jodyrathgeb

  This is not a political blog, but I've been thinking a lot about immigration lately because of a novel I'm reading: Americanah, by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie.
   The book follows several Nigerian migrants who move to Britain and America, both legally and illegally, to better their lives. America, especially, is not what they had imagined. They struggle in the under-economy to get the fake documentations that will allow them to work, work, work toward a dream based on films, commercials and hearsay.
   As I am reading this book while on North Caicos, it strikes me that the struggles and misunderstandings to the opposite way, too. So many people from the U.S. dream about moving here, or some other island in the sun, with thoughts of living a Jimmy Buffett life. There will be margaritas on the beach, a hammock strung between palm trees and platters of tropical fruit. Indeed, an entire tourist industry has capitalized on these dreams.
   Visiting the islands and living in the islands, however, are quite different things. Those who toss it all in for the carefree life often don't foresee the difficulties of dealing with the high prices at the end of the supply stream (gas at $6.50 a gallon, $20 for eight ounces of cheese), the harsh climate, an unfamiliar bureaucracy and the prejudice. (Yes, there is.)
   Even those rich enough to glide through Customs and Immigration snags, afford the beachfront property and avoid the worry of maintaining homes and vehicles in salt air and bright sun can trip up. All that indolent hammock-swinging gets old. The fun of alcohol becomes a crutch, a way to blur through useless days. Permanent vacation is no trip to the beach.
   This isn't to say that one can't be happy in the islands ... or America, or England, or wherever the dream lies. Places always hold potential; they don't hold promises.
   Or, in the words of a long-ago soft drink commercial: "Nothing difficult is ever easy."

   Maybe I'm a fool. Maybe no one cares about island life, which is my primary fiction topic. Maybe everyone prefers to manufacture their own vision of what it is to live in a place where palm trees, beaches and the sounds of waves are a given.

   Yeah, they figure they know all about it. Margaritas on the beach, from a battery-powered blender. Jimmy Buffett music with a Jimmy Buffett message. All is well, no worries, no shoes, no shirt, no problem.

   No one wants the likes of me telling them that island life is still real life. That people are people, with maybe a local cultural twist. That the setting is merely a nod toward our humanity.

   Maybe it's a dumb idea to be writing stories about island reality. Who cares about the sunstruck women who want to keep overdevelopment away from their island homes? Or about the father who wants to keep the family land in the family? Or the young girl who sees the sea as her only future?

   It's very strange to be writing about simple island life in the midst of such a complicated American society and a complicated publishing world. Sometimes I think that no one cares about my concerns: How does the betrayed woman reconcile with the lover of her husband, or how do the religious man and the atheist remain friends?

   But somehow, the small number of people, of readers, who will care isn't all that important. I need to explore these things. If you're interested, come along.

   A running joke in my college dorm was for someone to put a textbook on her head and announce, "I'm studying by osmosis."
   Well, maybe there was something in that. Maybe all my years of listening to Paul Simon, Stephen Sondheim and Jimmy Buffett taught me something, because I'm now finding my way as a songwriter.
   I can't write tunes. I don't play an instrument and wouldn't know a Major Seventh if it hit me upside the head. But I've always loved lyrics and words and can find a rhythm in them. Iambic pentameter? Yeah, I can do that.
   My first song, "Sand Fly Morning," began on a North Caicos morning when the sand flies were heavy. As I hid under my sheet, the words started coming together. "It's a sand fly morning; come back, breeze."
   With that as part of a refrain, I put together several verses. I did nothing with the song for a while, then last year asked songwriter Dave McKenney, whom I know through the Parrot Head Club of Richmond, if he'd be interested in putting it to music. He was, and next month will see the debut of the song at Ashland Coffee & Tea. I'm looking forward to hearing it.
   Island things are also featured in two more songs I've written, "Walking With My Potcake" and "No Fancy Breeds." I wrote the first in response to a call for lyrics from the Potcake Foundation here, which rescues island dogs and finds homes for them. Musician Lovey Forbes (pictured), my neighbor and husband of the organization's founder, would be putting together an album to benefit the potcakes.
   Lovey liked my words and told me, as we crossed ways at the ferry landing, that he'd already put it to music, so on this trip to the island I asked if I could hear the song. We arranged to get together in a few days, and he said, "Do you have any more potcake songs? I need more."
   The very next morning, I woke up with a line in my head: "I got a pot-licking, pot-bellied potcake." I set to writing a song that included a potcake, an island cat and a rooster.
   Lovey said it was easy to put the words to music. "I like how you write." Wow. What writer doesn't want to hear something like that?
    He introduced both songs yesterday at his weekly local gig, and he told me he's interested in any songs I do beyond the potcakes, too.
   Thrilled? Too weak of a word for how I feel. But it rhymes with "fulfilled."
   I guess I'm a songwriter now.

    Back in the heyday of mission statements, five-year plans and goal-setting, I used to tell people that my goal in life was to be five feet tall. It was a snarky comment on the times, but also a bit of wishful thinking.
    Alas, I will never reach the goal. I topped out at four feet, eleven inches, and I realize now that the Age of Shrinking has begun.
    Never. It's such a final word, but when you think about it, there's another side as well. Some nevers are good things, stuff to be thankful about. Other nevers are the wistful type ... oh, it would be nice, but it's never going to happen. With that in mind, I made these lists.

