Continental Breakfast ….

A lot gets done over morning coffee in the business world, especially in the leisure business. As a professional tour guide, the schmoozing and pressing of flesh begins long before office workers ever hit the trail to the place of employment. Table hopping, laughing and scratching with the guests, and tale regaling from the previous days adventures bring everyone in the group closer as a unit and helps to provide more fun for all.
Tis an interesting arena into which such a diverse crowd gathers, all for entertainment and fun and relaxation. Although, at the pace they keep, one must wonder just how relaxing it could possibly be. Doctors and doctor’s wives, plumbers and their “old ladies”, retired CEO’s and their proper spouses, business people on vacation, sisters, brothers, sons, and mothers, they all put down their fare and rely on others to entertain and please them on another great adventure.

Others come to breakfast as well. Without paying they come. They arrive much, much earlier, before anyone else is even out of bed. Tis these who make the coffee, prepare the biscuits and gravy, peel the hard boiled eggs, prep the juice bar and make ready the milk for cereal. Rhonda is one of those. Four A.M. comes mighty early for her but that’s what is required of the Continental Breakfast Bar manager at any respectable hotel. Slender, five feet four, mousy brown hair, 30-something, pretty eyes, she industriously prepares the food, provides plenty of coffee and keeps the tables clean during the breakfast rush. Her work day is nearly done by the time the revelers load the motor coach for another day of fun. Just in time for her to scurry off to her second job.

Rhonda makes people glad they came down to breakfast. This breakfast room is her kitchen. She scurries to and fro tending to business, chatting, smiling, industriously plying her trade, always with a big smile and friendly “good morning”. To be shocked awake early in the morning is not what one would expect when being greeted by the friendly breakfast room girl. But when Rhonda smiles her big warm, friendly smile, her disarrayed, discolored, and missing teeth suddenly awakens the listener to stark reality. This warm, friendly, cheerful, industrious, hard-working girl has the worst looking teeth most people have ever seen. It is indeed quite difficult to look at. How could such a pretty and happy creature have such terrible teeth? What happened to her? What could she be doing if she weren’t so hideous?

Schmoozing and befriending folks over the several days of the tour brings people together who would, under normal circumstances, never meet let alone become well acquainted and friends. Life stories are often swapped. Inspiration is given and taken. Diana, the tour guide befriends everyone in the room and does so with such finesse. From Tom, a national company owner and entrepreneur, to Rhonda, the humble but happy breakfast room girl with the terrible teeth, all are good friends of Diana. She warms the room. She praises Rhonda for her exemplary work and good food, making her feel important and appreciated. She tells Tom of her own childhood and previous life, all personal stuff. Friendship abounds all for the sake of acquaintance and friendship. The tour will end and each will go their ways but the bond will remain and smiles will frequent their several faces for having shared these experiences.

Departure days are bittersweet. The tour has kept everyone up late at night and practically run their legs off for a week. Laughter and smiles have been plentiful and new friendships have been refreshing. Addresses are exchanged, e-mails and contact information abound. Luggage loaded and the coach ride to the airport is all part of the business of departure day, as is that final breakfast. Before you know it most of the passengers have boarded their flights to everywhere and only one remains. Reminiscing nearly done and final good byes eminent brings Tom, the business owner, his wife, and Diana, the tour guide together one last time. Conversation turns briefly to all the good done by Diana and how her life has brought her to this moment and this airport on this morning.

Moments before departure, Tom, inspired by the warmth and friendliness of the people who have served him over the week grasps Diana’s hand and places in it his business card and contact information. “I cannot get that Rhonda from the breakfast room out of my mind”, he remarks.” Such a pretty girl, vivacious and happy and such a good efficient worker. What could she accomplish if only her teeth were not such a mess? I want to help her. Diana, please do me the favor of finding out all about her, all her circumstances. You go get that information and get it back to me. Will you please? You know how to reach me. I want to get her teeth fixed. I want to provide that girl with an opportunity.” Through mutual tears and hugs and good byes, the deal is struck. Rhonda, the warm, friendly, industrious, hard-working, pretty little breakfast room girl is going to get her teeth fixed. It’s just like that “make over” television program.

