Christmas Cookie Connoisseur

Since my move to the Keys, one of the holiday traditions that I miss the most is the annual cookie decorating with my sister, Mary Beth. We began taking over the cookie baking from our mom when I was in my late teens, and since Mary Beth is ten years younger, she was a child cookie maven! We usually produced five or six different types of cookies, and over the years, honed the variety to our favorites (in other words, those which we wanted to eat). We used to do a marathon one day event which often ended with some hysterical, laugh-till-we-cried comment out of our happy exhaustion. Later, to fit the cookies around families, and work, we divvied up the list and baked and exchanged but always, until the last couple of years, got together to decorate our favorite sour cream cookie. With Christmas carols playing (am I imagining remembering the Hallelujah chorus as we finished our last cookies) and Mary Beth's incredibly beautifully decorated house as the setting, the time together allowed a catching up period in our lives. My mood would lift and I would finally have the Christmas spirit.

The cookie recipe came from a neighbor in our childhood in Youngstown, Ohio name Dorothy Bevan. My mother had a set of cookie cutters which we treasured and are now in Mary Beth's kitchen. I have my own set which was given to me by a cousin, Teddy Grey, who is deceased after succumbing to complications of Juvenile diabetes. Teddy found them in his own mother's kitchen after she passed away and handed them to me one Christmas in an old Christmas card box. I treasure them and even the vintage box they live in! The cutters were originally made in 1948 and are called "Aunt Chick's cookie cutters." Cutters from the original molds are reproduced today but the original sets are collectibles. The history of the cookie cutters can be found at http://www.grammascutters.com/chick.asp . I remember proudly taking the Easter Bunny cookie to my class in elementary school for my birthday sharing treat. My mom wasn't very artistic, but those cookies were works of art in my eyes.

The recipe for the cookies even gave me a photo op in the Cleveland Plain Dealer back in 1977. I had sent the recipe in for some reason that I cannot remember, and the cookie was selected and a photographer sent to my house. I found the photo and article tucked away in some of my mom's things once. I guess it didn't matter after all that I didn't make National Honor Society because I was recognized for my cookie baking skills. Even more bizarre was the mention of same in my first husband's eulogy at his funeral. Doug had a fine appreciation for our cookies and was probably our biggest fan. I was not really all that thrilled about having his girlfriend at the time of his death sum me up as his blond, Swedish first wife who was an incredible cookie baker... What did she know. I am not even really blond.

The real cookie artist, though, is my sister, who never ceases to amaze me with her absolutely gorgeous creations. Over the years we have included other persons in the decorating process, and actually, Mary Beth's husband has shown a bit of a creative flare in the decorating arena. Our sons, Sam and Dan, who are six weeks apart in age, always had to decorate a few each year. Sometimes that caused a bit of a cringe from MB who is a self pronounced perfectionist, but I think she finally has that part of her nature tamed. After all, it is a bit hard to see a perfectly baked cookie turned into a Jackson Pollack wannabe. Sam's version of decorating consisted of how high he could pile icing and how many silver dragees and colored sprinkles he could fit on a two inch star. Even I had a bit of a problem putting those cookies on the platters we gave away! I think they may have ended up on my hips instead.

When I asked Mary Beth if she had a picture I could post in my blog, her response was "of course, who doesn't take pictures of their cookies?" So here it is. And, if you want the recipe, you have to read the blog and ask me! I only share with those who care.

Naughty or Nice?

It probably was a mistake for me to open my mouth a few minutes ago when leaving the grocery store. After watching my Browns lose to a team who had a ten game losing streak going before we handed them a win, I may have been a bit Grinchie. When I approached my car, I watched a middle aged couple push their empty shopping cart to the parking space next to them and start getting in their car. I had to do it. I said "you really shouldn't leave your cart there - it blocks others and may damage a car. You need to put it back." Begrudgingly, the man pushed the cart back to the store entrance. He was probably calling me endearments the whole time - that begin in B, end in H and have ITC in the middle. I think I have watched hundreds of people do this but for some reason, I couldn't keep my mouth shut today.

I have a list of pet peeves and I want to share a few. I would love to hear what bugs the heck out of other people.

Naughty:

1. Obviously, the cart issue.

2. The dog walkers in my neighborhood who lovingly place their bags of dog poop under the baggie dispenser in the neighborhood park. What do they think, that the Poop Fairy comes sometime between dusk and dawn, sprinkles fairy dust and makes them disappear with her magic wand? Its not like there are not numerous garbage cans in the park. And, if these pet owners are too lazy to walk the extra steps to use one, why can't they carry the little bag that is provided to them free of charge to their home and put it in their own trash. Do the rest of us enjoy looking at a beautiful landscape with white poop bags as accents?

3. The drivers who, after been let in to traffic by your kindness, patience and generosity, drive on by without a little wave or a smile or even a solemn nod of acknowledgement. It makes me feel they believe they deserve to cut in. It is their right and I am supposed to delay my journey for them. Bah.

4. Litter. Especially cigarette butts. I am shocked at the motel by how many butts I can pick up in a day. 'Nuf said.

5. Cell phone users who talk loudly in public places so that I can hear their conversations. Like the man in the grocery store last week who was saying "she hasn't found the pistol yet, but she is still looking." Did I need to worry about that? Harry is in this category of naughty. He cannot put the phone on mute, unless he is in the movies or a funeral. I give him the evil eye in restaurants when it rings.

Also, drivers who slow down to below the speed limit, and when you pass them, you see that they are cluelessly gabbing away, oblivious to their surroundings. Or even worse, are texting - looking down with the occasional glance up at the road ahead. I cannot say that I do not talk on my phone, so Santa, please don't bring me coal. I will try to do better.

Of course there are many more pet peeves. People who want to talk and not listen. People who speed up when you try to pass them. People who talk in movies. People who talk about getting old - like when you say how are you and they say "good, I woke up." The list can go on and on. And, on a Nice note, when I stopped at the post office after the shopping cart incident, a woman waited with the door held open for me. I thanked her so profusely because she elevated me out of my Scrooge mood, she may have thought I was high on something. Just on gratitude and with thoughtful people and Christmas carols on the radio, who can stay grumpy for long.

Marin County, USA

We just got back from visiting Doris (Harry's step mom) in her new digs. She lives in the hills in the picture to the left on the north side of the Golden Gate bridge in Marin County. I have been singing Scott McKenzie's inane song lyrics "if you're going to San Francisco, be sure to wear some flowers in your hair" all week. I have been to the city before, but never spent much time north and WOW, I love this area of the country.