    THINGS I'VE NEVER... (and that's just fine)
    Been arrested. I'm sure it would make good writing material, but I'm happy to live without the experience.
    Gotten a tattoo. I'm slowly getting used to them on others, but I don't want one.
    Broken a bone. (See "been arrested.")
    Tried Cocaine, heroin, crystal meth or PCP. (Ditto.)
    Gone skydiving. I know this is on many people's Bucket List, but it's not on mine.
    Paid $500 or more for a pair of shoes. That's my definition of obscenity.
    Eaten a bug (knowingly). And now that insect meals are "in," I'm glad I no longer review restaurants.
    Killed or physically injured anyone. Definitely an experience I can live without.

THINGS I'LL PROBABLY NEVER... (though it would be nice)
    See the aurora borealis. Sure, I could plan a trip to Alaska, but it's cold up there, so unless the light show moves south, I'll probably miss it.
    Be skinny. Oh, well.
    Be published in The New Yorker. Chances are slim.
    Be on The Daily Show. (Ditto.)
    Get Jimmy Buffett to endorse my novel. Oh, I've tried. Failed.
    Have a conversation in English (or Cat) with my cats. I don't think universal translators go that far.

    That's my list. How about yours? I'd love to hear the nevers of others!
    Finally, I noticed here that my first group of nevers is slightly longer than the second. Negativity, it appears, does have its rewards.

    Now and then I need to send out a newsletter to myself, just to keep up with the bits and pieces of life. Here goes.
    COUNTDOWN: The benefit art show and sale I've been working on is all coming together for Friday night. This was really a first for me, as I'm not used to arranging public events and have always had trouble asking people for favors or donations for anything. As you might recall, my mother ended up having to buy all my Girl Scout cookies! But because this was a good cause for someone else, it was easier to promote and I had fun doing it.
    I hope I've done a good job and that lots of people come and buy the paintings. I hope I can send a bunch of money to North Caicos for that playground the kids want.
    HIATUS: I will not be posting a blog for the next two weeks because I'll be in Athens, then on a tour of the Greek islands. And unlike most people these days, I am NOT taking it with me. No smartphone, IPad or laptop. I won't be posting on or checking Facebook. I won't be slogging through my email. I will be - and I love this word - incommunicado.
    STARS: When I do get back, the next big event that I'll be bending ears about is Stars on the Water, the big annual fundraiser for the Parrot Head Club of Richmond. It's Aug. 9-10 at the Sheraton Park South in Chesterfield County, and it's open to everyone. Lots of fun, very relaxing. Just a big party for people who enjoy the Buffett-style music and lifestyle. For info, visit www.phcor.com.
    FUTURE FOR FEL: My recent marketing efforts for Fish-Eye Lens have waned, but they're not gone yet. I'm hiring out as a speaker for groups, book clubs, anyone who will have me. Anyone interested can find me through my publisher, Brandylane (www.brandylanepublishers.com) or Togather (www.togather.com), a new site that acts as a matchmaker between authors and groups who want to listen to an author, either in person or online. Another chapter for the book.
    I look forward to getting back to regular blogs in August, with lots of observations about characters, stories and islands (Greek, that is) in my head to share.

    Hurricane season, which officially begins on Saturday, has inspired a number of songs, many written by Jimmy Buffett and other Parrot Head favorites. Without even checking my CDs, I can name "Surfin' in a Hurricane," Sunny Jim's "Hurricane Party" and, of course, "Tryin' to Reason With Hurricane Season."
    The songs for "my" hurricane, though - that is, the music that brings back memories from the first one I experienced on North Caicos, Hurricane Irene in 2011 - are a bit different.
    First, there's the 1936 Matty Malneck song, "Goody Goody." Why? As Irene strengthened, a hurricane family gathered in my house: me, my Bahamian friend Aggie on a visit, and neighbor Addison, who thought it might comfort us to have a male around. While the electricity stayed on, we watched old movies. "Mrs. Henderson Presents" from 2005 was on when the power finally went out. "Goody Goody" was one of the last things we heard before the sound of relentless wind took over.
    "So you met someone who
    set you back on your heels,
    goody, goody!"
    In retrospect, it was appropriate, since hurricanes do set you back on your heels.
    We'd expected most of what happened, but not the endurance of the storm. When there was still wind and rain after a full 24 hours, Addison began to sing, "Goodnight Irene." Yup. Perfect, even though I was surprised that he knew the song.
    Then there was the aftermath. Although we, and Aloe House, had come through safely, island life in general was disrupted. And Tom was due to arrive in Provo! His first flight, the day after the storm, was canceled because of the airport closure. The next day was a mishmash of conflicting information and shaky communications. Would he make it? Would I be able to get to Provo to greet his flight? Would I be able to get from the ferry dock to the airport, given the reports we were getting about flooding on Provo? As I kept trying to get online and figure out which local phone service was working, I was getting more and more frustrated. Suddenly Aggie slapped a drink in front of me and began singing Bob Marley's "Every little thing's gonna be all right."
    It was, and the song still resonates as a buffer in a difficult time.
    I'm pretty sure that most people associate major life events with songs. I remember working with a compositor at a newspaper in Pennsylvania who would mist over at the first few notes of Glenn Miller's "In the Mood." It was, for him, both a war song and a courtship song.
    But the association must be organic. Tom and I were both dismayed that for "our" war - the first Gulf, when we were waking at 2 a.m. so Tom could do his grisly-necessary job of making sure that guys on the flight line to Kuwait had made and signed a will - the songs forced upon us were Lee Greenwood's "Proud to be an American" (I wasn't, when this all seemed to be about oil) and "Wind Beneath My Wings" (which is aerodynamically incorrect). So I had no war music. Just the question, "What are you doing here?" when I'd appear at work at 4 a.m., too awake to go back to sleep. Even newspaper folks were kept out of the loop of what was really happening. And I guess that's a song in its own right.
    So. Hurricane season? It's going to happen, no matter how much we worry or prepare. What might be new is what's on the soundtrack.