Tom and Mrs. Tom board the plane to home behind hugs, and tears, and waves of joy and inspiration. Diana, waves one last time, wipes the tears from her eyes and sets her course back to the hotel. And thus one trip comes to an end as yet another, this time for the unsuspecting breakfast room girl who comes to work at four A.M., is just about to begin.

For Diana, it’s just another day at the office. Changing the world, one life at a time.


* * *

Twilight on the creekbank in the Ozarks

A giggling babble of water tumbles over the rock shelf in the creek bed and an occasional "jumper" slaps the water as he falls back into the water from leaping after an insect. A blue Heron, motionless, stands sentry in a backwater just upstream, ever vigilant for that last morsel ere darkness encases this vissage. Through the trees and up the hill a mother's call beckons her brood inside for the day and the screen door smacks the door frame with a pop as an early coyote howls in the distance. Bats dart here and there in the twilight taking flying insects in the air. The birds are pretty much settled in for the night. They rustle about in the roosting trees making themselves comfortable and sharing the news of the day in muffled chirpage.

Across the holler a cow from the neighboring farm bellows her complaint. I wonder what they mean when they say that. I don't understand cows at all. Just downstream a doe steps into the edgewater for a drink followed by two more and then another and yet another followed by 3 fawns. They are barely visible in the twilight. The trees go quiet as an owl patrols down the stream bed in one pass. The tree frog chorus gets into full voice and the cicadas play percussion supported by the bass voice of the bullfrog over in the eddy. Ah, it will be another symphonic summer night in the Ozarks. For those not afraid of the dark, it is indeed a wondrous time of day.

"Go back home!"

Someone once said, and I can't recall who, "You can never go home".To a degree, I think it must be true. My trip "home" was interesting but quite honestly, I could not wait to get back to where home is now, the Ozarks.This is strange for a beach bum to be saying but Oh so true. Yep! One might not believe it but I grew up around the beach, barefoot, sand in my pockets, suntanned, the works. I visited the old haunts. Spent some time at "Windansea". The surf was southwesterly at 4 to 5. Take offs were nice and steep. A few good rides but damn! Was it ever crowded. People at the beach were like ants. Now I recall why I moved away in the first place. I remember surfing for weeks on end over at Blacks Beach without seeing another human footprint in the sand. Tough wasn't it? Glassy curls in the Pacific, well formed and beautiful to ride, warm sun, warm water, all to my self. Then some jughead "journalist" thought it a brilliant idea to write a piece for some magazine extolling the virtues of this remote beach where some people were known to absorb the rays of the sun au natural . That's all it took. Every "maroon" in the western U.S. made his personal quest to "see" all dem nekkid bodies. Yep! You guessed it! The place is now a tourist trap and the two gals who frequented the beach without their attire have long since moved on to another secret spot.

Ate some great food while on my visit, but ya know what? It wasn't all that great. Certainly not as good as I remember it being. Met with some good friends and an old lover. Friendships remain, I think, forever. Old sparks (some loves never die regardless of where our paths take us) are always present but nothing is ever the same.

True friends I note are always there. A presence. I note with the passing of time that those friendships are warm and caring. We may not see each other for a good deal of time but when circumstances bring us again into each other's company it is as if we were never apart. We nearly continue the last sentence from perhaps months or years before. Yeah! I'm fortunate to have a few of those. One or two I've actually met here in cyberspace.

So, could I go back home? Home is that place where I now reside. Roots, it seems, grow quickly when you like where you live. And, I find that I love that.

Road trip!

Yep! I'm heading across the skies to San Diego, surf, sand, sun, good friends, good seafood, good Mexican. Heh! Who'd ever think a surfer and sailor would ever end up living in the hills of the Ozarks?