Doris moved to an apartment in a senior living facility in San Rafael a few months ago after living in L.A. for her adult life. It was a very big move for her but she decided that she needed to be near her "boys", Harvey and Ron now that her husband, Harry's dad, is gone.

After years of visiting in LA, this is new territory for us and really fun to explore somewhere new. Ron and Harvey (Harry's step-brothers) were incredible tour guides. Harvey took us into the Napa Valley and in the town of Napa we had a fantastic lunch at a restaurant in Napa named La Tra Vigne. The food and surroundings reminded me so much of my walking trip in Tuscany. We stopped at wineries and also did a wine tasting. I could even sort of taste some of the descriptions of wines, (dusty?) although there is a haughtiness that is somewhat amusing to me about the whole process. To me, if it tastes good, it is good. The valley is so picturesque, with rolling hills covered in grape vines and charming, rustic and Victorian architecture. I felt drawn to the area and could easily imagine being a farmer there in a former life.

Harry and I also visited Muir Woods National Park. Harry was so proud to use his senior pass that gets us in for free at all NP's. What an amazing and prehistoric-feeling environment. Chilly, damp, silent with thousand year old towering Redwoods (sequoia sempervirons) looming over us. And in other parts of California, there are the Giant Sequoia which are around 3000 years old! We got a bit lost getting there and the ride on a hairpin curved road with no guard rails was like my nightmare that accompanies the one I have of driving over bridges. I was almost in Harry's lap since I was on the cliff side.

Doris's other son, Ron, took us on the city tour. The view of the Golden Gate bridge was taken from the Presidio area and next to a Civil War fort. I have to look that up because I cannot understand why there would have been a fort there. Who would they have been defending against? I wanted to jump out of the car over and over in the city and explore, but unfortunately, Doris's bad knee is limiting her mobility so our activities are getting more and more limited, and we did most of that days sightseeing on our bums. I mean, the most activity we had was limited to non-stop restaurant decisions and eating. I think I will pack my tennis shoes next time and head to the gym every day as we did some serious eating. The words "organic", "artisanal", "fresh" are thrown about and they really do fit the cuisine. This area is for serious foodies.

Doris seems to be adjusting. It was disarming to see her apartment at first. A home dismantled and condensed to the basics in a small apartment. But all of it familiar to us, if not in a different setting. I think that for me, the realization of a life change, and Harry's dad gone, was the most disturbing. And, when we would go downstairs to leave the building, seeing all of the various types of walkers lined up outside of the dining room was a reality check. It is just selfish on my behalf. I don't want to see Doris age. She is our last parent to enjoy time with.

cHappy cHanukkah

I am so glad that I married someone who is Jewish and learned a little bit about the holidays and food. Latkes are one of the most delicious comfort types of food ever. I usually have them once during the eight days of Hanukkah, and serve them with applesauce and sour cream. I also usually have beef brisket and gravy with them. I never had cooked or even seen a cut of beef called brisket until I met Harry's mom, 28 years ago. Boy, could she cook!

I am posting the recipe and hope that some of you will try them and tell me how you like them. I never met anyone who didn't!

Latkes

2 1/2 # baking potatoes (6 good size)

1 medium onion

2 eggs

1/4 t. baking powder

2 T. flour

salt and pepper

Vegetable Oil and butter (OK, so I am not Kosher)

Grate potatoes and onion in food processor. Put in bowl. Drain or blot moisture in bottom of bowl. Add eggs, baking powder, flour and salt & pepper. Put about 1/8 inch of oil in bottom of skillet. Add a blob of butter (about 1 and 1/2 T.). Heat over medium to medium-hi heat. Spoon potato mixture (with slotted spoon) into pan, and flatten pancakes. Cook until golden brown on both sides.

Serve with sour cream and applesauce.

Happy Thanksgiving

H-Bomb and I are working today to give staff a break for the holiday. And, to alleviate guilt I may have when I announce that I am "outta here" at Christmas time to go be with family. We will have our traditional dinner tomorrow and included, among other guests, will be our friend Marvin, who, with Harry's assistance as his sponsor, is moving along on the road to United States citizenship. Harry obtained the lawyer for Marvin a couple of years ago and now there is no more looking over the shoulder and worry about being deported and having to leave his US family behind. Harry "walks the walk and talks the talk" as I have said before.

The dinner will be what has been whittled down from favorites over the years. My favorites! Hey, I am the cook. The usual turkey, cornbread stuffing, etc. Braised brussel sprouts. Green bean casserole (I do use fresh beans but the classic recipe remains king). Cranberry sauce. Homemade rolls. Also, probably several pies so that there are leftovers. We will take plates to our neighbor Kirby and his wife Martha, who are pretty much housebound these days. Martha is on oxygen and Kirby is losing sight and hearing. Such lovely neighbors. I hate to see their world shrinking.

What am I thankful for? My life. It has been a great ride so far.

Are You This Brave?

My youngest son, Samuel Eli, has always been a mechanical whiz. He certainly is his father's son. As a toddler, his favorite toy was the vacumn cleaner. When he was in elementary school, his Halloween mad scientist costume had light up effects in his pocket, created by him. He blew out an electrical outlet at my friend Peggy's house when showing off one of his moving creations. And, when he was involved in the Odyssey of the Mind, in sixth grade, he motorized a cart and another prop and the judges took off points because they felt there had to be parental involvement, despite the coaches assurances that he had been the sole inventor. He never owned a toy for very long, because he took them apart to see how they worked. In fact, he almost lost the sight in one eye when he incurred a serious laceration from a piece of plastic flying off an tear-apart and had to wear goggles from then on. He was (and is) fun, inventive and interesting. Also, highly hyperactive as a child and definitely a challenge at times when he got "wound up." Sam, at age two, winged a heavy silver fork off a balcony at the Loews Santa Monica Beach Hotel and it just happened to land on an employees head two stories down. He also left a goose neck lamp lit that he was playing with when he was perhaps 5 or 6 at a Jersey shore rental house and it just happened to catch a beach towel on fire, and then burned the carpet as his Grandfather, who fortunately was nearby, smelled smoke and raced to throw the burning towel in the tub. That event cost me new carpeting for the house. I love to tell these stories, not because I was upset with Sam. I couldn't be. He was just like the monkey George in the books "Curious George" and to me, just as cute, likable, happy and charming. Even when he was driving you so crazy you wanted to find duct tape and wrap him up.

