Went to a Garden Party*

I went to a garden party to reminisce with my old friends---A chance to share old memories and play our songs again. . .

To get to the Vaneron Garden shop, you drive off the main road and follow the signs . . . once there, you feel like you're miles from nowhere.  In the mood for an adventure last Sunday, Heather, Shelly and I spent a beautiful afternoon in the jungle that is a commercial enterprise.  It's a nursery/arboretum/garden shop that's become our favorite for spending several hours in lush, jungley world of flora and greenery.

When I got to the garden party, they all knew my name
No one recognized me, I didn't look the same

But it's all right now, I learned my lesson well.
You see, ya can't please everyone, so ya got to please yourself

Vaneron has a restaurant with waterfalls and a stream running through the middle of it, all in a peaceful outdoor setting surrounded by acres of tropical plants.  A great place to reflect on an upcoming birthday with two of my favorite people in the world, my wife and daughter.  Naturally, we talked about Damon, the son and brother who's just started his spring semester in Miami.  We reminisced about what we were doing a year ago and five years ago, and compared it to our new lives "on the island." We laughed and talked of loved ones at home, and new friends near and far.

If you gotta play at garden parties, I wish you a lotta luck
But if memories were all I sang, I'd rather drive a truck
lot-dah-dah-dah (lot-dah-dah-dah)
lot-in-dah-dah-dah

So, as I turn the page on another birthday, it is a great time to reflect and reminsce with loved ones about times past.  And yes, to make plans for the next weekend, and the next month and beyond.  But more than anything, it's a great time to let myself be delighted by people and places, and enjoy the garden party that is happening right now, every single moment. 

'n' it's all right now, learned my lesson well
You see, ya can't please everyone, so you got to please yourself

* with apologies to Ricky Nelson, 1972