Mother Mother Ocean POST #35

     Pirate Looks at 40 - Gulf Shores, Al July 11, 2010

          I remember the first time I ever saw the ocean, at nine years old on a family vacation at Myrtle Beach.  For some reason, the very thought of it, it’s size and vastness always terrified me yet, since I was a small child, there was a strong pull in the back of my mind to see it.  We arrived at our campsite after dark and, once it was set up, my dad decided to take my sister Sandy and I to the beach to see it.  He had told us stories of his three month adventure on a navy ship and we asked many questions about its size, depth, and the creatures that lived within – though this was pre-jaws so the thought of sharks never entered our minds.  It was a dark night with no moon when we walked down to the beach, which must have been somewhat near our campsite.  All I remember was hearing the waves crashing into shore but seeing nothing except billowing, shadowy figures walking the shorelines; just like us.  It was scary and I couldn’t wait to go back to our safe tent.  I know we went to the beach on the subsequent days but I have no recollection of the ocean during that trip.

               It wasn’t until, as a teenager spending my summers in Panama City, that I fell in love with the sugar white beaches on the Gulf.   The memories of the soft warm breezes and the smell of salt in the air, riding the waves – when there is no post-hurricane undertow - collecting shells, digging for sand dollars with our toes, and just listening to the sound of the waves lived in my mind when I settled in the north during my twenties, thirties and into my forties.

       The ocean called me every year as I watched the leaves change colors and drop from the trees.  I heard it calling during many winters while sitting in a window watching snow fly.  After the internet came out, the closest I could get to it was pulling up beach pictures, wishing I was there.  I fell in love with the ocean all over again after moving to the Gulf Coast and it comforted me during the loss of Mom, when I had no close friends to walk that part of my life’s journey with me. 

               The ocean still terrifies me!  Sometimes I lay awake thinking about its raw power, or the depth, or of tsunamis.   I lay sleepless with all kinds of horrible scenarios, vowing be more careful (not that I’m already not) and to never go out there in a boat (which I don’t).  As a child, Kare (my sister) and my biggest fear was falling asleep on the beach lying on a raft and waking up floating in the middle of the ocean and not seeing land.  We’d drum up such visions while lying in bed at night (when we should have been sleeping) and scare ourselves to half to death, even before we ever saw the sea.  On the Gulf, I have many friends who work offshore or who sail, or ‘cruise’,   most of whom have their own ‘rogue wave’ stories and I listen rapturously, hanging onto every detail that heightens my fear, only to find myself longing to be at the beach when weekend comes around, and never wanting to leave when it’s time to go home.

             One of my fondest memories is the post-oil-spill Jimmy Buffet concert.  Though there were tar balls on the beaches, the sand was still sugar white and, on that 95 degree day, there was a beautiful breeze that made the heat not only bearable, but comfortable.  The sun shone brightly in the blue skies and the gulf was as smooth as glass – or at least pretty waveless – and crafts from pontoons to sailboats, speedboats, and yachts anchored along the coastline in the emerald green water where Jimmy Buffet, a native from this area, gave his concert.  His song Margaritaville was originally written about Gulf Shores/Orange Beach, Alabama.  

            They had such a huge part of the beach blocked off so that we didn’t have to be in the crowd.  In fact, we sat on blankets quite a ways back and could see and hear perfectly.  We grieved for the damage that was still taking place that very day - around day 80 of the oil spill; as hundreds of thousands of gallons were spilling into the gulf daily.  We wondered if that could be the last of the Gulf as we knew it; or if life on the coast would never be the same.  We were scared of what the future held but basked in the moment of the ‘here and now’, grateful for what we had, and vowing never to take the ocean for granted.  Yet, her strong, beautiful, sparkling waters comforted us, and she reassured us, that she, too, was fighting for her own life.

               Now we prepare for Isaac, which is nothing new to the ocean.  As I sat on the beach yesterday watching the waves roll in, I wondered what it would be like on Tuesday.  ‘Would the very spot I’m sitting on be hundreds of feet offshore?’  ‘Will the beach be destroyed?’  ‘What does the angry sea look like when it is being tossed about by a storm with a name?’  I’m very curious, yet I don’t want to find out!  But one thing I do is look to the creator of the sea and give thanks for its beauty, its fierceness, and life-giving forces that we so often take for granted.    Hurricanes only hit on average, about every 23 years to the same area, though all season every year we are on watch.  But in spite of it all, on the Gulf Coast, the living is easy, gentle, and slow. As we prepare for the hurricane, I think of those I love near and far, and those who have touched my life along the way; and I vow to love more, live more, and play more.  

