Sailed out of Pearl Harbor on an antique tall ship to sail with dolphins, sea turtles, and whales.
A breathless evening while visiting a writer in the Northeast began as a casual drop-in at her friend's apartment after the theater. While sipping a cup of tea, the art student in me realized the painting over my head was a genuine Lichtenstien, next to it a true Wharhol. Then I discovered much to my delight, one-by-one, white-marbled-room-by-white-marbled-room, dozens and dozens of Rembrandts, Miros, Picassos, Renoirs, Pizzarros, ad orgasmium... Oh, to see the intricate brushwork, the depth and continuum of colors inches from your eyes... to be enveloped in such passion, such light...
Got married on the beach in Hawaii. Surprise! XOXOX
Swam into a black ocean on a full moon night, the silvery light playing on an acre swirl of phosphorescence, my body painting the sea with stars as I swam.
I recognize the South John Berendt described in Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, for that was the South I was born and raised in. I know all those people as well as if I'd sat at their kitchen tables with them. Now mind you, I wasn't brought up in the fancy historic homes of Savannah, and never met any of those fine people personally, but rather, a fifth-generation Floridian, I grew up among the rattle-trap beach houses near Jacksonville and the flotsam and jetsom that landed there. Still, the South is the South.
Susan Sontag captured the essence of all southern folk everywhere in The Volcano Lover:
Every culture has its southerners - people who work as little as they can, preferring to dance, drink, sing, brawl, kill their unfaithful spouses; who have livelier gestures, more lustrous eyes, more colorful garments, more fancifully decorated vehicles, a wonderful sense of rhythm, and charm, charm, charm; unambitious, no, lazy, ignorant, superstitious, uninhibited people, never on time, conspicuously poorer (how could it be otherwise, say the northerners); who for all their poverty and squalor lead enviable lives - envied, that is, by work-driven, sensually inhibited, less corruptly governed northerners. We are superior to them, say the northerners, clearly superior. We do not shirk our duties or tell lies as a matter of course, we work hard, we are punctual, we keep reliable accounts. But they have more fun than we do. ....they were farther south, therefore among even more untrustworthy people, rascals and liars, more eccentric, more primitive. The thought that follows is that it was more important not to change the way they had always lived. They cautioned themselves as people do who know they are part of a superior culture: we mustn't let ourselves go, mustn't descend to the level of the...jungle, street, bush, bog, hills, outback (take your pick). For if you start dancing on tables, fanning yourself, feeling sleepy when you pick up a book, developing a sense of rhythm, making love whenever you feel like it - then you know.
The South has got you.
(I sent this to Bill the first week I met him, noting, "If you get this, you get me."
He did, and he did. See red heart above.)
Took a steam locomotive to the Grand Canyon, the rock ledges edged with snow.
Flying over Montana's Flathead River Valley in October in a Breezy.
That's right, only a wing, an engine and two seats at 2,000 feet. Wow.
Visit Bill's professional
literary agent, speaker, magazine editor-in chief, publisher, book designer, cover artist & designer, book producer, book editor, ghostwriter, magazine writer, conference organizer, photographer, corporate writer, speech writer, real estate broker, campaign manager, public relations director, store owner, citrus packer & shipper, teacher, home designer & draftsman, carpenter, roofer, plumber, electrician, flooring installer, mason, tile installer, painter, jewelry designer, artists' supply salesman, upholsterer, artist, weaver, driver, Girl Scout leader trainer, retail store clerk, fashion warehouse worker, receptionist, musician & singer, camp counselor, tutor, golf tournament organizer, canoe instructor, switchboard operator, restaurant hostess, waitress, apartment rental manager, maid, orange juicer, golf course weed whacker, surfboard ding patcher, gold-embroidered satin tuxedo tailor, driving range ball girl, golf cart hustler, beer slinger, chicken fryer, chicken cutter, chicken liver packer. All of which adds up to a fine writer's resume!
In late night discussions with friends - whether around a campfire, in the back of a bar, or on a long road trip - have you ever asked each other about the jobs you've held over the years, all the weird stuff you've done for a buck? Some for maybe only a day? What does your crazy list look like? Here's mine (in no particular order):
The Rodgers clan, rural Florida, 1915.