I slept until 7:30 this morning and woke up to steady rain.  I wasn't too eager to do my running around in it, so I hit snooze and laid back down, just to be tormented by a mosquito.  I killed him and several others after, as though they were waiting in line, for me.
  I thrashed around with them until 8:30 and finally sat up.  I made a cold instant coffee and realized how long it had been since this had been my morning ritual.
  I had hidden my Large pack the day before, among the short palm trees that covered the area and halfway through my hobo latte, realized that it was still there, having forgotten to bring it under the protection of the tarp when I returned to camp.  I retrieved it and was relieved to find it fairly waterproof, though I was glad it was mostly full of just damp clothes.

  Yesterday I went to the Church of Christ where I had volunteered a few years ago and they gave me a couple bags of food, to get me by.
  The lady who greeted me said "I remember you!"  The other handful of workers there were new and unfamiliar to me but very nice.
  Her name is Patricia and she told me if I came back today, they would have a tent for me!
  I asked her about another old friend, who had worked there, as I had heard rumors that he wasn't doing so well.
  She affirmed my fears by telling me he was at a convalescent home and that they thought he was in his last days.  She gave me the address and told me I should go see him.

  His name is Mike Patrick, although he was known as "Fireman Mike."
  Mike was previously a Fireman and a landscaper, now retired.
  When I met him back 3 and a half years ago, he worked at the Church of Christ and seemed to do everything there but preach.
  He took care of most of the daily activities even to the point of sleeping overnight there.
  So one day I was working with him and we were trimming the trees and the hedges that surrounded the large grounds.
  He was working off the ladders and doing everything quite nimbly, so when he climbed down the ladder and asked me if the hedge was straight, commenting that he was blind in one eye, I took him as being sarcastic.
  We worked further and he made another such comment about his eye.
  I had to ask him "Are you really blind in one eye?"
  He has a rough Tennessee accent and he answered "Yip, I really ay-im."
  I felt kind of awkward for a moment and I think he could see it.
  "Well, I don't like to tell too many people, it bothers me to think about it but when I was a Firefighter, I was on my way to work one day and down in the valley below, I could see a lot of smoke rising and it was black smoke, so I knew there was no water being put on it, otherwise it would be white smoke."
  "So I rushed down there, found where it was coming from and saw a house on fire, with no other fireman there.  I was the only one and I didn't have any of my equipment, because I was heading to work, so I got out, people were screaming and I asked a hysterical black lady if there was anyone left inside and she shrieked "There's a little girl in the upstairs bedroom!""
  "I ran inside and made it up the stairs, checked bedrooms and found this girl in her bed unconscious, so I wrapped her in a blanket, threw her over my shoulder and started on my way out."
  "Now the smoke was getting to me bad and I was getting confused but I found the stairs, made it down them and took a right, when I should have taken a left.  I was lost.  I was now in a garage with fire all around and starting to go unconscious, myself."
  Through the smoke I could see some light, so I headed for that and it turned out to be a storm door and when I got to it, I kicked it out for all I was worth.  Well there was a propane tank, in the garage and just as I kicked that door out it exploded, hitting me in the right side and threw me outdoors onto the lawn, with the girl."
  I could see the pain coming into his eyes as he cut the story a little short, with "I lost my right eye and lung."
  "Oh, God!" was my awkward response.
  The silence became heavy but I had to ask him "Forgive me for asking but did the girl live?"
  "Oh, yeah.  She growed up fine.  I used to visit her occasionally."  This seemed to bring him some well deserved, prideful joy.
  "I met a Hero today."  I said.
  He looked at me with those steely eyes and said "I ain't no #%@&ing Hero.  I was just doing my job."
  "Well maybe, but you're a Hero, to me."