My mind goes back to the ocean, as terrifying as it can be, I think of its beauty, and for the first time, I understand and marvel at the similarities between our relationship with the sea and that with God.  We respect it, yet we are terrified of it.  It loves us whether or not we love it back.  It nurtures us and we work it and reap the fruits.  But if we cross it, or disrespect it, we reap the consequences.  An old saying comes to mind:  ‘Never turn your back on the sea, because you never know what it’s going to do.’   We don’t know what it’s going to do, and I do my best to follow that advice.   But I will always be glad that, in spite of my fear, I have fallen in love with the ocean because of the life it gives me, the peace it brings, its ability to wash away the not-so-good memories with each wave that rushes back out to sea, and it brings in fresh life to my spirit, telling me that, no matter how bad the storms may be, there will always be the morning after.

               

The Night of the Living Dead!!! Post # 34

Some stories are best left untold.  But time and again, this one has knocked on my door, begging to be written.  True to form, I ask my self, ‘Is there a moral here?’  As far as I’m concerned, if there is no moral, point, or plot, it’s not worth telling.  But there is a moral. There is a point.  But I’m not so sure there is a plot!

            It was late last summer, 2011 on a warm, sultry, southern night.   Arriving home late from the beach, we pulled in the driveway and, as usual, I stopped to observe the full moon hovering over the Live Oaks and drink in the smell of Sweet Ginger flowers that permeated the air.   I thanked God – as I had done hundreds of times over the previous three years – that I am in the south, particularly Mobile.

            A twinge of guilt lingered in the back of my mind because I was too tired to give a longer audience to a perfectly beautiful night.  But the no-see’ems won out.  As discussed in my post, ‘The Bugs of Mobile’, in order to truly enjoy the south, you must make peace with the bugs. I had done a great job!  It’s not uncommon to find one or two palmetto bugs in your house in the morning, always lying upside down as though they just flip over at sunrise.   But like anything, there must be a balance. 

            I turned on the living room light and saw a palmetto bug – some call them roaches though they’re not even related.  As usual, I found the nearest shoe that is not mine and killed it.   I went to grab a napkin and turned on the kitchen light.   On the wall was another one so I killed that one too, grabbed the napkin, picked it up and headed toward the living room to pick up the last one.  But there was another one so I killed that one too.  That was the first time I had ever seen more than two in a day.  Many times, we don’t see any. 

            I went to put the three gigantic bugs in the garbage.  In the dining room was another one.  At that point, I yelled into Les, who was ready to crawl into bed,   “Something’s not right here!”  True to form, as most men do, he basically patted me on the head telling me I was overreacting.  Then there was another one so I made him get that one.  Then another in the kitchen, three more in the ‘pod’ – a big room in the middle of the house that does nothing – and four in the bathroom.  At that point, I was not only frustrated with the bugs, but also at Les for minimizing it.  Then I realized that in every direction was two or three more.  Les was now concerned!  It was starting to look like the night of the living dead with an attack of gigantic zombie bugs infiltrating the house.

            We were renting and I knew that Barry our Biologist (and landlord), like Les, would never believe this – so I went to the garbage, pulled the previous 20 bugs out and put them in a baggie.  Twenty bugs!!!   NOT!!!  The bugs continued to materialize out of nowhere!  The more that came out, the more frantic I became because Chicken Liver Les would be quite content to leave me fighting the battle and I was afraid of not catching them before they spread to our bedroom or found hiding places.  It became evident that drastic action must be taken!  We were just going to have our very own, old fashioned, bug-stompin!

            I put on a pair of sneakers and ran around stomping them, grabbing them off the walls with napkins, swatting them with fly flappers, anything to keep them from getting away.  Les became frantic, asking me what the hell I was doing, to which I replied angrily, ‘Having a bug stompin party!’  I continued bagging them and was up to 65 when we got the brilliant idea use flea bombs.  We were de-fleaing the dogs the next day and bombing the house to prevent reinfection.  We bombed every room except our bedroom and locked ourselves in for the night.  At least we would be safe in there!  The bugs thought so too!