Now Sam is into cars. Big time. He repairs friends and family's vehicles and has done quite a bit of audio customization. He created his own touch screen computer for his former car. Now he is doing a huge project (which just happens to be taking up every conceivable bare spot in the yard and under the house). He has purchased two BMW's, each for $800, and is placing all the interior in the car that has engine problems into the car that has the great rebuilt engine but a crapped out interior. Then, he will sell all the remaining parts on eBay. He laughed and told his friend Jim, when I looked at the project, that I would say exactly what I said..."Sam, you are scaring me." But, every time he takes these cars apart, they manage to get put back together in perfect order and in perfectly working condition. Including mine.

Not Your Mother's Easter Corsage

Meet a LC - Laelia Cattleya. I do not know the hybrid name - the tag was lost a long time ago. This beauty is blooming for the first time, thanks to Harry's lath house creation, and my finally learning, somewhat, how to fend off the myriad of viruses, fungi, and snails, and to adjust the light and water issues that determine plant success. If you are thinking "big deal" - my marigolds are loaded with blossoms - than consider that an orchid plant takes about 7 years to reach maturity where it can bloom, and many bloom once a year. And, the light, and nutrition has to be correct for it to happen. So when plants that I have had for literally years finally throw out a little bud, I am ecstatic. I watch the tortuously slow growth daily until, like this morning, I go outside and see this beauty in nearly full bloom. Each flower has an iridescence that does not show on camera, as though dusted with a frosty fine glitter. Many have heady fragrances, but this one does not. I will get hopefully a couple weeks of enjoyment in the house until it wilts and then goes out to the yard, until, hopefully next year.

The above Dendrobium, and above it, Cattleya, are examples of sticking a plant on a tree down here. I mean, literally sticking it on with liquid nails, wrapping a wire around it for a day until the glue dries and then watching it slowly send its roots out to wrap around the tree and live in symbiosis, like in nature. These two plants took over two years to send out inflorescence and bloom.

The Ugly Side of Humanity

Ugh, it is one of those days when I get discouraged that people have a dark side, and some have a very easy time letting it rotate into the sunlight. After dealing with a guest who ignored our no-smoking policy, despite signing a specific agreement on the reservation form agreeing to being charged for said behavior, he left a cup full of cigarette butts in a very smoked up room. In addition, we have multiple signs on the property, and ashtrays outside everywhere with seating next to them. And, did you know that despite hotels having a no-smoking charge - they cannot enforce it? The credit card companies will not support the merchant. The guest has to "sign" that they accept the smoking penalty. So, I decided to charge the man half of the normal penalty and wrote to him that if he opts to dispute the charges, I will take him to small claims court, since he is a Keys resident, and ask for court costs in addition to the full penalty. And that I have photos of his deed. We will see what he does.

Then, after dealing with that slime bag, (who by the way was an "arrogant jerk" when he checked in according to staff), I received a phone bill for almost $300 of phone call charges to Cuba made in a two day rental in a property that we own. Dummy me. I thought that having local calls only established with AT&T meant, just that - local calls only. No, I just learned that you can dial 1010123 and get around that little system and charge calls to anywhere you would like. And, when calling the former renters to discuss this bill with them, I learned that their phone is disconnected. Not only did I go out of my way to make an exception for this family who needed a short term rental which is not my normal policy, during their stay we had to call the police for excessive noise, and their group of 6 as stated on the contract was really about 14 people, and last but not least, after they turned in the keys, they snuck back in the house and used the house, and pool until late in the day after we thought they had departed. How do people do these things and not feel guilt? Does what goes 'round really come 'round?? And, by the way, I have shared some little secrets of the low life world but trust that my blog readers are my friends and family and would never use this new knowledge!

Happy 100th Birthday, Howard Ryden Nord

Today would be father's 100th birthday. This occurred to me last month as I attended my husband's aunt's 95th birthday dinner in Naples, Fl. and as I walked the beach that day, I calculated that my father had been born in 1910. My sister Suzanne had thought about it also I learned in a later phone conversation, and I wanted to post this remembrance.

What an amazing century to live in. Dad used to tell me about when their home as children was "electrified." He and his teenage friends bought a used Model-T Ford for $5 and his buddy fell off the running board and broke a leg. His father died of an infection that began in a tooth, pre-antibiotics. His mother did the laundry for a family of nine before the amazing washers and dryers of today. Once a year the rugs were hung outside to be "beaten" because Stanley Steamer didn't exist. Fresh fruit and vegetables were stored in the cellar at the end of harvest and the idea of a fresh orange and an apple in your Christmas stocking was because they were such rare and expensive treats mid winter. You didn't run to the store and make a salad for dinner. Food was homemade (and delicious I am sure if made by my Swedish grandmother).

My father lived through WWI, the Great Depression, WWII, air travel, the first man on the moon and so much invention that I cannot begin to name. He remembered when neighbors cared for neighbors and there was no Social Security or welfare. He did not glorify the past and talked of hard times that people experienced. He was part of the post WWII boom and returned to build a home, work, raise a family, take us on yearly vacations, put children through college and experience a "snow bird" retirement lifestyle. All good. And, he managed to live his whole life and never once use a computer as far as I know. And, also never swear once in front of me (although my son Matt did hear him mutter one, once, when missing the coin drop on the Fl. turnpike). So, here's to you Dad. Happy 100th. Quite a century. Quite a life.

How Did I Get So Lucky?

I haven't blogged for quite a while. It isn't because I haven't had anything to say. It is because "my feet have barely touched the ground" as Harry would say.

I feel so lucky that I have had such a rich life. I have had some pretty rough times emotionally, as those close to me know, but in terms of opportunities and freedoms, I have had it all. I was able to quit work when my kids were small and enjoy the job of mother without the unbelievable pressures women have who are juggling jobs in and out of the home. I have only "worked" (meaning a pay check) part time for the last 20+ years. And, the jobs I had were totally able to be done on my own schedule. Now I find this freedom to be so sweet. No responsibilities or persons at home to constantly worry about. I love this time in life.

I spent the past couple weeks attending Harry's aunt's 95th birthday dinner in Naples, Fl which we extended into a several day vacation, fishing with my son Matt, and vacationing with my girlfriend. Harry and I had a great time together on Sanibel at our favorite haunts and also enjoyed spending time with Harry's brother George, cousins and Aunt Marion in Naples. We love the west coast of Florida, but I have to say, when entering the restaurant for dinner in on the first night of our trip Naples, I texted Sam who was on his way to join us to "be prepared because everyone except us appeared to be over 100." I guess this is because of the off season and also the restaurant, which appeared to appeal to the Naples blue blood types.