  So today, in the rain, I finally found myself peddling through the side streets, with my laptop and gear in my small backpack and wearing my raincoat over it all so I looked like a hunchback, lurching over the handlebars, heading for the church to get the tent and volunteer to help them again.
  It suddenly occurred to me that it was only a few blocks out of the way to stop by and see "Fireman Mike" but I fought the urge because the church would only be open until noon and I was hoping to squeeze a shower in, also.  I figured maybe it would stop raining by the time I was heading back and I could see him without getting his room all wet.
  I locked my bike up and went in.  There were quite a few people there, mostly older.  Some helping, some getting helped.  A scattering of women.  Men sitting at tables with their backpacks.  A man hobbling around with a cane and a frail little man in a walker/wheelchair combo. I finished talking to one lady and I heard an old familiar voice.  It sounded a bit like Mike.  I didn't see him, though.  I walked in the direction I thought it came from and another white haired lady tried to help me.
  I had tunnel vision for the voice I had heard and just brushed her off with: "No thank you, Ma'am, I'm being waited on."
  I heard the voice again and it lasted longer, this time.  It was coming from the little man in the walker/stroller combo.
  I saw my Hero!  The once lanky spry man was now bent over and sitting down in his pedestal.  He was hard to recognize.  I got close to him.
  "Fireman Mike!  You may not remember me but I sure remember you."
  He still had that vinegar and it came out when he said "Well git down here, so I kin see ya'!"
  I moved so I was in view of his left eye.
  "Of course I remember ya!  The guy from Maine."
  "Yes!  Jeff."  I reminded him.
  "That's it, it's Jeff!" he remembered.

  The last day that I had seen Mike, I was drunk.  I had slid back down the alcohole and he had been trying to talk some sense into me for a couple of weeks, watching me go down the slippery slope.
  Florida had offered me a plane ticket back to Maine.  They wanted to get rid of me.  I hadn't even asked for it.  I was in such bad shape.  I had brain damage from a mugging and I was now an insane drunk.  I took the plane ticket and spent my last night on the island, sleeping on the church couch, with Mike on the other couch.  A lady was going to pick me up in the morning, drive me to the airport and make sure I got onto the plane.
  In the morning, I got ready.  I found a 4-LOCO I had stashed somewhere and drank it, behind the church.  I was as ready as I could be.
  With the last few minutes left, Mike was still trying to talk sense into me.  "You know," he said "You gotta think about what's more important to you.  Your boy, or that alcohol."
  That was my last drink, for a while.  I made it 11 months and four days.  I had a slip and now I have 19 months of sobriety.  It just gets better and better, and so do I.

  So I spent quite a bit of time with my Hero, today.  They finally came and took him back to the home.
  That man deserves much more of a tribute than I can give him, or anyone else.  His honors and awards are hung all over the walls of the church.  More of a man than most could even hope to be.  That's what a Hero means to me.  Not someone who sees a princess waving a hankerchief out a window and says "I'll save you, here I come!" with all the fanfare.  It's someone that sees someone in danger and runs.  There's no thinking about the danger, no thought of reward or applause.
  It's one human caring as much for another as he does for himself, like God tells us to.
  It's a human being:  "Just doing my job!"
  We can all learn a lot from "Fireman Mike."  I sure do.

Sunday Feb 8 

 I had the best 24 hours I could ever hope for.

  Vera brought our beautiful son, Jeffrey, to spend the night with his old man.

  It was late, so I didn't plan on us doing much last night, other than just hanging out and maybe going to Dairy Queen.

  We hung out at the hotel for a bit and then he asked if we could go get some chicken at DQ, so we did.

  I had already eaten.  We got him a chicken finger basket and a Sprite.  I waited for it while he picked out a couple of the many books they have there, to peruse.

  One was a history book, all about North America and published in 1961.  One was an old "Golden" book, published in 1970 and called something like: "Many Colors."

  We read "Many Colors" first.  What a horrible book.  Such 70's racist mentality.  It was like a bigot sat down and tried to write something nice about black people.  No matter how you try to fake it, your bigotry comes through!

  Every page had a black person on it, with a slightly different hue than the last and every hue was assigned to a different food.

  So it went something like:  "Here's Leroy,  he looks like chocolate."  next page:  "Here's Judy, she looks like a peach" and the last one we could bear: "Here's Billy, he looks like a cooked turkey."

  We chuckled but neither one of us thought it to actually be funny.  I am so happy that we've made at least a little progress, in the last 45 years.  At least the majority of us.

