It turns out that I already had a first day of the rest of my life. Apparently I am not very creative. Strunk and White address this problem specifically.
Sunday I arrived at my aunt and uncle’s place down at The Beach. This move is auspicious because for the first time since I left The Rental, I have more stuff than will comfortably fit in Walden. For example, I have two nice guitars, some speakers, and a desktop computer, none of which not belong in a house on wheels. Not the least of which is that they leave little room for me.
When I got up my first morning in Florida I did not feel like making breakfast, so I played guitar, continuing to work through the list of songs that I think I know to see which ones need to be refreshed or removed. If I am going to start performing publicly, perhaps even accepting money, it will be important to know which songs I really know. I had no plans for the day except dinner with Joy.
I checked my email to see that a message I had received the night before was not a figment of my imagination. Indeed, the message did say that a guy who is well-connected with the music scene had agreed to take me on a tour of local venues where I might play. Further I could expect a fabulous boat ride through some incredibly beautiful sounding waters that few people get to see. I lead a charmed life.
At Nine AM Joy’s number appeared on my caller ID. Was she going to postpone our scheduled meal? No, she was calling to suggest that we go to breakfast. She was coming in her jeep, replete with beach permit.
I had an hour to ready myself. Since I am the only one on the premises and this property is very private, I did not have to bother with covering my nakedness on my walk down to the outdoor shower. I was reminded of a visit to Apalachicola when I spent most of the week basking in the sun, naked, overlooking the water.
When Joy arrived we headed out to breakfast. After a delicious breakfast she toured me down 30A, stopping at several places that I might play guitar, introducing herself and me and asking who did music bookings. Oh, I thought, that’s how you do that. You talk to people and ask who is in charge of music. Down in Grayton’s Red Bar, where we had met, we had a couple of margaritas before riding her jeep onto the beach. We walked down the beach collecting trash. Sure, lots of people collect shells on the beach, but Joy collects trash. It seemed like a good example to set.
In the late afternoon she dropped me back at my place. I got a little nap in the hammock before returning to my guitar and the song list. By my math I had nearly one hundred songs, which should be over five hours of music without a repeat.
Still too lazy to cook, I headed out for dinner. Down in Seaside, I saw no one that I knew and decided that I did not have the energy to talk to people that I did not know. Apparently no longer too lazy to cook, I headed to the grocery store. When I emerged with my victuals, there was another Vanagon–the same color as Walden–parked right next to him. We talked a bit about our steeds and I learned that they were looking for a place to stay for the night. I invited them on over and we had a couple hours of conversation before they retired to their camper, Lucy, for the night.
Not a bad first day.