The day after we got back from Naples, Matthew and his brother-in-law Ryan Fitzpatrick, arrived with fishing poles in hand and we hit the water in my new (used) flats skiff, the "No Baloney" - so named because Ryan could not get over how good the baloney sandwiches we took aboard were. I think he had not had one his whole adult life. Our first venture was across open water to the Everglades. With storm clouds looming, I did not dare try to discourage Matt and we donned rain gear and off we went. Riding for an hour in pelting rain is like a new kind of spa facial - perhaps more like a zapping laser treatment. When we got to Flamingo, the first thing I saw before thunder forced us to the marina was a whole flock of Roseate Spoonbills on the flats. I couldn't even get a picture of these amazing birds, the color of flamingos with a flat spoon shaped mouth. As we pulled our boat in, a huge alligator cruised by. After the thunder subsided, we headed back out to fish in the rain. We decided that riding across open water again to our car was going to be a nightmare ride with all of the storms and convinced Sam to pick up our car and trailer and drive all the way north to the Everglades National park (about an hour and a half) to pick us up. When dark fell, we sought refuge in a fish cleaning station with screening because the mosquitoes in the Everglades are like being attacked by the Red Cross Bloodmobile. We were cold, wet, hungry and miserable happy!! The ride back in the car with heat blasting would have made any northerner laugh because the outside temp was probably 76.

The next day I woke to find Matt at the computer searching the weather reports and we lucked out. Calm seas and fairly clear skies. We headed south to the area of Big Pine Key. I love it there. Isolated, starkly beautiful. You could be in the Caribbean. Fishing wasn't great but the day was. We had a wonderful time enjoying nature and each other's company. We had dinner at the No Name Pub on Big Pine Key. It is a Key's classic - character and characters. There are about $30,000 dollar bills stapled to the ceiling and walls. The beer was cold and the pizza and wings a perfect compliment.

The third day of the visit was offshore fishing. The water was flat calm as we left our canal and we were out to 1500 feet in no time. After some searching we found a large weed patch floating alone in the gulf stream. Baits out, troll a few minutes and BAM, double hook up of Mahi Mahi and these were really nice size. Bringing one too the boat means the rest of the school follows and they are visible under the water so the fun begins. Three people fishing, chaos, tangled lines, fish running under the boat. It is adrenaline pumping action and the end result was some great fish and a spectacular dinner of Macadamia crusted Mahi with a Thai curry sauce - my specialty. And, lots more in the freezer. The day ended with us coming home and being joined by a school of porpoise who swam with the boat and played and entertained us.

Ryan had to head home that night. Matt and I were able to get out on the flats near the house one more time the next day. We finished his trip with a dinner out at a local restaurant that we can walk to, and after dinner, listened to the band. Eating outside to me is one of the most delightful ways to dine and one of the many joys of living in the sub-tropics.

Next morning, Matt and I were on the road at 5:30AM to head to the airport. I dropped him off and headed north to the Tampa airport to pick up my friend, Fern, who flew down from Cleveland for a few days of golf and girlfriend time. Fern has been a friend for over 30 years. I met her in graduate school soon after I moved kicking and screaming to Cleveland. That move turned out to be wonderful when I learned to love the people and the wonderful diversity of the city. The trip almost didn't happen because Fern's mother died the week before after several years of failing health and a move into a nursing home. Fern decided to come and it turned out to be the perfect antidote after caring for a very difficult, aging parent. Some of us were lucky in parent department, and some not. I don't need to say more.

The ride north was uneventful until I saw, looming in the distance, the Skyway Bridge near Clearwater, Fl. Holy cow! To me, it looked like the Magnum at Cedar Pt. amusement park. As I got closer, my hands and feet started to sweat. I maneuvered to an inside lane and fought off my panic as I drove up, up and up. At the top, I got the nerve to look out over the incredible water vista. I think I didn't stop perspiring for an hour. I am so afraid of heights, that even watching something high on TV can start me in a panic! Why the heck did they make this bridge so high? I know that I have dreamed about driving over high bridges many times, and this time, my dream was real. I don't know what the fear means. One time a co-worker told me I had a fear of heights because I was not "grounded." Is that like being a blond? Was she saying I was ditzy? I remember walking on the Kinzua railroad bridge in Pa. years ago with my family and literally having to get down on all fours and crawl off. Maybe I am afraid I will fling myself off in some wild impulsive suicide attempt? Or, most likely, I know what a klutz I am and am afraid I will fall.

Fern and I rented a little house in Spring Hill, Fl. through http://www.vrbo.com/ - a great site that I use to rent our vacation rental. The home was adorable, comfortable and a perfect launch pad. We played golf twice.

One course, World Woods, was a top rated public course. Absolutely beautiful. We explored the area all the way down to Clearwater and back. We ate out in fun restaurants. We shopped. We went to two beaches. It was a great time full of laughs and we were so tired at night we couldn't stay up past 11.

Home now. Back to work at the motel. Harry caught me up on all of the projects he has worked on while I was away. Sam had new projects to review also. I am tapping my foot while planning the next adventure.

It Bloomed!

Sam and I left at 6AM this morning for the airport to attend a wedding in Cincinnati. In the dark, I noticed an enormous white flower on the cactus and sure enough, it had bloomed. But at night. And, after some research, I learned that the bloom lasts one night! So, out of 44 years, which is around 16,000 nights, we just happened to be up before dawn and I just happened to notice this white glow near the cactus, and we just happened to see this most magnificent flower. Nature is a wondrous, mysterious thing. There must be some insect out there flying only at night that is in perfect symbiosis with this flowers rhythms. My father loved to quote the poet John Keats "A thing of beauty is a joy forever." So true.

Douglas John Urich's Cactus

Today is the 10th anniversary of the death of Doug Urich. Doug was my former husband, and the father of my oldest son, Matt. Doug died suddenly of cardiac arrest at the age of 52. Ironically, he was an avid cyclist and exercised frequently. He had just completed a long ride along the shores of Lake Michigan in Chicago before his death. But, the day was the hottest of the year, and my theory has always been that dehydration contributed to the blockage created by a small piece of plaque. His medical records showed that he had recently been advised to lower his BP and take statins. Statins stabilize plaque. But, like so many men, he ignored the health advice. Bad luck and not calling 911 immediately at the first signs of distress are a bad combination and I advise anyone reading this blog to remember to pay attention to warning signs.

Doug also had a simmering temper, which I also believe contributes to cardiovascular problems, and I partially blame it for his early death. He was a big man, tall and of large stature. He played football in high school and went to Miami University on a football scholarship. When he was in the second grade, he was taller than his teacher. We often discussed how being so large creates a situation for a man where he has to work to appear gentle. I think that effort created a disconnect in him regarding anger and he often had to work hold back the impulse to express it. Because, when he was mad, he was frightening to those around him. I once made him stand at the bottom of the stairs and climbed up two steps so that we could discuss something face to face instead of looking up at his football player sized self, like usual. And, when that man was hungry, he was grumpy! His son Matt said he attacked a parking garage meter once when it didn't function correctly on the way to dinner. Like father, like son Matt, and like grandson Jack. When in need of nourishment, behaviours change. And then, once fed, back to placid and lovable.