            About twenty minutes later, Les was sleeping and my adrenalin was still up so I was reading.  Out of my peripheral vision, I saw a bug running up my closet door.  Les assured me there was only one.   As I stood up, I saw three more following their buddy up the wall.    Again, I went on a killing rampage while Les pulled the blankets over his head laughing.  We saw no more that night but in the morning, it looked like a bomb had gone off!  Hmm!  One did!  There were over 100 more.  I bagged every one of them and told Les to take them to our Biologist so he would believe it!   But Les felt that was over doing it.  I had called and told Barry what happened.  Les ran into him outside and he smirked and said, “Were there really that many?”  Les replied, “There was a lot!  I quit counting at 30!” 

            He came in to assure me he supported my story and shared the dialogue.  “Thirty!?!?!  Why did you tell him 30 !?!?   Now he will never believe it!”  I was furious but Les swore that by saying he stopped counting at 30 Barry got the message.  That day Les went sailing and I re-bombed the whole house and went away for five hours, then came back and bleached the house from top to bottom.  We only saw about three bugs the whole rest of the time we lived there.  However, I was petrified it would happen again.  I was telling my sister what happened when she said, “Something had to have changed for them to come in like that!”  I realized we had had a storm a few days before and there was damage to our laundry room wall AND a large live-oak branch fell in the back yard, apparently their home!  They decided that our house would be quite adequate.  We removed the branch and did wall repair.

            About a week later I got a text from Georgia, our biologist’s girlfriend that said, “We had the night of the living dead last night!  Now Barry believes you!”  Apparently, since our house was no longer hospitable, they moved on to Barry’s.  (Karma!  J)  They warned us they were bombing and advised us to do a second round and warned other neighbors as they are prone to keep going until they find a new home! 

            The moral of the story is, much of drama in life is not about what happens but how we react to it.  On the night of the living dead, we were just starting to catch up financially but were not over the hump.  We nearly went to a hotel for a couple of nights stretching our already tight budget, and fought the knee-jerk reaction to call the landlord and throw a fit, causing a good relationship to sour.     Sometimes we get hit with too many bad things at once and the tendency is to overreact and tap out our resources (emotionally, financially, relationally, and physically).  Minor hiccups turn into huge, blown-out-of-proportion monsters where lives, relationships, reputations, health, and finances are damaged – sometimes beyond repair.  When we are seized by an onslaught of bad luck, sometimes all we can do is have an old fashioned bug stompin’, squashing one problem at a time until the barrage slows down enough to clean up the mess and reassess.  But the reality is, if the worse thing that happens today is an invasion of big, zombie palmetto bugs, then life is good!  Real good!

                        

'I' is The Queen!!! POST #33

Another magical night in Mobile – like so many in the past four years. There are too many factors that fed into Monday night; the night that I was Queen! So many life-long prayers were answered in such a simple, symbolic way and it was the most fun I ever had.

I ‘m a dreamer and often see the good in people when others can’t, yet I have a very hard time accepting credit for my own accomplishments and have often shot myself in the foot by passing it off too quickly. Though none of us could accomplish anything without the help of others, when recognition comes my way, my first instinct is to look at who else I should be passing the credit to, or who I should be pulling along. I’ve always preferred creating stars rather than being the star and often have felt embarrassed and self-conscious, like somehow, I didn’t really deserve it, or like an imposter where someone would stand up and yell, “She’s really not that great!”

Mobile has helped tremendously with this (see my post – “Legs of Ballies”) yet I didn’t realize how much so until Monday night. Two weeks ago, Les pointed out a plea for volunteers to dress in Mardi Gras attire and parade into a CEO convention to let out-of-towners know about the tradition that is fairly unique to this part of the country and - I must add – started here in Mobile! Always jumping at the chance to share the magic of Mobile, I immediately responded and decided to solicit a group of ten volunteers to participate.

As the night approached, I became less interested and more self-conscious. As my group of volunteers grew, then thinned, the thought of pulling a no-show was very strong. The event was at the Battle House – the same venue as my ‘The Big Band in the Crystal Ball Room’ Post… and once again, the grand marble stair case would come into play. I had written in the ‘Big Band’ post about Les and my own a grand descent down the staircase, though unannounced. This time, our entrance would be announced!

We arrived at our holding suite to an extremely large ice bucket of beer, wine, and beverages. While the CEO’s were at a reception in the grand ballroom, we were treated our own party while getting ready. It turned out that 12 of my recruits showed and there was about 35 total. It took about two minutes to become totally comfortable with mostly strangers and, in Mardi Gras fashion, the fun began. Though we arrived at 7 p.m. our tableau would not be until after 8:40 p.m. We had been there nearly an hour when the organizer came up and asked if I would be the queen. That was the first I had heard there would actually be a
queen that night.