  Then we shared the North America book.  I know by now that Jeffrey is only going to eat the chicken part of the meal, so I get to "help" with the rest.  I ate the toast.  Why there is toast in a chicken basket, I'll never know but there it was.  I pecked at the pale, underdone fries and wished they looked a little more like "a cooked turkey."

  We soon finished and after he taught me a few more things from the book, we put them back and returned to the hotel.

  We weren't there long and he asked if we could go for a walk, on the beach.  It was about 9:30 and it seemed like the last thing I wanted to do.  It was only a five minute skip there and it was dark, so I appeased myself by thinking he surely wouldn't want to stay long....

  We arrived at the beach.  The moon was waning, yet still beautifully orange and the reflection of it on the water, was precious.  The waves were big and crashed with a great noise.  A large ship could be seen, far out and brightly shining with all it's lights ablaze.  Everything was wonderful and I was glad just to be with him, anywhere.

  We walked north along the beach and found a dead pelican.  The gently blowing sand had begun to cover it and I flipped it over, to see if it had a band on it's leg.  It did but I had no idea about who to call, or what to do.  I think it was against the law for me to even touch it, but I claim ignorance of the law.

  We walked and walked. He didn't tire and I was thoroughly enjoying it, also.  We saw another ship, probably a tanker and we dreamed aloud about what could be going on, out there.  We talked a lot!

  He loved talking about girls.  I loved hearing about them.  He wanted to know about my first ever date, my first ever concert, my first ever everything.

  We walked almost to Main Beach and I reminded him again we had to turn around pretty quick and walk back.  He protested, again.  I gave in, again.
  He mentioned he wanted to walk to the pier and I didn't know where that was but I knew it wasn't anywhere near us.

  "Okay, five more minutes."  I said

  In fifteen minutes, I got us turned around, against further protest.

  "At this point, we won't get back until midnight, and we want to see this in the light, don't we?  We should get some sleep, Buddy."

  "You're right, dad."

  The way back seemed too quick, for both of us.  We couldn't find the pelican and wondered if he turned into a zombie pelican.  We marveled at the ship, again.  It was in the same spot.

  "I am very impressed, that was a long walk and you wanted to keep going.  You have good stamina, aren't you tired?  I'm pooped."

  "No, dad.  I'm not tired." he exclaimed.  "Is pooped a Maine saying?"

  I laughed at myself.  "No, I guess it's an old person's saying."

  I got the last laugh, though.  When we returned to the room and wound down, it wasn't long before his eyes were showing that perhaps he was just a little bit "pooped."

  I got his bed ready, we brushed our teeth and he got into bed, as I stretched out on the couch.  We watched a little bit of a TV movie called "Super Bad" and it lived up to the title, as we fell asleep.
  I woke around eight, the next morning and quietly did my "morning stuff."

  Jeffrey was in a catatonic sleep and I progressively made noise as the day grew, mostly just navigating the internet chaos.  I turned on the news, finally.  It didn't wake him.  It was now ten.
  I massaged his legs for a few minutes and I think he sunk further into sleep.
  It was now past waffle-time in the Hotel cafe.
  I let him sleep too long, I know but I wanted him to enjoy himself as he saw fit and hey, I slept many a morning til noon, when I was young.
  He slept til 12:30 and only got up because I couldn't wait, any longer!
  He woke up ready, though.  He woke up quickly and we started talking about the day, while he ate some applesauce, his usual morning snack.
  I told him we could either go back to the beach, or go explore the woods and maybe find some turtle shells, near the water.  He chose the beach, as I suspected he would.
  So off we went, back to the beach we left, thirteen hours earlier.
  I asked him if he wanted to walk south, this time and see a different stretch, or if he wanted the same stretch we walked, the night before.
  "I want to walk the same direction as last night.  I'd like to go to that pier, dad."

  The weather was quite warm, I'm guessing in the low 70's and people were dressed lightly.  The only bikinis though, to my chagrin, were being worn by girls approximating Jeffrey's age and I could see that he had mastered the art of viewing without looking.  I knew when we were passing a girl he liked the looks of, when he became quiet and looked straight ahead.
  The conversation was unequaled.  We spent a lot of time catching up but He brought up a lot of events and details, that I had long forgotten.  Wonderful memories.
  He walked like he was on some mission he wasn't letting me in on.  I tried to stop and look at shells and for shark teeth but he prodded me onward and in this way, we soon found ourselves at Main Beach.  He allowed me a quick bathroom break and refused to go, himself.  I hurried so he wouldn't crack the whip.

