I wouldn’t call myself a Parrothead, per se, but I definitely have a strong appreciation for Jimmy Buffett.
The way the man could tell a story with phrases that you only needed to hear once for them to become embedded in your mind.
The way his music had the power to transport you—even on your crappiest days (especially on your crappiest days)—to an eternal paradise of warm sand, cold drinks, and boats bobbing on turquoise seas under impossibly blue skies.
The way he allowed you to dream of abandoning it all, sailing away with pirates, bumming on the beach.
To celebrate our 50th birthdays (and 40 years of friendship) my best friend—aka, my non-biological sister—Cheryl and I took a trip to Key West. Four glorious days in a change of latitude where we could talk nonstop, enjoy a few margaritas (for me) and daiquiris (for her), sightsee and shop, relax by the water.
We shared a love of seafood and family members who hated it, so all our vacation meals featured decadent lobster, shrimp, and crab. One of our trip’s highlights was a Key West Food Tour where we sampled dishes from several restaurants and learned about the island’s history and culture.
During the tour, our guide pointed out Jimmy Buffett’s recording studio, Shrimpboat Sound. When he wasn’t there, Jimmy would rent it out to folks like Kenny Chesney and Toby Keith, which delighted Cheryl immensely. Our guide mentioned that someone -- I forget who -- had just been there recording the week before.
In today’s Substack post, Dan Rather and Elliott Kirschner capture the spirit of Jimmy Buffett.
“Though he left the hard partying to his youth, Buffett was able to call upon the joyful feeling of an endless summer that inspires the young, and the young at heart. But he also captured the complexities of life, love, and growing older. In a cynical world where the half-life of celebrity can be encompassed in nanosecond news cycles, Buffett endured. He knew who he was and what his fans wanted. They called themselves Parrotheads (a takeoff on the Deadhead fans of The Grateful Dead), and in his music and all that surrounded it, they found community, a vision of life well led, and a reason to smile.”
Thinking of Jimmy Buffett takes me right back to Key West four years ago, to a world where island time was all we had.
A world where we joked about coming down with Keys Disease.
A world where my best friend hadn’t yet been diagnosed with metastatic brain cancer that she fought with everything she had, until eight months ago.
Navigating this life without Cheryl sometimes makes it hard to find reasons to smile, but we’re trying. Music that brings me back to my favorite time with her helps.
It seems fitting that Jimmy leaves us at the end of summer. I hope he’s enjoying the scenery. I know that it's pretty up there.