My first thought was, “Why me?” I looked around and could see many other ‘Queenier’ women and was ready to point out and nominate them instead. But it was just a thought! A very, very, fleeting, fly in and right back out, thought! ‘Why, Of course I’d be the Queen!’ I heard myself say. And from that point on, I was swarmed with people attaching a long, extended robe - that clashed with the color of my dress - onto my shoulders and my only thought was, “It clashes! We can do this at Mardi Gras!” Then, on came the crown, and for the next 45 minutes, there was a barrage of pictures being taken with the queen. Next we were summoned to the top of the staircase.

The story of Mardi Gras was told and the King was first to make his grand entrance down the marble staircase, as many Mardi Gras Kings and Queens have done for over a century. As I waited for my own grand walk as queen, various thoughts went through my head – thoughts that surprised me. My Great Granddaddy was not one of the well-known families of Old Mobile, nor was I born and raised here, though, as I’ve said many times, my spirit was manufactured here. I thought of Camilla Parker Bowles – who stole her way into the throne. Yet, it really wasn’t Mardi Gras, rather a long, live commercial about Mobile, the city I love. For the first time in my, I knew that I knew that I knew, that I was the Queen! The Queen of Showing off Mobile! And in order to do so, it was essential to accept and step into the role!

The king reached the bottom of the stairs, and then they introduced me - the Queen! Queen Mary Beth! And for the first time in my life, as far back as I can remember, all self-consciousness was gone. I slowly waltzed down the stairs, doing exactly as instructed – “Walk like the dress you are in is made of snake skin!” I descended the stairs, the barefoot Queen, waving to a cheering crowd, meeting my king at the bottom. Taking his arm, we paraded through the room waving to the still-cheering crowd. Then we came to the front where we were handed another set of crowns and a king and queen from our CEO guests were chosen – a married couple of 45 years. 

The King and I (the Queen) got to crown King CEO and his queen and hand them their royal scepters. And then the rest of the Mardi Gras crowd was announced and “When the Saints Go Marching In” began playing as they danced down the stairs and through the crowds as well. For the next 20 – 30 minutes, the King – a real Mardi Gras king - and I stuck together dancing paths through the crowds and watching as some stiff-as-board CEO’s retreated to the sidelines as though we had just landed from Uranus, and others jumped in to dance as though they, too, had been dying to do it all their lives but nobody ever told them they could!

         As dramatic as we came in, we left, ascending the stairs in a slow dramatic walk, waving again to the cheering crowd. We stopped for one last wave on the marble balcony as the King, in true Mardi Gras Fashion, began a conversation with myself and my two Marshalls who had been manning my robe all night – one of whom was Les - about the ‘little people’. We stood and watched them, basking in our own greatness. And for the first time in my life, I felt completely natural, as though somehow, this were part of the plan for me – not to be on a pedestal, and certainly not to think I’m better than everybody else. But sometimes, we are offered a gift and we refuse to take it. Somebody pays us a compliment and we look around to see who they are talking about. Or we do something that is worth merit and then feel guilty or ashamed to take the credit. I can think of hundreds of other people who deserve credit for my accomplishments, successes and for all the good things that have ever happened to me. But this post, like that night, is about me! I’m the one to be celebrated! For the first time ever, I have been let out of the prison of self-consciousness. This was one of those ‘Ah ha’ moments, or one of life’s epiphany experiences when I realized that, for this night, I is the queen!

Mad Eyes Post #32

             I was driving through downtown Mobile today when I saw some people taking pictures of the Live Oaks.  I sat at a stop sign watching them marvel at the grand trees, remembering, all to well, my own awe when I had first seen them.  This got me thinking back to the easy adjustment to Mobile and I began comparing my feelings from then to now.  The transition was so smooth because the lifestyle here is so much easier than where I came from.  But, looking back, there was anxiety re-establishing my life here.   There was alot to learn.

       The last time I'd opened a checking account was over twenty years before and I still used that one.  Shortly after arriving in Mobile, I opened an account at a local credit union and deposited several thousand dollars.   Being a conservative spender, I wasn’t even remotely concerned about bouncing a check until receiving a call telling me a $30 check had bounced.  I knew it wasn’t possible so I called the bank only to find out it had bounced, twice,  and several other small checks had as well.  Though only a total of $110 in checks was written, there was over $200 racked up in fees.   What the heck!?!?

