Something Beautiful

It was starting to get dark and I was getting stiff from the six hour drive to Columbia as we sat eating our Firehouse subs at a picnic table in Congeree National Park. It was our first time seeing the famous synchronized fireflies that our son-in-law had been so instrumental in promoting. Tonight, Jon was not a ranger. He was just my daughter’s husband in street clothes, leading his church small group on an outing at the park. But, in uniform or not, he was busy answering our questions and telling us what to expect once it got dark. Thousands of what I have always called lightening bugs were about to come together, and for reasons that are not entirely understood, start flashing their lights...all at the same time. He explained the rules...no cell phone usage, no cameras...they wouldn’t do us any good anyhow since their shutter speeds aren’t fast enough to capture the sight. 

People began to show up and stream through the entrance to the special viewing trail that Jon had devised and help cut through the low lying and heavy thickets. At the gate, people who had flashlights were given strips of red cellophane and tiny rubber bands to cover them and told to only use them pointed down at the ground, that unnatural light would throw off the synchronization. The trail itself was lit by cellophane covered lamps along the ground on either side of the trail, and cordoned off by glow in the dark rope. The early arrivals had staked out spots for themselves at the chairs and picnic tables that had been set up in random spots along the trail, most of them with huge special cameras atop tripods, waiting for the perfect shot.

I was getting impatient, a frequent affliction of mine, waiting for something to happen. This was Columbia, after all...in late May. It was hot and getting more humid by the minute. I was waiting not only for the fireflies to arrive, but their distant cousins...mosquitoes... to make an appearance. As more and more people began to arrive, I felt that familiar sensation that comes over me at times like this. Whenever I am waiting for some long awaited event, or some over-hyped big thing that people have been telling me I just have to see, I become detached and cynical, sometimes to the point of becoming determined not to be impressed. It’s part of my nature, I suppose, and not a very attractive part, this contrarianism.

When we finally got in line and made our way to Jon’s suggested vantage point, it was still dusk, not quite dark. The fireflies were visible now but not an impressive number of them and not yet snyched up. I could feel the jaded cockiness coming to the surface. I remember thinking, Are you kidding me? I came all the way out here for this?

Then, around a quarter to nine, about the time that the last glow of the setting sun was disappearing from the horizon, something clicked. Suddenly their numbers swelled, and the darkening woods began to pulse with white light. These were not the lightening bugs of my youth, which blinked slowly and whose color was more a greenish yellow. These fireflies were bright white, almost like LED lights and their flash was like Quicksilver. I was mesmerized. And then I noticed it...the silence.

There aren’t many places in this world anymore that involve large numbers of human beings...and silence. Even in churches, where people used to gather to be quiet, there is always some sort of buzz. Libraries are still quiet I guess, but who goes to libraries anymore? But, here I was, in the middle of the woods...in a swamp, surrounded by hundreds of strangers in tight quarters in now total darkness...and suddenly everyone was hushed by the moment. Suddenly, no one felt it appropriate to speak above a whisper. Why? No one had warned us that loud noises would make the fireflies go away or get out of synch. Still, everyone seemed to somehow know that silence was the proper response for this moment.

After a time of gawking, we decided to move along the trail. By that time it was pitch black, the almost complete lack of man-made light had cast a black blanket over the world. We inched along, holding on to one another, glancing down only to find the cellophane covered trail lights and the dim red glow that assured us that we weren’t wandering into the swamp. The fireflies were on both sides of us now, blinking, blinking, blinking. The only disturbance was some girl who tried to take a picture with her cellphone. The flash of it exploded like a bolt of lightening and a murmur of disapproval rippled through the crowd. It never happened again. There’s always at least one idiot.

As we stumbled along in the darkness, carried along by each other and trust in what we could not see, it occurred to me that the assembled crowd had absolutely nothing in common except our humility in the presence of this mysterious beauty. There were Christians, non-Christians, several different races, democrats and republicans, meat-eaters and vegetarians...all of us brought down from our high horses for a while, humbled and silenced by something that no one can quite explain...synchronized fireflies. If you believe in God, it was if he was saying to us...Here, slow down for a minute. Rest with me for a while. Let me show you something beautiful.

