her butt kicked. I’m the broken record you can’t part with because the worn-out grooves and chips evoke something sweet. 

You know the cliché about being a broken record, well, that’s me.

Really, I mean REALLY, who listens to records anymore when you can conjure millions of tunes with a voice command? Ahh, that’s right, hipsters do, like the Cox repair guy who arrived three hours earlier than he was supposed to to fix a messed up internet connection. Keith, who introduced himself with a handshake, was a cool, techie guy, in his 20s. Patient too. When he accompanied me into the garage to hunt down missing equipment he volunteered to install to help out us tech-clueless Golden Girls, we opened a storage bin and instead discovered stacks of records spanning three decades. 

“That’s ‘Captain Fantastic’ ’’ he said, his face lighting up. “Is it OK if I look at it?”

“Why not?” 

It was as if he’d discovered The Ten Commandments from “Raiders of the Lost Ark”.

“Can I open it?” It must have been 40 years since I listened to the album, much less thought of it. 

“Of course!”

The cartoonish, double truck album was in remarkable, almost brand new, condition.

“This is so cool,” he said, grinning. “I really like Elton John.”

Me too.

Spontaneously, like out of a TV commercial, Keith and I dueted the album’s cover song, “Captain Fantastic, raised and regimented, hardly a hero …” 

Honestly, it was a moment. This stranger and I, decades apart, bonding over a collection of forgotten songs.

“If you ever want to sell it, here’s my number,” he said, using the back of a Restoration Hardware fabric swap to pen his cell number. 

When Keith left, I cued up the album on my iPhone and proceeded to sing the rest of the song.

“We’ve thrown in the towel too many times, out for the count and when we’re down, Captain Fantastic and the brown dirt cowboy, from the end of the world to your town.” 

I looked up the album’s release date: 1975, the year everything in my life changed. 

I’m not sure why this encounter with the Cox repair guy came to mind just now as I breathe-in the salt air on the first day of what is now my annual 2.5-month Fall sojourn, but it surfaced like the island of kelp blooming atop the calm sea. 

Perhaps re-discovering “Captain”, an album I stopped listening to when life as an adult got messy, was a reminder to delight in what once delighted me when my canvas was wide open.

I have to confess, life’s been rather hard of late. But I’m here now, basking in the sun, with a forever ocean view, at the beginning, my launch, my reset, my reboot, sitting on a cliff, a place where dreams, even at 68, are possible, where the only items penciled on my To Do list are things I want to do like; walk, eat healthy, pray, write, read, create art, take a nap, make a new friend, visit an old one, be in Nature and drink the loveliest of wines. 

Sitting here by my not-so-lonesome self, I’m grateful for all the cracks and chips, scratches and my dopey willingness to repeat the soundtrack that once inspired me, even if I’m off-key, even if I’m not the best at memorizing lyrics but am just silly enough to dance beneath the Perseid meteor showers because, why not?

I’m dubbing this year’s 2024 sojourn The Finding Joy—-Again—- Tour. It appears I’m not the only one ready to get down and boogie. Crank up tunes that make you happy. Here’s one of my favorites. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gM4Xm2MGLNQ

What are the tunes that make you feel joyful? Please share them so we can add them to our playlist. 💚🎶

Philadelphia Freedom 

By Bernie Taupin and Elton John

I used to be a rolling stone, you know
If a cause was right
I’d leave, to find the answer on the road

I used to be a heart beatin’ for someone
But the times have changed
The less I say, the more my work gets done

‘Cause I live and breathe this Philadelphia freedom
From the day that I was born, I’ve waved the flag
Philadelphia freedom took me knee-high to a man, yeah
Gave me peace of mind my daddy never had

Oh, Philadelphia freedom
Shine on me, I love ya
Shine a light through the eyes of the ones left behind
Shine a light, shine the light
Shine the light, won’t you shine the light?
Philadelphia freedom, I love ya
Yes, I do

If you choose to you can live your life alone
Some people choose the city (some people choose the city)
Some others choose the good old family home
(Some others choose the good old family home)

I like living easy without family ties (’cause it’s easy)
‘Til the whip or will of freedom zapped me, right between the eyes

‘Cause I live and breathe this Philadelphia freedom
From the day that I was born, I’ve waved the flag
Philadelphia freedom took me knee-high to a man, mmh-mmh
Gave me peace of mind my daddy never had

Oh, Philadelphia freedom
Shine on me, I love ya
Shine a light through the eyes of the ones left behind
Shine a light, shine the light
Shine the light, won’t you shine the light?
Philadelphia freedom, I love ya
Yes, I do

Oh, Philadelphia freedom
Shine on me, I love ya
Shine a light through the eyes of the ones left behind, mmh
Shine a light, shine the light
Shine the light, won’t you shine the light?
Philadelphia freedom, I love ya
You know, I love you, yeah
You know, I love you
Yes, I do! (Philadelphia freedom)

I love you, yes I do!
(Philadelphia freedom) you know that I love you
Yes, I do! (Philadelphia) oh (freedom)
Don’t you know that I love you?
Yes, I do! (Philadelphia freedom)
Don’t you know that I love you?
Yes, I do! (Philadelphia) oh, oh (freedom)
Don’t you know that I love you?