        Before going on, it is pertinent to say, I was still adjusting to the heat, was dehydrated, worrying over my mom, and had a severe migraine headache, seeing spots in my vision.  On this day, we were having a torrential downpour so the lighting was poor.

         I was certain it was a mistake so there was no need to “go New York” on them.  The tellers’ nice, pleasant voice assured me that everything would be okay.  But, after going into my account she explained that, because I was a new customer, all checks deposited are held for 11 business days for the first 60 days.   I had written a check to myself from my account in New York.   The money was held and the teller could not reverse the fees.  Not being one to throw away money, I demanded to talk to a supervisor, who told me that, if I could get to the credit union in 20 minutes, she will prevent even more charges that were due to hit at 3 p.m. but she wasn’t sure what else she could do. I was furious!

        I also looked like crap.  Mom had always told me that when you need to advocate for yourself, ‘You must look your best.’  “If you look like crap, you’ll be treated like crap!”  Something that I  found to be sad, but true.  So I rushed around, changed my clothes, put on makeup and headed out the door.  It is a good thing I didn’t know anyone here at that point because I was driving like a bat out of hell with a HUGE frown on my face!  

       Just before jumping out of the car, I grabbed my lipstick to top off my ‘best-self’ look, hoping it would help my case.  As I adjusted the mirror, my first thought was, “What the hell?”  I did not know that woman or how she got in my mirror!  I thought,  'I don't have thick, black eyebrows!  Who is she?' 
   
       Then I realized that when rushing to do my makeup, I had used my light brown eyebrow pencil – which is much harder – on my eyelids which, therefore, had no color.  I had used the much softer, jet black pencil on my eyebrows which resulted in me having obviously fake, dark black eyebrows, looking way, way angrier than I already was!   I looked so scary, it even scared me!

       Grabbing a napkin, I began wiping it off and, to my horror; it only smeared creating thicker, black eyebrows.  The more I wiped, the worse it got. I became even more frustrated after looking at the clock and seeing that, in 10 minutes, there would be more fees.

      Suddenly, I began laughing hysterically; so hard that tears rolled down my face, smearing my mascara making everything worse.  The worse I looked, the harder I laughed.  I called the bank from the parking lot and begged them to give me a couple extra minutes, which they did.  I ran home, washed my face and redid my makeup; laughing the whole time but, this time paying close attention to what I was doing, then I headed back. 

         When I entered and asked for the manager, I tried to hide my smile so as not to undermine the seriousness of this.  We went into her office on the opposite side of a glass window and sat down.  Before either said a word, I began laughing uncontrollably to the point of tears again.  She sat, watching, not knowing if she should laugh with me or call 911.   Between breaths and wiping the tears, I explained what had happened and that, had I not taken that last look in the mirror, I would have come barrolling in there all mad with dark, black eyebrows looking like a crazy woman.  By the time I was done telling the story, the manager was laughing so hard that she, too, was crying and wiping her own tears with a tissue, as the tellers watched inquisitively through the glass window. 

            By the time we could stop laughing, she looked at me and said, “Why Miss Harris!  You’ve just made my day!  Let’s get rid of all these fees here!”  She walked me to the lobby and, with a big smile said, “Welcome to Mobile!”   I left still laughing.  I thank God for those mad eyes, because they are probably what bailed me out of losing a couple hundred dollars.  I still use that credit union and, for about the first year, every teller knew my name and greeted me with huge smiles and looks that said, ‘We totally know all about your mad eyes!!!’      

Seasons In the Sun Post #31

The humidity is gone and the sun is setting lower in the sky.  Another year just flew by and summer did it's final dance.  We have entered our 4th year here in Mobile.  In some ways it seems we've always been here.  Memories of the north seem so faint, except of the people I love and of course, the snow, which I don't love!


Pumpkins are showing up on porches and the Victorian decorations that make the Halloween season in the south so beautiful are popping up everywhere.  For some reason, fall is my time of introspection, my season for awareness of the cycle of time and how fast it is moving.  I'm thinking of this past year and it's special memories.


The funny thing is, as I was choosing photos, I realized there is a ton of things that aren't on my list below.  But the list is written more for me than my readers at this point.