Getting Ready

Back to work. After a week away, it’s time to find out all I’ve missed at Dunnevant Financial. Thanks to my intrepid assistant, I already know plenty...enough to know that I’ve got a lot to do over these next two weeks. Pam and I will be (finally) celebrating our 35th wedding anniversary from the 12th thru the 16th of June down on Isle of Palms. Then it will be back for two more weeks of work, then my reward for spending 36 years in this business—I take the month of July off—first, a week on Hatteras Island with my large, unruly family, then MAINE.

Speaking of Maine, yesterday, the owner of Loon Landing (who I am shamelessly ingratiating myself with for the purposes of convincing her to eventually sell me the place) sent me a photo of the dock they had just put back in the water...with the enticing tag line..getting ready. They always open the place on Memorial Day weekend. I drooled over this picture the rest of the day...

In no time at all, I will be a semi-permanent fixture on the end of that dock, interrupted only by the occasional kayak trip to my favorite fishing spot or a jaunt into Camden for pancakes and shopping.

Counting the days...

A 30 Year Old Son

Today is my boy’s 30th birthday. He is, of course, no longer a boy, having become a man years ago without my permission or consent. This is the way of the world, the current of life, ever forward, always grasping around the bend for the next thing, making what came before harder and harder to remember, eventually even to comprehend. This is altogether proper. The excitement of life is always in what is to come, never what was before. And yet...when it comes to my kids, no matter how far they progress or how much they accomplish, my heart’s image of them remains frozen in time. In Patrick’s case it’s this...

All those years ago he depended on us for everything. He had very little choice when it came to what he wore or what he ate. His plans for the day were what we said they were...and he was, for the most part, cooperative and compliant. Now, he wears what he wants, eats what he wants and makes his own plans. More importantly, he’s doing it all by his own devices and with his own money. I am overwhelmingly proud of him.

But, am I the only parent out there who secretly wishes he could go back in time for just one day? Am I the only one who wishes he could sit with him on that bench in Maine watching him drink his hot cocoa one more time? Am I the only one who wishes he could lift him up to put the angel on the tree again, or watch him racing his sister on the beach in Nags Head at sunset one last time? Of course, there are many things about the old days that I’m glad are dead and gone...the constant financial pressures, the relentless anxiety about their developement, the nagging fear that we were doing it all wrong and that they would grow up to be worthless, ungrateful brats. That pit in your stomach every time you watched them walk up the sidewalk into school...

So, today, I celebrate my son, and the amazing man he has become with great pride and no regrets...

...but I would give anything to be able to hold him in that Tigger suit one more time.

Columbia. Day 2

Second day in Columbia was a triumph. I slept in until just before 7 am, by which time my daughter was long gone, Jon soon to follow, leaving Pam and I alone in their house for the rest of the day. Before she left, Kaitlin thought to send us a text with a list of things we might want to do to busy ourself while...”missing our delightful company.” The first thing on her list was the Riverbanks Zoo.

My last zoo experience was many, many years ago and not altogether pleasant. My limited and quite dated experience with zoos is that they always made me feel sad. The animals all look so depressed and unnatural. But this zoo was a million miles from any zoo I have ever visited. It was beautifully designed and maintained. Great care was taken in creating the environment. The animals looked equal parts comfortable and menacing. 

Although it was warm and humid out, the place was designed with an abundance of natural shade, and just enough air conditioned displays to escape the heat. The prescence of a steady breeze also helped. The three plus hours we spent there flew by.

We got back to the house around 2 or so, just in time for a power nap. Jon left work early for the first time in three weeks (which is also the amount of consecutive days he has worked without a day off—firefly season ). I sent him to his room for a shower and a nap! Then...we waited, and waited, and waited some more, for my firstborn and only daughter to return from work. It is at this point when I began to get riled up, agitated, pissed off, and all up in the pictures. Kaitlin had left the house somewhere around 6 to 6:30 in the morning. It was now 6:00 in the evening and she still wasn’t home. What does she do for a living, you ask? Is she an important government official? Is she the CEO of a large corporation with far flung responsibilities and 10,000 employees? Is she a highly compensated celebrity whose day is packed with public appearances? Is she the only person in South Carolina who knows how to keep everyone’s air conditioning working? Oh no...she is a Middle School English Teacher, with only two weeks of classes left and final grades due this Friday, who was being kept late at school doing some asshat busy work which had absolutely nothing to do with her students or their grades! And this was the second straight day that this time-killing, soul crushing outrage had been foisted on her. And yet, when she finally opened the door to the wild delight of Jackson, she looked fresh, relaxed and had a beautiful smile on her face. I was astonished. I would have thought after two 12 hour days back to back she would at least have been...bemused. Instead, she was like...Whatever, this is my life. I’m starved. Let’s eat!!

