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Three Oaks, MI to St. Augustine, FL

May 19, 2014

David and Kathleen,

I grabbed a few bandmates in my two-door Toyota after work for the last of us to drive around the bottom of Lake Michigan.  The Muccas, the marching band players, are the best people to group in any way.  We drove over a few lawns once we were in the idyllic downtown trying to find the venue that turned out to be a warm, wide-open, guest-staying apartment as a green room, a community gathering theater and event space, and a fancy beer store.  There was revelry from the small town ignited by some of our Chicago-community familiars.  We ran along lofted catwalks, and that 80-year-old woman wearing a devil costume really hauled back to receive a full-force high five that I’d been doling out (I thought), and I gave her one and she looked at me in astonishment and said “OW!”  I hope I did not break her.  She was dancing with the best of them until the end.  A few hours later, filled with encouragement and the cheer of peer-family we made it back to Chicago.

 

Moments later, I woke up with no clothes on in the moment I was to be at the airport.  We texted our tour manager and sprinted the length of Chicago to Midway airport and found the same crew, all bleary, in the nick of time.  And hours later we stepped out into the astonishingly refreshing Florida warm breezes.  We got in the vans to another music festival campground for the Harvest of Hope punk rock festival.  And then we were all day outside – parading in front of the stage, yelling and cheering, regrouping at the unpredictable food tent, raging a stage set, climbing light trusses like stars, and then not batting an eye asking if my favorite indie-rock band, Broken Social Scene, needed cheerleaders in addition to horn players.  They said, after a horrible travel day, absolutely – and in the end I sparred with some of my rock heroes on stage and we confused them in delight and lingered too long, going from colleagues to fans back in the hotel parking lot.  Then family again in the more welcoming rooms in the hotel.

 

The next day is on the list of most exquisite – that with nothing to do but a late flight to catch, we found a leisurely breakfast at the friendly, rock cafe then walked across the street to do handstands at the ocean.  We took our passenger van to the main town and walked along the colonial stroll and sipped an old beer and scattered ourselves in smiling openness.  And we walked to the fort and I snapped one of my favorite pictures of all time and we naturally gathered again for an elevated porch sip before finding our way to travel again.  The best.  There’s more words for that day, but these are some of them.

 

 

Such a grand, concise adventure that one.

 

Thanks for asking.

 

 

Love,

 

Tim

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