This past summer has been extremely difficult - getting a business off the ground and realizing that my savings is diminishing faster than business is taking off.  Walking through the valley of the shadow of the unknown.  I don't like this place.  It's scary here and I am faced with the fact that my faith in God, in life, and even basic concepts like 1+1=2 (because sometimes it doesn't) are being challenged.

Many business owners who started from the ground up (on their own resources) tell me they've been in this place.  But the bridge part is scary - crossing over from the safe and familiar to a concept or a dream.  It is seeing the end of current resources to grab onto new resources; letting go of one lifeline to accept another.

I'm thankful though, that this journey is here in Mobile, where the suffocating feelings will not be exacerbated by months of low hanging, grey clouds and snow that blocks my vision to what is ahead.  There are seasons here - it's just a matter of what is blooming - and in this precarious time, things definitely need to bloom!

The waters may be rough but in Mobile Bay, the shores are near and the bottom is not far - which can be a good or a bad thing.   But there is always someone or something (see the list below) to make this journey a little easier and to remind me that the sun will shine again.  There is a season for everything - even anxiety and fear.  But in the midst of it all, life will go on.  Parades will happen.  Bands will play.  People will dance.  I will dance - perhaps out of fear - but you can bet, I will dance.

Memories of October 2010 - October 2011

• New Orleans more than once
• The neighborhood street party
• Porch parties and sharing food and wine
• Big Band Caberet at the Battle House
• The Black Hat Society Witches party
• Halloween night neighborhood parties and dinners that start during trick or treating and last into the later hours of the night.
• Disney World in December - missing our beautiful neighborhood Christmas party
• St. Augustine
• New Years Eve and the Moonpie drop
• Mardi Gras and all it's parades
• Joe Cain Day - brunch at Stacy's, party at Tracy & Tom's
• Fat Tuesday - Pancake Breakfast at Doug and Renee Green's, Parades, party at the...house  - thanks to Jaime Betbeze
• Two days in Pensacola
• The Order of the Polka Dots Ball
• Order of Venus Ball
• Percephones Ball
• Order of Pheonix Ball
• The Azalea Trail Run Brunch
• Our church missions silent auction reception
• Crawfish Boil
• Poker Run
• Monthly Artwalks in Mobile
• Artwalks in Fairhope 
• Various sail boat races and listening to the daytime bands watching the boats in the bay
• Mother's Day in the park
• Two daughters graduating - one from college, one from high school
• A trip to New York
• Dinner at Randy and Arlene's - northern Italian style!
• Three days in Biloxi
• Our meet-your-neighbor party

The Real Story Behind The Crichton Leprechaun Post #30

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nda_OSWeyn8     Click on this

CLICK ABOVE FOR NEWS FOOTAGE ON THE CRICHTON LEPRECHAUN

        It was late March in 2006, 2 years and 2 months BM – Before Mobile.  We had barely heard of Mobile.  We were still in Syracuse where, not a lot goes on during the winters for those who are not avid snow fans. St. Patrick’s Day celebrations are about it.

With green everywhere and talks of leprechauns all over the news, my son Tom, then 14, googled the word.  Suddenly, he came barreling downstairs laughing, begging me to go up to the office and look at what came up.  There were five of us, myself, a girlfriend, and my three kids.  Tom pulled up the video of the Crichton Leprechaun.  We watched it over and over, laughing hysterically at those poor people deep down in Alabama, thinking they had seen a Leprechaun. 

        At this point, I had been introduced to Birmingham and had fallen in love with it, which gave Tom all the more reason to goad me about this being in Alabama.   I assured him that this would never happen in ‘the ‘ham’!  Mobile was far, far from Birmingham!

        Time went on and we forgot about the Crichton Leprechaun…that is, until we decided to move to Mobile.   Tom asked many questions about the area.  ‘Where is it?  What’s it like?’  Then as Tom’s face often does when he thinks of a joke or remembers something humorous, his eyes lit up and with an open mouthed, half-smiling gasp, he ran to the computer and typed in ‘Leprechaun in Alabama’.  Sure enough, the Crichton video came back up and, like that night two years before, he ran back downstairs announcing that we were moving to where the Crichton Leprechaun is.  

Another news story on the Leprechaun    Click on This

        As I mentioned in one of my first three posts, when I first visited Mobile, I only saw Airport Boulevard - the much busier version of Erie Boulevard – only with palm trees.  When people asked where we were moving, still being attached to Birmingham, I would say, “To a place like Erie Boulevard with Palm Trees!”  Tom, however, in his typical teasing way, would pipe in, “To the place with the Crichton Leprechaun!”  And then he would promptly tell them how to find it on the web.  