Escorting my 96 year old, independent to say the least, Mum back home to her own flat. She came back here on her own to see her first and only great grand daughter, born June 29. She's seen her, held her, rocked her, played with her, and now wants to go home. "I've had enough 'o Missoura", says she. "Time to get me home." Nervous about flying? Nah! not her. Now me, that may be a different story. I feel like a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. It's not so much the actual flying as the waiting. Plus, I get bored easily just sitting and some people seem to take exception to my dancin' in the eisles.

Looking forward though to hookin' up with several old friends from high school. We always have a good time. We've come to understand that when we get thrown out of one place, there's another one not too far away.

So, ya'll talk amongst yourselves whilst I'm gone. Here's a thought. Post a question for me to answer when I get back. I'll do my dangdest to answer honestly and forthrightly.

The biggest tip.....

No one here would, having read any of my posts, ever dream that I work with youth during the Spring time. Here in the “Live Entertainment Capital” of the world I have found a niche. If, perchance, you are reading this and you recognize me, then by all means say hello for as you know this is a small town. I am what is known as a “performance coordinator” for a concern that brings young entertainers in to town for the opportunity to “open” on a real live sound stage for real live professional performers.For the mostly high school aged kids this is the thrill of a lifetime. For me it is a thrill too. I love the unbridled enthusiasm carried by teens.

Angelina was a teen like any other in age only. As a member of the show choir for her high school she was one of a select few willing to put a lot of hard work into a project such as a good stage performance. These kids were real good and all very talented. Socially I noticed right away she was pretty much a loner. Oh, she hung out on the fringe of the gaggles of giggling little girls gossiping and guessing who likes who and who said what to whom because they thought that he was cuter than…..well, you know. Never the center of attention and rarely a part of the action, this was Angelina. I first met her at dinner the night of their arrival. She sat with me instead of the other girls because there was “no room” at their tables. We talked. She dabbled at the sparce collection of food on her plate, never really eating much. She was out of her seat several times as girls heads went together at the nearby table trying to capture the latest secret from her post on the fringe. Nature has not been kind to Angelina. Skinny as a stick with ears that resemble tea cups protruding from her head. A big nose and stringy black hair adorn her face and frame it. Not a beauty by any means and there has never been a boy who so much as ever glanced at her as a "girl". Often she is found pensive and alone. Yet, here she was, a member of this fine show choir.

I prepped them for their performance, got them sound checked, rehearsed, and taught them to use microphones. Cue lights, sound, and intro and up on the stage they went. Three rows of show choir on stage, and down front, stage left is who else but Angelina. At first I questioned the director's reasoning for that, with her appearance and all. Cue curtain, bring the lights up, cue sound, intro and downbeat. From the first note this group was nothing short of spectacular. For 25 minutes they entertained a very appreciative audience and gave them more than their moneys worth. And right there, on the front row, stage left, the little “ugly duckling” bloomed into a beautiful siren. As with the flick of a switch she literally became the music. Her little face gleamed like no other on that stage then or since. Her expressions described every word that exited her mouth. Her incredible intensity was one of the most awe inspiring performances I have ever witnessed by any performer anywhere any time bar none. All too soon the last number was “in the can” and the audience was on their feet in wild applause. All 6’-4” of this big brawny man stood there with tears streaming down my face to have been witness to such an experience.I had to snap out of it and get back to work, another show to do, another theater to get to, entertainers to introduce, the regular drill.In conversations with the director later I found that this little Angelina comes from a poor family. She’s so skinny because she refuses to eat because of the cost to the family. I know it's silly, but not to her. The only way she was allowed to come on this trip of a lifetime was if the director promised her mother that she personally would see to it that Angelina ate.