Doug was a handsome man with dark good looks and a megawatt smile. He was named "cutest boy" in his high school yearbook. But, he had no conceit about his looks, and in fact was somewhat naive about them. I remember being in line at some function and overhearing women talking about him. I sang the lyrics to him "the groom was prettier than the bride" from the song "Sadie, Sadie" in Funny Girl, before we got married. Doug had a great sense of humor. He was personable and charming. He was intelligent and an avid reader to feed his curiosity. He learned well from his own father that a trip to the museum meant stopping and taking in every sign. In fact, he would whip off the road at every roadside historical marker he saw to study them. And as a father, he fed Matt's curiosities. If Matt was interested in dinosaurs, then they went to the Natural History museum repeatedly. The Civil War interest brought about countless trips to battlefields. He bought Matt book after book about whatever interest arose. And, when Matt became passionate about fishing, Doug joined the interest and took him on many memorable trips to exotic fishing locales.

Doug obtained a degree in Hospital Administration and that became his career path. After he completed graduate school, we moved to Cleveland for work. Eventually, we divorced, but it was always civil and kind. In fact, we used the same lawyer and it cost $700 - unheard of these days. He remained a part of my family and welcome at family events. There was no rancor. We shared custody. I always trusted Doug totally. I knew Matt was in the best of loving hands and had a father who adored him. Something happened along the way, though, and Doug estranged himself from his own family. He moved in and out of another marriage. And, he made a career move to Chicago. That one single decision was, I believe, the worst he ever made. He had hurt his child who now had to travel back and forth by plane to see a father who was once so near and accessible. Doug never seemed happy after that move. I felt that he knew he had made a poor choice and could not reverse it. Even when he was involved with someone who moved to Chicago to be with him and was perhaps going to marry, there was a sadness about him.

I imagine that things would now be different, if his life had not been cut so short. He would be relishing the role of grandfather and be a doting one at that. He would perhaps be remarried and enjoying companionship instead of isolation. He would have reconciled his relationships with his family; he had made the first step toward that to attend a family wedding later in the month he died. We will never know what would have been. We can only try to understand him, and miss the man who was, in his heart, a very wonderful person.

This week I had a delightful surprise that I wish I could share with him. When I told Matt, it was he that reminded me of the 10th anniversary of his father's death. When Doug went to college, in 1966, his high school girlfriend gave him a cactus after Doug had broken up with her, with a note calling him a "prick." That cactus went to Miami U., then to Cincinnati to our first home, and then Buffalo, back to Cleveland, and then Chicago. I brought the cactus back to Cleveland after Doug's death and when we moved to Key Largo, it came down also. Around its base are rocks and shells, collected from travels. There is a small piece of the Roman Forum (before stupid tourists like me were barred from close encounters), among others things. In the intense Florida sun, the cactus has grown solid and healthy. When I was getting the mail several days ago, I saw that for the FIRST TIME IN 44 YEARS, the cactus has flower buds on it. I was excited, and know Doug would have been too! Is it a sign? Who knows. But if a sign is something that makes your heart sing with joy, and remember the most lovely memories, than this is a sign. A sign that Doug was loved and that we still care about him, and miss him, so very much.

Bye Bye LA

We have been visiting this house in LA for over 20 years. Harry's dad, and step mom, Doris, lived there after marrying. When Harry's mother died at the young age of 64, Harry's dad waited the perfunctory mourning period and then set about to meet a companion. He carried his notes on index cards in his breast pocket, just as Harry does, and one of those cards had the requirements he had for a second wife. He dated a few women, but Doris, who was also widowed, happened to be working in the gift shop in the Hotel in Los Angeles that Harry's dad had built, and she fit all the requirements. She was Jewish, attractive, did not have a career to interfere with Sidney's schedules and respectably widowed. She also turned out to be loving, kind, caring and a wonderful stepmother wife and stepmother. They lived in an apartment for a while in Encino and moved back and forth between Sidney's apartment in Cleveland and LA, but eventually moved to LA permanently with this house purchase. Doris loves LA. Sidney loved Cleveland. But business was happening in LA so the move fit.

Over those 20 some years, Harry logged over 940,000 miles on Continental Airlines visiting his father and also attending to the business that they had in LA. In fact, soon he will hit the million mile mark and we both will be gifted a permanent elite status. Quite a nice bonus! But well deserved by a son who gave up a weekend almost every month to sit in his father's kitchen, discuss politics, drive him around when macular degeneration took his ability to drive away and tend to whatever need he had. The job jar was always full of little tasks. And the visit always included being driven to their favorite restaurants. In fact, we did the same thing with Doris this weekend. Emilio's for lunch, where for years they went after temple. My favorite, The Bijou. The requisite Brett's deli. Most of these spots know Doris, and Harry also.

Recently, Doris decided that it was time to sell the house. Sidney is gone and she has decided that it would be a better move for her to go into a retirement apartment complex near her sons in the Bay area. We were shocked when it sold in three weeks with a move out date of Sept. 1 so we hustled out to LA last weekend to visit one last time and help out with the moving preparations.

It was sad! I wandered about in Sidney's little backyard filled with his flowers, roses, potted citrus trees, fig trees and the most spectacular grapefruit tree you have ever seen. He loved to garden. As his sight began to fail, he would finally allow me to pull weeds, and pot annuals. Before that, I wouldn't think of touching his garden. It was his pride and joy. You plant a tree when you own a home and its growth parallels the growth of your family, your children, your grandchildren. You watch it grow but often it survives you. Someone else will move into that home and I hope that they enjoy going outside every morning to pluck a grapefruit for their breakfast as much as Sidney did. Some of the garden ornaments are coming to the Keys so that we can place them about our yard and think of Sid and Doris.

I know this is a very difficult stage in Doris's life. Leaving a city she has called home for over 60 years, giving up a car, leaving a house for an apartment and moving into what will most likely be her last home. She is handling the move with the grace and dignity that she handles everything. She asked over and over if we would come to see her in Marin county. Of course, we promised. And plans are already in place for day trips in wine country, new restaurants to become favorites and, hopefully, many new memories.

Gratuity?