I will resist the caustic lecture from a private sector business owner who would never in a million years tolerate the jackassery that teachers endure on a daily basis. I will simply say that my daughter is a hard working genius who, if paid by the hour, would be making less than the minimum wage...in the Sudan. This is an outrage, and the State of South Carolina is very fortunate that Kaitlin’s lunatic father lives safely 6 hours away...grrrrrrr.

Then, the kids treated us to a magnificent dinner at a lovely Italian restaurant for our 35th anniversary. Afterwards, we met their best friends at a local ice cream spot down town...

These wonderful people are Matthew and Bailey Wolfer and their son, Milo. They are the answers to every parent’s prayers when their kids move away to a new city...Lord, please help them find some new friends who will love and care for them like we would if we were there. Unfortunately, these are also the people who will make it hard for Kaitlin and Jon to ever leave this place to move closer to home. They are the sort of people who are frankly, irreplaceable. Love them to pieces.

Our Road Dog

Usually, the 24 hours before Pam and I leave for a trip are quite...tense. My wife is a meticulous planner and packs like a fiend. She remembers...everything. Me, on the other hand, tend to throw stuff in a suitcase at the last minute and often forget crucial stuff...like medications. My lackadaisical approach to packing causes much eye-rolling and heavy sighs from my wife. But this trip has been different. She has been as cool as a cucumber, flitting around the house without the usual manic drive. Last night it hit us...there is a reason for this newfound chill, and it comes from a surprising place...Lucy is coming with us.

Most of the time, Lucy stays home, which means that our super star dog-whispering house sitter, Becca, moves in. This is great for Lucy, who loves Becca. But, it requires a whole other level of preparation. The house must be cleaned, beds made, food must be in the fridge. But, if Lucy is coming with us, we can leave the house in a shambles and no one will know the difference!! The discovery hopefully has been a revelation for my wife, and as we decide whether or not to bring Lucy to Maine this year, I hope she will remember the relative tranquility of the last 24 hours.

Meanwhile, Lucy knows that we are getting ready to leave and has been quite lovey-dovey, hoping that this time we will take her along. After dinner the past couple of nights she has hopped up on the sofa and made a big production of snuggling up to Pam, the one she always needs to convince. It has been quite shameless...

So, this morning when I pack the car, I will be sure to cover all of the scary bags with a blanket so they won’t frighten Lucy. I will carve out a sleeping spot for her along one side of the car. As soon as she realizes that she is coming with us, she will jump in, walk around in a circle three times, then lay down and sleep like a baby the entire trip to Columbia...the best traveling dog of all time!

Fireflies and The Dogs

This week, Pam and I intend to correct a major parenting mistake. It embarrasses me to even write about it. For some inexcusable reason we haven’t visited Kaitlin and Jon in Columbia in over two years! When we realized this fact, we could hardly believe it. How on earth could this be? Over that same period of time, we have visited Patrick and Sarah three times...and although nobody is keeping score...what am I saying, of course they’re keeping score! My children are famous for their competitiveness. Nevertheless, this week we will begin to correct this imbalance. We leave tomorrow and will come back Friday. The excuse for this particular visit is to see, in person, the annual...Synchronized Fireflies at Congeree National Park where Jon is a Ranger. We will gather at the park one night along with a couple thousand others around nightfall and watch an amazing spectacle that happens in only two places in the United States...thousands of fireflies all pulsing light together at the same time.