        Flash forward to Christmas of 2009.  I was at a neighborhood Christmas party in Mobile where a teacher of the host’s daughter was a guest.  Her date was a refined, well dressed, black gentleman named Dan.  The party lasted late and there was about eight of us who really connected and stayed to nearly 2:00 a.m. cleaning and hanging out.  This couple was among them.  We had all had a few drinks when the man spoke up and asked if I had heard of the Crichton Leprechaun.  I said yes and excitedly told him the story of my son discovering it two years before we knew we were moving here.  He looked at me very seriously and said, “I’m the man who started it all!” My ears were perked!   Being one that has never experienced the extra-terrestrial, ghosts, or other-worldly experiences, I love to hear about it from those who have.  But a leprechaun?   Come on!

        At the time, Dan had been struggling with a major life decision.  Not wanting to make a mistake, he took this very seriously.  He decided to make a fleece with God, asking for a sign if he was to take a certain path.  But what sign should he ask for?  It was St. Patrick's season (in Mobile everything is a season)  when Dan got an idea.  ‘With all this talk about Leprechauns, why not ask God to let me see the image of a leprechaun in a place I wouldn’t expect it.'?  He put out the fleece and went on his way.

        Near dusk that night, he was driving home when,  turning into his driveway, he saw the image of a Leprechaun up in a tree with it's eyes shining like lights.  He got out of the car and stared at it to make sure he wasn’t imagining.  He knew it really was Mistletoe!  For those in the north who have ever wondered where it comes from, one place is Mobile, Alabama.   Many trees are filled with the ball-like bunches.    The reason the eyes lit up was that the moon was directly behind it and shone through two holes in the bunch.    Not wanting to be presumptuous, he went to his mom’s house and asked her to come and tell him what it looked like – without telling her why.

        She immediately said ‘It looks like a leprechaun.’  He told her his dilemma and the fleece he had put out before God.  She, being quite religious, was so excited she went and got a friend who also confirmed that it looked like a leprechaun.  The friend began telling others.  Before Dan knew it, people were swarming around to see the 'Leprechaun'.  The original story was lost and many new ones circulated.  Someone called the news media and they showed up and created their own story, choosing to interview the people who were the least like Dan; and who had no idea how it all came about.

        Dan talked about the blessing he’d received in spite of the humiliating news coverage.   He had opted to leave the scene once the ‘Leprechaun’ took on a life of its own.  Our conversation shifted to the news media and the irresponsible reporting just to get a story.   Obviously the newscasters didn’t have a clue how it started.  They just took what they thought would make a good story and spun it.

Here is a neat spin: The Crichton Leprechaun is Here to Stay  Click on This

        I was touched by his story because I too, have put out fleeces at many junctures of my life.    It makes me think of how much we hear, both in the media and through the ‘grapevine’, that may have a small grain of truth, but is not even remotely accurate.  Someone sees an opportunity to put a spin on it just to draw attention, make it funny, dramatic, or even to inflict harm on another.  And we can be so quick to jump on the bandwagon at someone else’s expense, while not having a clue of the details, facts or origins, or the pain and suffering that we may be causing another person.  


       I, too, was quick to laugh - Okay!   The videos are hilarious, hence I have put them here for your enjoyment!  But it is only fair to put the true story along with them too.  I was quick to make judgments without any concrete information; without knowing anything about the heart, the pain, and the blessings of the man named Dan, whose prayers were answered by the Crichton Leprechaun.

Horse Shit and Beer # 29

            It was our first year to experience Mardi Gras and our 3^rd parade.  Barry our Biologist and girlfriend Georgia identified us as what Mobileans call people who’ve never been through Mardi Gras:  Mardi Gras Virgins.  We heard that term many times our first six months in Mobile from people discovering we were new then happily sharing details of what to expect.

Don't know who the guys are but here is an example of prize beads!  Thanks guys!

      Miss Georgia told us about the ‘prize beads’.  They are fancier (and more expensive) than the typical beads.  She explained that it’s not unusual to catch prize beads, though they are few and far between and most people just buy them.