Mavis, our housekeeper, found this in the trash yesterday in one of the rooms at the motel that she was cleaning. I debated whether or not to call the guests, which is standard policy if they leave something behind, but considering the nature of the item and that it was in the trash I decided to not get involved. Not that I believe that marijuana should be illegal, but the law is the law and I wanted to stay out of that arena. I imagine it went into the trash by accident. I won't go into details about what I did with the items...

Guests leave a myriad of treasures behind on a regular basis. Food left behind goes to the housekeepers. Beer goes into my "fishing fridge" and later into the boat cooler. Clothes, if we cannot find owners to return them to, or if they went into the general laundry, go into the lost and found and after a few weeks unclaimed, they are washed and taken by staff or end up at Salvation Army. I take a trash bag full about once a month. We have a drawer full of phone chargers, camera chargers, and foreign currency converters which we try to recycle to needy persons. We have shipped clothes, eyeglasses, jewelry and even a purse with money, credit cards and passport to a guest from Czechoslovakia (we intercepted their American travels in North Carolina). The item that gave us the biggest laugh was a vibrator. No one wanted to go near that one, but we did giggle all day. But one item, that continually gets left behind, is pillows. I think guests are often attached to their own pillows and travel with them. As a rule, I throw them out. Bed bugs are a major problem in the hotel industry and I will not chance them being transported on a pillow and living large in my laundry room while I try to locate their owners. The most striking and disturbing thing I have learned is that often, these pillows are disgustingly dirty! Last week two very lovely middle aged women, who drove a nice car, were dressed beautifully and had the appearance of good hygiene, left a pillow that under the case, was about as filthy an item as I have ever seen. I didn't even want to touch it to toss it. Go figure??

I have left one item in a hotel. My very favorite Ralph Lauren classic black blazer in New Orleans after a girlfriend trip to Mardis Gras. I called immediately after discovering my loss, within a couple hours of checking out. I knew exactly where I left it hanging in the room on the back of the closet door. The hotel said that housekeeping had not seen it and it was never found. I still regret that loss, and that event has prompted me to make sure that we make every effort to return all legal substances to their rightful owner.

Beautiful Oasis

My incredibly creative and wonderful husband has done it again!! What started out as a little idea of mine - perhaps a little corner pond off of our patio - has turned into another Harry feat. I started digging a spot the winter of 2009 and then it sat there, a useless hole, during the hot summer months. Sam and I took up the cause again this past winter, digging drywall buckets of gravel and coral rock out and Harry carted them a few at a time to an empty lot we own for fill material. At times, the job seemed impossible. We discovered mamouth chunks of coral that needed the assistance of the laws of physics and a hammer drill to unearth. I began to contemplate the value of TNT. The project then began to snowball. We needed a waterfall. We needed electrical power and a pump house and underground pipes and drainage. Harry dragged beautiful coral rocks back from a rental property a few at a time. We moved a behemoth landscape rock from the front and another purchased in Miami. These rocks entailed platforms, rollers and Harry the Pharaoh and Carolyn the slave, rolling the monsters to the backyard and into place. Harry built a platform for the waterfall out of cement. "It is too big" I lamented - it turned out to be perfect. Matt's brother in law Ryan, who was visiting, made the mistake of asking one day if there was anything he could do to help. Next thing he knew, he and Matt moved a citrus tree and dug trenches. Sam helped. I helped. But the hero was Harry, who envisioned and created this absolutely delightful, and soothing, water scape.

The Empty Nest

After a visit from Jack and Matt, Matt's brother-in-law Ryan, and Sam's friend Amy who lives in San Fransisco - and then everyone departing including Sam (for a visit "up north"), it is quiet around Manatee Insanity. Too quiet, perhaps.

This was the 2nd Annual Urich Boy's Fishing trip, but the weather did not cooperate one bit. The winds were consistently blowing enough to make a trip out to the Gulf Stream unpleasant and not doable with Jack on board. We were disappointed, but filled the time with activity. Harry and the boys and I headed over to Sanibel Island on the gulf coast for a couple days. Jack wore us out with swimming in the ocean and pool and a night time flash light adventure down the beach hunting for shells and crabs. We teased Grandpa Harry a good deal over a crab that scurried toward him instead of away, and according to Jack, he "screamed like a girl" when the crab landed on his foot. We ate seafood and Matt was able to visit with a college buddy who happened to be staying with his family on the island. I appreciated that Matt would discuss politics for hours on end with Harry and give me some relief!

When Uncle Ryan "Ry-Ry" Fitzpatrick arrived, we feasted on Doc Ford's Yucatan shrimp (a dish recreated from a favorite spot in Sanibel) and the younger crowd hung out long after Jack and his grandparents went to bed. The next day we drove to Marathon to swim at the motel, did tourist activities and also did some evening shark fishing. Our last day was spent in the secluded and sheltered mangroves catching snappers and a last dinner out with a nightcap at the Pilot House bar that has underwater lights and glass in the floorboards and tubes to feed the fish. Jack ended the night with a solo dance to the band playing "Teach Your Children" by Crosby, Stills and Nash. Good taste.


Jack went to the airport, wearing his new shirt backwards since he liked the design and his new pirate gear. I wonder is the TSA took his plastic sword away?

I miss them. And, I am sure that in a few years, I will be able to have both Ruby and Jack here for Grammy Care's Day Camp. Jack loves Florida and did not want to leave. When I asked him if he wouldn't miss everyone in Ohio, he told me he could go there on holidays! I encouraged him to work on his Mom. Maybe they will come back some day!

Tripping

I have calmed down from my confrontation with the TSA, but I am not done. I have researched the new scanning device, which are called, in some reports, a virtual strip search. There are questions about safety from exposure. And, the TSA itself stated that the scan was to replace pat downs. Apparently they forgot to tell the folks in Albuquerque. I will be writing my protest letters to my congresswoman and such, but of course, I will get the usual canned responses I always do. I remember being a child and a real treat was to get our feet xrayed in a machine in the shoe department in the downtown Youngstown department store we went to for our oh-so sturdy Stride Rites. The radiation hazards associated with shoe fitting x-ray units were recognized as early as 1950. The machines were often out of adjustment and were constructed so radiation leaked into the surrounding area. Who knew?? And who knows what the effects from these body scans will be.

On a more positive note, my trip to Albuquerque was to visit my stepdaughter Jezebel, her husband Matt and there two babies, our grandchildren, Jenavieve and Anastasia. This visit followed my trip to Ohio the week before to attend my granddaughter Ruby's second birthday and visit her brother Jack and parents, Matt and Megan.