I’ve been told that it is an amazing sight to see, magical and hypnotic. No one really knows why fireflies synchronize in so few places, or why they bother to synchronize at all. The best scientific explanation is that the whole lighting up thing is how fireflies go about selecting a mate...call it flash-flirting. If this is true, then the occasion of a display of thousands of them lighting up at the exact same moment would be the human equivalent of karaoke night at a singles bar. So what we have here is one of nature’s most glorious displays turning out to be all about sex!! Isn’t that always the way? Be that as it may, I can’t wait to see it in person.

The rest of the time, we will just be hanging out with the kids...and the dogs. Yes, we are finally taking Lucy along on one of our trips...and she is stoked about it. She truly loves going bye-bye in the car, and for the most part enjoys hanging out with Jackson...

...right up to the moment where she has had enough of Jackson’s smothering affections, whereupon she jumps up on our bed and guards her safe place from all intruders, foreign and domestic. The Alfa Dog and the Queen Bee.

The Fever Swamp That Is My Imagination...

I was relaxing in my LazyBoy the other night, watching a Nats game on my MLB app...when suddenly an image popped into my head. This sort of thing happens to me quite often. It’s hard to explain. Sometimes an idea for a story will materialize in my melon, unprovoked, dang near fully formed. It’s the strangest feeling. It paralyzes me. Temporarily, I can think of nothing else. This particular story idea was a multifaceted, convoluted mess. I will now attempt to summarize the outline that’s living inside my head, rent free.

It starts with a man laying unconscious on an empty beach. The man begins to come out of it, opens his eyes, and the first thing he sees is a sand crab, popping up out of his hole...

They stare at each other for a minute. The man is disoriented, confused and increasingly panicked. He lifts himself up, looks up and down the beach, seeing no one. He has no idea where he is or how he got there. It occurs to him that he can’t remember...anything. He checks himself. He’s not injured. He’s dressed in jeans and a polo shirt. He’s wearing tennis shoes. He’s covered in sand. He recognizes nothing. He reaches for his wallet. There’s twenty dollars in cash, a picture of a women he doesn’t know and a driver’s license he also doesn’t recognize. He stands up, looks up and down the beach. No houses anywhere. Then, off in the distance he notices someone walking a dog, heading his way.
The next scene if of a woman driving an expensive car. There are a couple of suitcases in the back seat. She is headed for her beach house on Hatteras Island. She has country music playing loudly on the radio. She feels alive and vital...a thrill of expectation running through her veins. She is headed for a rendezvous with the man she has been having a torrid affair with for the past three months. This will be their first time out of town together, away from the prying eyes of friends and enemies. She thinks briefly of her husband, who is out of town on business. She feels a pang of guilt. She instantly suppresses  it. Although he’s a good man and doesn’t deserve her unfaithfulness, her lover takes her places she hasn’t been in years. She feels powerless to resist.

Her husband finishes up his business earlier than expected, and decides to surprise her by driving to the beach house. She had told him she was going down for a few days by herself to work on her tan. As he gets close to the house, a storm starts to form. The winds pick up and it begins to rain. Lightning streaks across the sky. he pulls into the driveway and sees two cars. He walks up the front steps then around the wrap-around porch towards the back entrance...the one he prefers to use. As he walks past the window to their bedroom he sees them in his bed, his wife and his best friend. They are fully engaged in their treachery, oblivious to the man standing at the window.  Filled with rage and aflamed by the betrayal he begins to enter through the back door but stops short, paralyzed by fear and grief. Instead he runs down the deck steps and out onto the beach while the rain gets heavier and the lightening flashes wildly all around him.

When the man with the dog arrives, he asks, You ok, mister? I hardly ever see anyone on my morning walk? The dog is busy sniffing all around the ground where he had been laying, then suddenly lets out a soft growl.

Excuse me, but...where am I?

Why...this is Hatteras Island.

But where are all the houses?

Well, there’s only three or four on this stretch. They are still where they’ve always been, as far as I know. You sure you’re ok?

You sure this is Hatteras?

As sure as I am of anything. I moved here after the war in ‘46 and have been here ever since...16 years of beach living!

Wait...what did you say?

I said I’ve been here 16 years. Moved here in 1946.

The man reached again for his wallet, pulled out his driver’s license, glanced at the picture, then saw it...his date of birth...June 10, 1962.

Ok...thats all I got. All of this came to me in maybe five minutes. Nothing since. The question is...should I write this story, or is it just too weird?