    Back in high school, I started keeping a notebook of quotes I liked, gathering them from the literature we studied in classes, pop song lyrics and even from my teachers. I called the collection "Freaked-out Amoebas," the title coming from a description my senior English teacher made of something I can't remember. I just liked the phrase.
    I still have the notebook. It's at Aloe House, not here in Richmond, following a Murphy's Law corollary for people who live in two places that says everything you want is at the other house. I'd love to look at it now, coming up on my 60th birthday, but I can't. So instead here's the beginning of a new version, more than 40 years on.
    Some of these quotes were in the original FOA. Others just fit into where I am today. These are more pop-song than literary, but perhaps as we grow older it's easier to remember our cultural immersion rather than our education.
    Anyway, some thoughts for the ages and the aging:
From Robert Herrick-
    Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
    Old Time is still a-flying:
    And this same flower that smiles to-day
    To-morrow will be dying.
From Shakespeare-
    And if I laugh at any mortal thing
    'Tis that I may not weep.
From Billy Joel-
    But you know that when the truth is told
    You can get what you want or you can just get old.
    You're gonna kick off before you even get halfway through.
    Ooo, when will you realize
    Vienna waits for you?
From Paul Simon-
    So I'll continue to continue to pretend
    My life will never end
    And flowers never bend with the rainfall.
and-
    Sail on, Silvergirl.
    Sail on by.
    Your time has come to shine,
    All your dreams are on their way.
    See how they shine.
    Oh, if you need a friend
    I'm sailing right behind.
    Like a bridge over troubled water
    I will ease your mind.
And, of course, from Jimmy Buffett-
    And if it doesn't work out there'll never be any doubt
    That the pleasure was worth all the pain.
And finally-
    If it suddenly ended tomorrow
    I could somehow adjust to the fall.
    Good times and riches and son of a bitches
    I've seen more than I can recall.
    These changes in latitude, changes in attitude
    Nothing remains quite the same.
    Through all of the islands and all of the highlands
    If we couldn't laugh we would all go insane.

    Hanging out at the farmers' market, listening to some good local jazz and R&B, watching a parade of fashion and un-fashion...
    ...ah yes, the writing life?
    Back when I was a kid, telling people I wanted to be a writer, this scene was the farthest thing from my head. I just wanted to make stories. I had no inkling that once you wrote a long one (a novel) and it got published, there would be all this selling stuff. (Read the word "selling" as if you are a 15-year-old girl asked to be the assistant in her 10-year-old brother's science project demonstration.)
    But I've given up on complaining about the need to get people to look at/buy Fish-Eye Lens. I know that the book isn't going to magically find its audience. Now I just want to make that process as much fun as writing the novel was.
    And so I'm trying to find sales venues that match the book's devil-may-care attitude and laid-back lifestyle: beachy places, gatherings of Jimmy Buffett fans, a jazz festival.
    It's not as if I'm unused to these fairs and festivals; I've been going to them for years. But I was always on the other side, one of the strollers and gawkers who stop to look more closely only if there's something to pique interest.
    Thus my gimmicks: the island music, an umbrella drink (even if it's only really water), the beach chair and an inflatable palm tree named Eileen.
    Oh, but I am still such an amateur! I realized that at the Jazz Fest, watching my fellow vendors set up. They have tents and display walls and generators and gadgets that take credit cards and ... well, you name it. This is a business for them, not a pleasant day at the market that might result in a sale or two.
    The experience gave me so much more respect for the artists, farmers and food truck operators who do this all the time, getting their stuff out there to draw our attention.
    It would be wonderful to say that all these efforts end up in sales that exceed the time, money and effort put into them ... but I doubt it. The total receipts from my day were a few nice chats with people, a few business cards gone to those who want to look up the book online, the pleasure of listening to the music and the humor of one four-legged visitor who inspected Eileen and then decided she wasn't real enough for a leg lift.
    I hope that the other vendors did better financially, and that they had as much fun as I did.