Ohio weather was lovely. Warm days and cool nights. Everything looked so lush but I found myself missing palm trees. I didn't think that would ever happen! I did enjoy seeing grass though, and Matt and Megan's looked particularly beautiful since they had a new sprinkler system installed. Down here, grass is difficult to grow so rock and coral are substitutes in many yards. Several highlights of the visit were: Ruby kissing my hand after I arrived and telling me she missed me. Jack lying in bed with me sharing stories and telling me "someone loves you more than anything in the whole world - me!" Our birthday dinner at the famous Tony Packo's and Megan's sister going into labor and delivering a beautiful baby girl the next morning with Megan there to witness. Jack and Ruby and I going to see Toy Story 3 - Jack wearing the new pajamas I gave him that he didn't want to take off.


The trip to Albuquerque was very different. Albuquerque is in the high desert and the scenery is so very different. Much of the landscaping is called "zeroscape" and it is very architectural with stones, cactus and soil. With mountains in the background, and very expansive skies, it is quite striking. Matt and Jezebel live on the Rio Grande river in a very interesting contemporary home built by an architect. Since Jezebel is an artist and has a gallery, the home is simply furnished with plants and art. And now, toys and baby equipment. Everywhere. Their daughters are 15 months apart. Jenievieve is 19 months, very sweet and soft spoken. I am very struck by how much she resembles Sammy as a baby. Anastasia is a very sweet baby also, and they are very lucky. We all went to dinner at a very upscale restaurant and fortunately had a private room, but nonetheless, the kids were wonderful. Ana needed some bouncing and fussing over because she is the opposite of her sister - she bellows! We visited Jezebels gallery in Madrid (where part of the movie "Wild Hogs" was filmed) and if you want to step back in time to the hippy dippy days of the 60's - this is the place. I love the town and Jezebel's gallery is just beautiful with her lighting. We also visited Matt's office. How about having your own ping pong table and exercise equipment? We enjoyed spending time and catching up, because we don't get to see them as often as we would like.

Homeland Security - Big Brother

I am so angry right now I can not stop vibrating internally. Something snapped today and I think as Americans, we need to stop our complacent attitudes and start looking carefully at how our rights are being infringed upon.

I fly frequently because I have family scattered all over the country. The benefits of that are airline elite status, upgrades and many comforts that average people don't always get. But, like all people, I have to go through this insane airport screening. First, we allowed ourselves to be checked for metals and our bags scanned. Sometimes our bags were searched. I have had items removed (children's rounded edged scissors, nail clippers). Solution - check your bags. OK, so now we have to pay to check bags. Then we had limits on liquids. How many people have lost items from that? A $10 bottle of special shampoo here, a medication there - expense has been enormous if you look at an entire population. The number of TSA agents has increased. Who pays their salaries? Slowly and insidiously we are being more and more controlled by a government that has created a fear factor. Does it make sense that on board, I can get a can of Diet Coke and break it in half and create a weapon but I cannot carry on my toenail clippers? Consider the number of flights daily in the world and how many of those are compromised by terrorists?

Scan my bags, OK. Scan me for metals, OK. I won't like it but I will tolerate it. But this new body scan that makes you raise your hands above your head while they see you under your clothes is not OK. But today was the final straw, for some reason I was selected to be "patted down." So the female TSA officer comes over and tells me she has to touch my breasts but just with the back of her hands. Standing out in front of the entire airport. I said no. That was not OK with me. That is an invasion of my privacy as a citizen. So she said she would have to call her supervisor who came over and announced loudly "well, that is all right, she just won't make her flight today." By then I was ballistic. So they called security who told me if I didn't cooperate he would send me on the bus out of the airport! I asked him if he wouldn't care if someone wanted to pat his wife down in public and touch her breasts. He gave me more lip. I told the TSA person to take me into a private room and they did their pat down. What for?? My dangerous under wire bra which I am going to turn into a mechanism to pick the lock of the door into the cockpit?

If you know me, then you know that I am slow to blow but this just turned me into a real bitch. I couldn't even believe how I lipped off. I mean, I could have been back in college yelling in a Vietnam war protest at the "pigs." I have just had it with the treatment of humans as cattle in airport security. I am frightened by the invasion of our privacy by Homeland Security. We need to reclaim our country, our privacy and our dignity. I still had to go through the "procedures" but I sure didn't do it without a public display of my opinions and I am not embarrassed, but proud. I have names and badge numbers and believe me, I will write my letters.

Banana Bay Break-in

After writing my blog about fathers, I tossed and turned trying to get to sleep. How can one adequately describe someone in a few paragraphs. I kept thinking of things I should have added. My memories were flowing and my brain was on hyper drive. I was a little low, missing my folks. But, when I arrived to work at the Sea Dell this morning, I found this flyer taped to the front desk and my spirits were lifted. Perhaps you have to live here to know how annoying iguanas are to appreciate this. People hate them! They poop on your boat or in your pool and they eat every plant they encounter. They are perhaps the ugliest and scariest looking creature on earth. And, despite their shortcomings, someone loved two of them enough to post a $2000 reward. In fact, the owners have been on a search and rescue mission and even came by today to see if our 20 year old employee, Laz, might have the underground scoop on the crime because he is young and connected to the local youth scene. I called Laz and he said he was adding PI work to his resume and he was out on the case already. For $2000, I may go scouting the neighborhood. But why would someone take them?? In Central and South American countries, as I have mentioned before, they are a tasty dinner treat. Maybe I need to reconsider vegetarianism because I don't like the idea of eating pets. I knew the movie "Babe" had more significance than just a cute story about talking pigs. The iguana owners are really sick at heart about this.

Much of owning a motel is not glamorous. Loads and loads of stranger's laundry, maintenance problems, settling staff issues (like posting bail), paper work and more paperwork including the ridiculous governmental crap (inspections, permits, permits to have inspections...) But, the joy is in the guests. A couple weeks ago we had a guest who was speaking locally about his bike ride from Key West to Peru and he was beginning his new journey from Key West to New England to Seattle, to Southern California and back to Key West. His day job? A stand up comedian.

And how about the woman from Utah who looked like your average natural, no make-up, healthy middle age woman who just didn't believe in shaving. I mean her armpits looked like they housed squirrel tails. I had a hard time not joking "we are not a pet friendly motel." I wondered what was under the long pants she had on. I didn't wonder too long because it sort of freaked me out. I thought feminism took a bit of a turn from that au-naturel scene back in the 70's. In fact, the counter scene is the stupidly enhanced look that some young women are now adopting in the breast department. I have seen women who look like they have grapefruit halves glued to their chests. Perfectly round, top and bottom. South Miami is known for giving plastic surgery as a graduation gift. I know, I know, I should be more accepting. I am. But, I am also prone to being amused by people and there quirks and oddities. I have the perfect perch from behind the Sea Dell desk to observe. And I have my blog to comment. And if you don't like what I say, you don't have to read!

