Friends and Festivities

The sun rises over the marina at the dawn of a perfect day,
Filled with the promise of fun with friends coming to play.
Fresh flowers in the guest room, food in the refrigerator
Hoping to make the rating of our bed and breakfast greater.
A miracle of low humidity and cool temperatures has arrived;
Now I'm very sure a full day out of doors can be survived.
Nothing is more enjoyable than being the chosen tour guide
To fun and adventures that my loved ones haven't tried.

Today it will be Jazz Fest with two visiting female friends;
Supper with a surprise guest is how our evening will end.
Tomorrow, I'll get to squire the surprise guest around;
Richard will be boat building, while we will do the town.
Streetcars, restaurants, and museums, or another Jazz Fest day?
I guess I'll let him choose how he wants to spend his stay.
So much to see, to do, and to eat, and the time is so short
There's much that we won't get to, but we'll sure do our part.

A Silently Stalking Storm

The wind whips and waves the flag flying
On a single sailboat settled in its slip;
Many masts standing tall at attention
Serve as silent sentinels of the sea.

Ripples race across our home harbor,
Wielding wild white capped waves
The solemn sky heaves her heavy bosom
Onto the lap of the lonesome lake.

All await the fury of the stalking storm,
Anticipating its awesome and angry apex.
Ominous omen of solemnity and sorrow;
Pensive, pondering, we wait.

Easter Explosions

We couldn't have had a more beautiful day,
Or a more lovely display of spring.
It was a wonderful ride with blue skies
And every imaginable shade of green.

We woke to birds singing in dogwoods,
And arrived to fireworks on the lake,
From the peace of sunrise in the forest,
To a display that made the skies shake.

This area is like another country,
In another, more southern, hemisphere.
There are differences in how we show
Homage for what we hold dear.

We have different body clocks;
This is a night time town.
The evening workers are getting up
When the farmers are laying down.

It may be a bit backward for most,
Peaceful mornings and noisy nights.
What better example of our two lives
Than this difference in joy's delight?

People of Two Places

It's rather surreal sitting here,
Knowing that we'll soon be gone.
We've had a whirlwind trip
With so much said and done.

Many said they missed us
While we were so long away,
But we had to tell them
We were not here to stay.

There are several other couples
Who live here and in warmer climes
And their friends and families
Must feel that it's just fine.

Perhaps we can convince ourselves
That we are meant to be
People of two homes and places
One wooded and one by the sea.

A Legacy of Love

The House by the Side of the Road
by Sam Walter Foss (1858-1911)

There are hermit
souls that live withdrawn
In the peace of their self-content;
There are souls, like stars, that dwell apart,
In a fellowless firmament;
There are pioneer souls that blaze their paths
Where highways never ran;-
But let me live by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.

Let me live in a house
by the side of the road,
Where the race of men go by-
The men who are good and the men who are bad,
As good and as bad as I.
I would not sit in the scorner’s seat,
Or hurl the cynic’s ban;-
Let me live in a house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.

I see from my house
by the side of the road,
By the side of the highway of life,
The men who press with the ardor of hope,
The men who are faint with the strife.
But I turn not away from their smiles nor their tears-
Both parts of an infinite plan;-
Let me live in my house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.

I know there are brook-gladdened
meadows ahead
And mountains of wearisome height;
That the road passes on through the long afternoon
And stretches away to the night.
But still I rejoice when the travelers rejoice,
And weep with the strangers that moan,
Nor live in my house by the side of the road
Like a man who dwells alone.

Let me live in my
house by the side of the road
Where the race of men go by-
They are good, they are bad, they are weak, they are strong,
Wise, foolish- so am I.
Then why should I sit in the scorner’s seat
Or hurl the cynic’s ban?-
Let me live in my house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.

I'm not sure that when Walter Foss wrote that poem, he was talking about living on Highway 68. Charlie loved to tell how when he moved to Coker Creek, you could set up a card table in the middle of Highway 68 and play all day without being disturbed. His constant complaint was about all the trucks and crotch rockets barreling past his place at breakneck speed. I'm not sure what upset him most about that the fact that Bootsie, his cat, couldn't roam free, or the fact that none of those barreling past his place ever stopped to say hello.

It didn't matter what time of day or night a person drove into his driveway, Charlie greeted that person with a smile and a hug...and a story. Charlie had stories about everything from his childhood adventures, to rum running, to religion. He said what was on his heart and mind, and lived what he believed. He was the only person I ever knew who actually thanked me for arguing with him without getting (in his words)"all pissy."

One of his favorite sayings was, "A hypocrite I'm not; a Christian, I am." We know that Jesus' time on the earth was spent collecting people, feeding them, loving them, and leading them on the road to salvation. Charlie lived his life doing similar things. He seemed to know everything about whatever he loved, and couldn't wait to take you along to enjoy what he loved with him.

If ever one wanted a tour guide, Charlie was your man. It was often a wild ride taking a tour with Charlie. He'd drive these curves with one hand on the wheel and one eye on the road. How we ever stayed on the tarmac is a wonder to me, as he was usually turned toward the person to whom he was talking. Now Charlie is, I'm sure, giving tours of heaven. I figure that The Almighty needed a great tour guide who could make getting to heaven look like a fun ride.

We all leave a legacy when we physically leave this earth. Some leave great fortunes to continue the work of their favorite charities; some leave laughter and love. Love is the legacy of our friend Charlie. He truly lived on the side of the road and was a friend to every man, woman, and child that crossed his path. I'm so glad to have been one of those people.

The Perfect Prize

Catching up on errands and popping in on friends,
This is how we spent our first day in
Our Tennessee mountain getaway in the forest.
These are some of the things we like best.

Today we'll be baking cookies and cakes,
And generally doing whatever it takes
To get ready for Charlie's memorial service,
Something that we really don't want to miss.

There'll be antique cars and lots of folks
Telling Charlie's stories and jokes.
Bluegrass pickin' will be a part,
All things close to Charlie's heart.

We'll sing and dance and honor him,
A man who so many called their friend.
Now that he's won the greatest prize,
We'll party him into paradise.

Singing of Spring

On the way, Nature's scenes
Of the many shades of green
With the backdrop of storm skies
They looked surreal to our eyes

Waterfalls that I had never seen
Flowing from the mountains of green,
Into rivers running red with mud,
Swollen with the snow melt's floods.

As we enter into into our lane
Spots of light called our names.
Solar path lights welcome him and me,
Along with our Great Pyrenees.

The snowball bush is at the stage
Of its most radiant white plumage.
Azaleas and dogwoods are in full bloom
The hostas will be flowering soon.

The creeks are running riotously;
The breeze is blowing wild and free.
We have many friends we want to see.
Today, there's no place I'd rather be.