The last bags were loaded on the bus, good byes said and everyone out of the hotel lobby and on the coach for the several hour trip home. It had been an emotional three days for me. As I sat in the comfort of a luxurious lobby chair trying to unwind before going to meet my next group of young adults, who should come up but Angelina. She thanked me profusely for the wonderful time “ I provided for them”. Then in a move as if she had done it a hundred times this little waif pressed a wrinkled bill into my palm and said "thank you again, I want you to have this". With that she gave a cheery wave and dashed out the door, her straggly black hair flying behind her as she ran. The door closed on the coach and it roared off.Crumpled in my palm was a tattered one dollar bill. The last one she had. And, they still had a lunch stop ahead of them en route. The only tip I got on that trip. Kids don't have a lot of money.In my world where $150. tips are common, Angelina’s is the biggest tip I ever got.

Sorry but I need a Kleenex just re-telling that story.

And “that’s all I have to say about that.”

Acquantances are many, friends, few...

I "know" hundreds of people. So many people am I acquainted with that I am never surprised to hear that familiar, "Hey, Hawk!", wherever I go in the country. We visit, we talk, we cajole, we have a laugh or two, and we part, "until we meet again."But you! You come crashing into my life from out of nowhere like a brawler through a bar room swinging door. Unexpected, un-sought for, not requested, yet here you are, grinning ear to ear, squeezing my heart to your ample breast, daring me to make you laugh, to cradle your head, to hug you. Making me smile at the very thought of you.Knowing what I am thinking because you've already thought it. Knowing my opinion because you've already had it. Wincing at my pain, because you've already felt it. Who are you? Are you me? Am I you? How can we think so much alike separated by the miles and time as we are?I know you!

You are my FRIEND. You arrived uninvited and unannounced, when I least expected you. Standing at the door visualizing the dog's cocked head at your knock. You beckoned fearlessly, not knowing what to expect.You indeed are my FRIEND. I will cherish you. I will always hold you dear. Thank you.

And, "thats all I have to say about that."

I hope you dance.....

It doesn't happen often. Many of you have seen the movie, "The Natural". I have recently had the pleasure of meeting and working with two naturals, one just this past week. I have indicated in the past that I often work with dancers and vocalists. I had the pleasure to showcase a group of dancers this week, young, still learning, dancers. When I watch a perfomance I have a tendency to become an "American Idol" judge temporarily. And, I am frequently the Simon Cowel of the group. I look for perfection. I write this post today in honor. A young lady positively bowled me over this past week. A sweet little thing, still a minor but closing on womanhood, danced in the lead position on several numbers in the show. She is, and I say this with such pride, a natural. She has "it". She exudes such personality, such innocent sexiness, such sultry vamp, and she can sing!I asked her mother what her plans are after highschool and she indicated her plans are college and med school. I would never council a young person away from such high aspirations but I did tell her that she will do the industry of theater arts a massive disservice by not sharing her talent. This girl is positively fabuluous and such a pleasure to watch. You absolutely cannot take your eyes off her when she is on stage. I am blessed to have been able to coach her just a little on stage. Wow!!

With the greatest of respect to the naturals of this world, I hope you dance.

And,"That's all I have to say about that".

The word....

"In the beginning was the Word..."
The adage that "a picture is worth a thousand words" is not always true. Over time I have encountered those who possess the ability to paint in word pictures that surpass even the truth of a photographic image. I suppose it goes without saying that those pictures would be visible only to those with a vivid imagination. I presume to be one of those and I hope to one day be able to paint in words to the degree that my readers can "see" my thoughts. It is a growing experience and I shall make an attempt here, in this theater and on this stage, to shape my craft into something palatable for all to, at least read if not, enjoy.

I have been led to this place by a friend, indeed a dear friend. Because we are friends, we will be able to watch each other grow. What finer experience is there than to observe the growth, development, and improvement of a good friend? It is not untenable that others may emerge as friends from this endeavor. That too would be a good thing. And so, as I embark on this voyage into the unknowns of the blogasphere, I here set a mark and declare a "beginning" to my "word".