Ordinarily, I try to keep politics and religion out of the Coast of Illinois. But in order to put this post into context, I must break that rather slim, Miss Manners initiated rule.
|I had no idea there were so many Land Pirates...|
I am a Parrothead.
There. I said it.
For those of you who are unfamiliar with the term, please tune your SiriusXM radios to channel 24. Parrothead is the term associated with fans of Jimmy Buffett.
But it's more than a music thing. Or being a member of a club.
I don't officially belong to any of the numerous local Parrothead clubs. They are fine institutions and not only do many fun activities but the basis of their philosophy is to 'Party with a Purpose' which means most group functions have a charitable element attached.
I belonged to one local group for a year and it was fun. I was introduced to some fun people, some great music venues and musicians. But most importantly, for me, belonging to the group made me examine just what it means to live in Margaritaville.
Which leads to another explanation.
Margaritaville, while being a very successful song and brand, is also a philosophy.
A good friend recently asked me to define just what that means.
It's not easy but let me try:
Margaritaville is anywhere you feel most content. It's not a specific place, although it can be.
Living in Margaritaville means enjoying every moment of every day. And if that is impossible then Margaritaville becomes the destination to get you through.
It exists solely in your mind, for those times when work is just too annoying or the kids are just too trying or life has become just too sad.
It is the place where you know you will feel safe. You may not feel happy immediately but you know that it is the place where your best chance of fulfillment exists, even if it is temporary.
Because life is just too short.
And once you find Margaritaville, you will always be able to return.
On rare occasions, Margaritaville becomes a real, living, breathing place.
As it did this past Saturday.
Because of my past affiliation with the St. Louis Parrotheads, I became Facebook friends with several members. And while I didn't renew my official membership, Rob and I prefer to be Feral Rogue Parrotheads, my Facebook friendships still exist.
So thanks to that wonder that is social media, we were invited to the No Name Deck for a concert by the PHINS.
We considered mightily the fact that this party was an hour away at a private home where we hardly knew anyone, on an afternoon in August when the relative humidity has been 200% with a forecast of 99.9% thunderstorms.
So of course, we were in.
As we drove across two bridges and two rivers the clouds parted and the sky turned blue and the sun shined down. The humidity down shifted from steam bath and as we walked into the backyard of our hosts we were greeted with bear hugs and handshakes and a genuine greeting of 'so glad you made it!'.
|Our lovely hosts, who opened their home and backyard and also had the foresight to rent a port-a-potty for the gathering!|
We feasted on potluck and brauts and chatted with other lawn chair pirates as we sipped our fizzy waters and rosé and the occasional mysterious beverage poured from questionably reused apple juice containers.
We sang along with a phenomenal band.
We booed the guy who kept requesting 'Freebird'.
We helped out a local senior center with personal care item donations.
And for a few hours, we lived in Margaritaville.
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Check out the featured post for another tale from my own personal Margaritaville odyssey.