This must be the place: 'Your flag decal won’t get you into heaven anymore’
It was one of those moments that I don’t think I’ll ever forget.
A moment just to myself, where when the moment was unfolding in real time, you feel an immediate and deep gratitude for, this intrinsic connection to the universe.
Yesterday afternoon, while wandering and pondering the roads of Florida, I found myself driving from Jacksonville Beach to St. Augustine. Since I really had nowhere to be at a specific time, I took the scenic route down A1A along the mighty Atlantic Ocean.
Windows rolled down in the pickup truck. Sunshine streaming into the vehicle. Warm, salty air swirling around my mind and body, heart and soul. My right foot holding steady on the gas pedal. The doldrums of winter fading in the rearview mirror.
It was right then and there, I felt like listening to John Prine. I mean, any time is a good time for Mr. Prine. But, in that moment, I played his seminal 1971 self-titled album. Wildly enough, the entire record was the exact time it took to get from Jax Beach to St. Auggie. To note, this album has been in rotation a lot on this current road trip.
So, as I coasted along, well, the coast, “Illegal Smile” kicked things off and put a zap of love and truth in my body, where “Spanish Pipedream” made me smile and be appreciative for my minimalist lifestyle and truly, honestly aiming to be a better person in this world — to radiate genuine kindness and compassion to others for the greater good of humanity on this earth.
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When “Your Flag Decal Won’t Get You Into Heaven Anymore” spilled out of the stereo, I thought of the current state of this country. And how the old adage of “nothing’s the same, everything’s the same” rings true eternally. In that juncture of the leisurely cruise, I noticed a large American flag painted on the entire side of one of the beach bungalows. My thoughts running vast and true.
“Angel from Montgomery” had chills running up and down my body, thinking about all of the incredible faces and places I’ve been lucky enough to know in this life. Visions of dear friends and family either thousands of miles away or now six feet under. A slight tear emerging in my eyes in remembrance for the intricate beauty I have been able to interact with over the years.
And, throughout the journey, I kept thinking how crazy it was that I couldn’t remember the last time I was simply driving in no hurry, with no particular place to be. Years and years of endless assignments and deadlines. Interviews and stories about a kaleidoscope of people, places and things across our world.
But, here, moseying down A1A, I wasn’t late for something, anything. I could drive at and or under the speed limit and it didn’t matter. I could pull over and look at the ocean as many times as I damn well pleased. I could just cruise and ponder. I could gaze over at the ancient waters. I could scan the horizon of my trip, of my intent.
The simple things in life are the most valuable, just like that short cruise along A1A on an otherwise quiet Saturday afternoon. The nose of my rusty, musty pickup truck aimed for downtown St. Auggie. The historic city becoming this familiar, beloved location of sorts for myself and my family over the last 12 years that my folks have wandered down here to escape the unforgiving North Country winter.
The following day was my father’s 83rd birthday. Most of the time we’re in St. Auggie, the weather is pleasant and soothing. Warm sunshine. White sand beaches. Undulating, crashing waves. But, that afternoon, a hectic rainstorm rolled in. Thunder claps and lightning strikes. No matter, for we headed to a local seafood spot for a special, celebratory lunch.
Huddled in the backroom of Cap’s On The Water, it was cold beer and blackened shrimp skewers for me. Glass of pinot noir, tuna tartare and a pesto Caesar salad for the old man (aka: “birthday boy”). Chardonnay and jambalaya for my mom. Soon, hearty conversation and tall tales overtook our table for the better part of the next hour.
My father started to wax poetically about his younger days growing up in the North Country (Upstate New York). What it was like to be raised in the mining town of Lyon Mountain (his father was an iron ore miner). What it was like to be in high school in the 1950s. What it was like to work construction right after graduation, his thoughts swirling around what would become of his inevitable life.
The more he talked, the more I kept prodding him with follow-up questions. I wanted to know as much as I could. I wanted to hear everything offered right from the horse’s mouth about life “back then” and how he feels about the path he took, what he sees now looking around him at the existence he created and, ultimately, inhabited for over eight decades and counting.
“It all goes by so fast. It sucks to get old, boy” he said in a humble tone, his bright blue eyes turning towards me, his well-earned wrinkles and fluffy white hair emphasizing his sentiment, albeit he remains someone who truly embraces and enjoys whatever time he’s allotted on this earth by whoever it is in control from high above.
On the ride back to the vacation rental bungalow my parents are staying in, I put some Merle Haggard (my father’s favorite singer) on for the old man. His face lit up, a grin ear-to-ear as that signature Bakersfield tone of Haggard filled up the vehicle. I cranked the volume up a little more, as the sounds soaked into all present.
Walking back into the bungalow, my father sat down in the nearby big chair in the living room. It was time to watch some college basketball, perhaps a nightcap of whatever red wine was still sitting on the kitchen counter. Today was a day of gratitude and gusto for him. Onward to the knowns and unknowns of tomorrow and every day thereafter.
Life is beautiful, grasp for it, y’all.