            It was another cool – but not cold – southern night in February, 2009.  The moon hung bright in the sky and the air had the typical smells of Mardi Gras; roasted peanuts,  pop-up food stands, and the smell of exhaust from police motorcycles circling in the streets entertaining the crowds while along the four-mile route before the parades begin.  We parked less than a block from Bienville Square and crossed the street where the parade would be coming. 

    Once the gates close at each intersection, there’s absolutely no crossing back until all of the parades are over.  As we stood waiting, I got talking to a beautiful black girl who, it turned out, we had a lot in common.  We chatted happily about our career paths – me having been in the field for 14 years and she just beginning her journey.  Soon, the parade rolled in and the conversation continued intermittently between floats.  

So many beads are flying through the air that some get stuck in trees, on poles and wires and can remain there for years.  Beads also lay all over the ground and the inexperienced run around picking them up while perfectly good ones are still flying through the air.  The natives catch all they can when the float goes by, then pick up the good ones while waiting for the next.

While a float was passing, I noticed, not one string of prize beads, but a whole wad, still bound in their original packaging lying on the ground.  I had been told that when people see something they like on the ground, they step on it, holding it down with their foot so that no one else can get it while they are catching more beads.  After the particular float passes, they pick up whatever it is they have under their foot.  But no one was guarding those prize beads!

            I watched for a moment, not wanting to make someone mad, breaking the spell of niceness in our Mobilian experience.  Still, with nobody noticing, I decided to make my move.  While everyone was distracted with the throws coming off the current float, I snuck through the crowd, reaching through a sea of legs, hoping not to get stepped on and snatched the beads up, promptly placing them around my neck to proudly display my catch.

            No sooner had I gotten them on over my beautiful, stylish, mid-length, grey, wool coat -perfect for this type of weather - I noticed a horrible stench.  I looked around to figure out what it could be.  Horses had walked by moments before and I noticed they had tracked manure all over the streets. I suggested to our group that we move down the street a little to get away from the stench.   We moved about 100 feet.

‘Hmmm!  Those horses sure did track that stuff everywhere!’ I thought.   Even worse was the smell of stale beer that lingered in the air as well.  Horse poop and stale beer is just a putrid mixture, one that is so repulsive that it was gagging. This just smelled way more intimate than it was supposed to.  Then my nose itched!  I reached up to scratch it.  "Yuck!  What just made it worse?’   I thought. I automatically smelled my hand and realized that the smell was on my hands!  Then I sniffed the beads around my neck.  Yup!  Horse shit and beer all over the beads, which were now around my neck, sitting on my beautiful coat!  My new best friend was laughing her butt off while I was fluctuating between laughter and gagging!

            I yanked the beads off, tossing them aside, secretly hoping that some other idiot would fall into the same trap.  Misery loves company!  At this point, there was no place to wash.  My hands, coat and hair stunk!   All like horse shit and beer – as though someone had stirred them into a pot to get the right, putrid mixture, hoping that someone like me would do just what I did.  The parade continued, as we laughed hysterically and I continued the cycle of catching, gagging, laughing.   It seemed to be the longest parade EVER!  I could see my car less than one block away but couldn't get to it to leave so we continued in the festivities, me stinking like hell as float after float after float paraded by.

     Finally, the fire truck signifying the end of the parade went by.  I ran to the gate to cross when my new best friend explained, between her giggles, that that truck signified the ending of the first parade!  There were two more to go, each having its own fire truck at the end!  So there we stood, for another agonizing 45 minutes.    I mean, really!   What else could I have done!?!  There was no place to go except possibly the Seaman’s Lounge and every Mobilian knows that is not a nice place for any girl who considers herself a lady.  

            Finally, the parades ended and upon returning home I headed straight for the shower; still gagging!  The coat went to the dry cleaner.  That day, I learned alot about greed.  Just because the opportunity is there doesn’t mean we have to take it.  It had seemed so easy!  Within reach!  The jewels were right there and no one seemed to notice.  But by now, being an extremely experienced Mardi Grasler, I realize people had seen!  They saw where the beads landed and they knew they stunk!  I, not having the full picture, saw a pile of beautiful prize beads that I wanted to snatch up and hog all to myself!   This made me think of those times in life when we see what looks like the perfect opportunity to get something that is not meant for us that we want to keep for ourselves.  We look around to make sure no one is looking and make our move, only to find out later that we got does nothing more than weigh us down because it was not meant for us to begin with.    It was a lesson learned the hard way that, just because something looks good to the eye, in reality, it may truly stink.