  Off again!
  Soon Jeffrey exclaimed: "Dad,  I can see the pier, now!"
  He was right.  It seemed like maybe three miles away, there was what looked like a pile of toothpicks from this distance, jutting into the ocean.
  "This boy really has a thing for that thing."  I thought.  "Buckle up, old man!"
  Another 45 minutes and we were almost there.
  He seemed to pick up the pace and exclaimed "I have a plan, dad.  It's a little bit crazy though, so I'll tell you when we get there....."
  He sparked my curiosity and my protection mode at the same time....
  "Well, sometimes those are the best kind of plans...."  I slipped out.
  I heard Vera's voice in my head, already: "You let him do WHAT?
  Her mom senses must have been tingling, because she sent me a text at just about that moment.  It was to let me know that she had called for a taxi to pick Jeffrey up at 7:00, back at the hotel.
  Soon we were there.  It was much bigger than I thought.  It went way out into the ocean and beside it, on our side was a long protective barrier that also went way out into the ocean, made up of concrete and piled boulders, partly covered with goopy green stuff, shells and barnacles.

  I followed him onto the rocks and we crawled around on them, I thought to explore but he had other plans.
  I found a canvas bag, lodged into the rocks and couldn't pull it out.  The thirteen year old part of me knew that it was filled with gold and gems and thousands of dollars but I couldn't get it out, before Jeffrey was too far away and I rushed to catch up.
  A man was now there, also.  It was like he appeared out of nowhere, so he must have just jumped over from the other side of the wall, suddenly.  Jeffrey started talking to him and the man seemed kind of dazed, though he appeared like a regular Joe.  I didn't know quite what to make of him.  Jeffrey informed him that we were walking to the end of the barricade so he could get a movie that probably nobody has dared to get before and that he was welcome to join us!
  Now I finally knew what his crazy plan was!  Crazy, indeed!
  The man suddenly looked more dazed, shook his head no and mumbled something.  He soon left.
  "Is that your crazy plan?"  I asked.
  "Yes."  He said as he kept going.
  I was taking a moment for that to sink in.  It was a very long way out there.  He is used to walking on flat land and though he was taking very careful steps, I knew his ankles and leg muscles just weren't used to that sort of terrain.
  I was sure this wouldn't last long, once he realized just what the feat involved and how slow our progress was.

  I was wrong.
  I checked the time.  It was almost time to turn around and walk the two hours back for the taxi.
  I gingerly explained this to him and I could tell it was breaking his heart, though he was trying not to show any emotion.  He took out his phone, took a video and sent a text to Vera.
  He kept crawling further out and with a heavy heart, I explained the situation to him, again.  "We really have to go, Jeffrey.  I'm very sorry but we do."
  It broke my heart and I have to say I could see him shaking a little bit with emotion but we got off the rocks after assuring him we would come back, some day soon.
  We headed back down the beach.
  After 20 minutes of walking and the emotion finally past, Jeffrey got a text from Vera.
  He read it and looked at me with excitement in his eyes.
  "Dad, Mom said we can stay late!  She basically gave us permission to do anything!"
  I thought, "Oh Lord, what has she done?"
  He was off!  Back to the rocks, he started to run.  He occasionally turned around to see that I was keeping up.  I didn't like the situation for many reasons.  He was filled with joy but I was thinking of all the dad reasons that this was a bad idea.  The rocks were slippery and the going was slow.  The tide was coming in and it was getting late, only an hour of light left.
  I really wanted to just take control and go home but the bigger part of me wouldn't.  I didn't want to hurt the relationship we were building after being apart for the last three years, other than a camping trip, last summer.
  "Lord, please let him see the situation, he has tunnel vision, right now."
  Up onto the rocks, he went.
  The going was fairly easy for me, as I am used to this sort of thing but he was very carefully slow, like he should be.  There was just no way this was going to happen, as it was easily an hours walk, out to the end.
  I brought up the tide situation to him and it stopped him for a moment.  I told him the rocks would be covered with water soon, that it would be dark shortly and that people have to be rescued in situations like that and we were a good distance out there.
  "Do you think you could do your movie here?" I asked apologetically.
  "Maybe." was all he said, deep in thought.
  He went on but his direction veered.
  "Maybe I can get onto that rock over there."  he pointed to a large boulder.
  I hoped I knew where this was going.
  He got carefully onto it and started fiddling with his phone.  Once he had the settings to his liking, he took a panoramic sweep with the video setting on and seemed to end on me.
  Happy with his trophy, he climbed down and we made our way back to the sand.
  It all humbled me.  I loved this boy like never before.  There is just something about him that isn't easily put into words.  A genuine love for life and everything in it perhaps but no, it was something more than that.
  I held my hand up to the sun, to check the time and told him we had about 45 minutes until sunset.  I started walking at a good clip and he kept falling behind so I kept an eye on him and he ocassionally looked up and ran to me.  He now seemed more inclined to notice the flotsam and jetsam along the beach which really told me that the reason he was so intent on just walking all morning, was that he really did make that pier the goal for the day.
  We took many stops to look at notes and pictures left in the sand by other beach-goers and Jeffrey even left one of his own.
  Just before the sun set, we saw the last of the notes and we stood there looking at it, trying to decipher it's message, written with shells and obvious joyful pride.  We finally made it out and I took a poorly lit picture of it:

6 MONTHS!

  I said a prayer for the artist.  I thought briefly about my own journey.  I had 1 day shy of 19 months sobriety and best of all, I was enjoying it, on a beautiful beach day, with my incredibly special son!

  I made myself leave but it was difficult, as I felt a connection with that unknown artist.

  We plodded on, the last hour in the dark and soon we were back near the bar, by the street.  I asked him if he wanted his shoes back on and he declined the offer.  He had removed them, when we started so he could run on the shells and toughen his feet up, he said.

  Back at the hotel I made him some supper and began to get his gear ready to go home.

  Vera texted and verified the taxi would pick him up at 8:00 as she was still working.

  A half hour was all I had left with him, for now.  With everything ready and near 8:00, we waited outside for Kenny the taxi-man.

  We talked for a few, recapping our adventure and looking forward to the next one.

  Kenny showed up, right on the money.  I put Jeffrey's gear in the taxi, not being able to help the melancholy feeling of departure but hiding it with a smile.

  We hugged and said goodbye.  His eyes were watering and mine were about to.

  They were gone, into the Florida night.

  I went back inside.

  I thankfully prayed and wonderful thoughts came to me.

  I was reminded of the relationship I have with my Heavenly Father and how much it parallels my relationship with my son.

  How much God tries to lead me, in my walk and how I all too often try to go it on my own, ignoring the advice or perhaps through inexperience, not knowing what the tide will do, or that it will be dark, soon.  God, the whole time full of joy, over my sometimes youthful exuberance, ready to rush into battle, without remembering my sword and shield, His firm hand on me, to bring me back, into his safety.

  I was left with a great feeling that I need to do whatever it takes to stay near Jeffrey.  He needs me to help him navigate the goopy green rocks, in life and I greatly need him, he gives me great purpose and love.

  Now it's Friday and Jeffrey will be here in a few short hours, so I have to cut this shorter than I would like too.  I have to finish an application and get it in, to the hotel I'm about to check out of, tomorrow.

  I'm about to camp out, again.  I'm looking forward to some jungle time and some much awaited time crafting some items from the local flora.  I hope to find some work quick but until then, I'd like to start making a Gilligan hut.  I'll take pictures, I promise!

  I'll end this with a prayer:

Dear Heavenly Father,

  I pray your blessing and guidance on all those who read this.  I pray your hand, upon our lives, our sicknesses and our very steps.  Please let us feel your presence and let us know that you are with us.  Help us when the tide changes and keep us from the darkness.  I pray that we always seek you, Lord and avoid the distractions the world throws at us.  I pray that whether we may know you, or not, that we come to know you, like never before.  In your son, Jesus Christ's mighty name, we pray, AMEN!!!