Fathers

I didn't get my blog written in time for Father's Day, because I worked. And the minute I got home, I had to plop myself on the couch with feet up on the coffee table and watch the US Open. I thought about my father all day long, but especially watching that golf game. Golf is a game that my parents enjoyed. In fact, in retirement, it was almost their job! I think they played three times a week, at least, year round. My father had a serious heart attack when he was 84 which he totally ignored and consequently it did a great deal of damage to his heart. Despite what must have been serious angina, he continued to drag a golf cart around and walk 18 holes for several months before the damage got too severe and created other problems that eventually led to his death. He was not going to miss his golf.

I love the game. So does one of my sisters, Mary Beth. In fact, she has already had a hole-in-one. My father had two, both in same year. Just like waiting for the Browns to make the Super Bowl, I am waiting for my hole-in-one.

My father was truly one of the good guys. He was Swedish, from a small town in Pa. which provided him fodder for his many stories about the locals. He was a very handsome man and was in his 30's and widowed when he met my mother while on leave from the army. He was sent to officer's training school, served in WWII, came home and went to college on the GI bill while working full time and raising a family. He ended his army stint by remaining in the reserves and retired as a Lt. Colonel. He would have liked to have completed law school, but by the time he finished a bachelor's degree, I think already having three of his four children to support was a deterrent.

My father's early years were not easy. He had a difficult father who has been described as mentally ill. He had to leave Westminster college to help with the family business and manage family affairs. He married a high school sweetheart who soon after developed TB and was in and out of sanatoriums for much of their seven years of marriage before she died. Some of that history is vague to me as it was a family secret for years.

If I think of the routines in my childhood, I think of my father going to work in the morning, dressed in suit and tie (and fedora and overcoat in the winter) and returning at the same time every day for dinner. We all sat at the table together and a standing joke in our home was that someone would spill their glass of milk and it would head straight for my dad's lap. We had lively conversations and my father was a master story teller. He had a fantastic memory and could recite poetry that he had learned as a youth in school. He could imitate that different ethic accents of the men he had befriended over the years while he worked for the Youngstown Sheet and Tube steel mill. He had many sayings, jokes and expressions that we have passed on as a family. He had a wonderful sense of humor. He was very intelligent, and could finish the New York Times Sunday crossword puzzle by himself in an afternoon. He loved to fish and hunt. He was an avid reader. He liked to discuss politics. He was mellow. I see much of him in my oldest son, Matt. They have a relaxed demeanor but underneath is a burning passion for history and political debate. And, my father definitely influenced Matt's passion for fishing and the outdoors.

I think the best gift that my father gave to me, though, was his patience and ability to listen. He did not judge me. I know that I must have exasperated him often. I was a willful teenager and an opinionated young adult. The Vietnam War caused us much strife as my world was very impacted by the draft and the war and we stood on opposite ends of the debate. Years later he told me that he had been wrong and had changed his opinion to my side. He supported me emotionally through the dramas of my divorce, single parenthood, changes in career, remarriage, separation and all the issues in between. I felt uplifted by his acceptance of me and my decisions, no matter how bad they were. I felt very close to my father and grieved very deeply after he died. I miss him today and will always. Thank you Dad. You were the best. And you were right when you said "too soon old and too late smart." But I keep trying.

Sanibel Island

Harry and I just got back from spending a couple days on Sanibel Island on the west coast of Florida. We try to drive there twice a year, in off season, when it is quieter. We stay at the Shalimar motel and cottages. We have a small kitchen for my bottle of wine and our cheese and crackers, and a porch with a lounge chair that overlooks the ocean, which was just perfect for me to dig into "The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo." We always eat at the same restaurants, and Doc Fords is our favorite. In fact, we have the same entree each time we visit!

I wasn't sure how this trip was going to go after I broke off the key in a rest room lock at a gas station on the way. The clerk was not too happy with me and was noisily complaining about me in rapid Spanish as I scurried to the car after returning the key stub. Like I couldn't tell she was talking about me? Hey, I took four hundred years of Spanish in high school and college (so how is it that I can barely construct a sentence of conversation)?

I think I have been going to Sanibel since the 1970's when my parents began their winter retirement location search and we would pack in the car and drive to Naples and back in one week. Six persons in the car, one overnight stop each way. That didn't leave lots of vacation time! We all fell in love with Sanibel on a day trip. Since then, I have rented condos and gone back over the years with friends, and family in different configurations and I never tire of the spot. There have been many changes, and of course I lament that it has gone upscale, but the core is the same. Beaches strewn with the most amazing shells. Sunsets and sunrises that cast an unreal golden glow. Nature preserves, bike trails, fun restaurants, calm, clear and warm waters, abundant marine and bird life, and, did I mention shells?

I have delightful memories of shelling with my sister Mary Beth, my brother Tom, my mother, my dear friend Barb Chamberlin, my kids and now, Harry. I even recall taking my Uncle Ted there on a day trip from my parents home on the east coast of Florida and in his enthusiasm for trying to grab a shell treasure on a day with rather rough surf, he fell in the water, fully dressed. He was no youngster, either. The shelling changes from day to day and season to season. Every now and then there is a magical window of opportunity where the tides, the currents, the wave action and the moon collide and the shelling is phenomenal. The treasure hunt along the edge of the waves trying to grasp something you have spotted for just an instant that is constantly tossed and pulled away from you while rolling in the surf, is beyond fun. Add warm water lapping at your feet, silky smooth sand underfoot, the warm sun on your back, your cares and worries abated, and you are pretty much in my idea of heaven.

I Hate When This Happens

I saw this story posted in our local newspaper. Couldn't help sharing. What did I tell you? It is friggin' crazy down here!

The stuffed head of a water buffalo crushed a man early Friday morning. The Monroe County Sheriff's Office says Jim Harris called 911 at 1:20 a.m. and that all he could do was yell his address and say he was "crushed."

Deputies rushed to the scene, a home at mile marker 88. When they got inside, they found Harris, who said he had fallen asleep in his recliner. He was abruptly awakened when the buffalo head, which had been hanging on the wall next to him, fell onto his lap.

Deputy Becky Herrin says the head weighs about 80 pounds, and that Harris "was literally pinned in the chair" by the horns and couldn't move. But his cell phone was close enough that he was able to call for help.

He was taken to Mariners Hospital for treatment of the injuries inflicted by the stuffed head.

The American Caribbean

The Florida Keys are known as the American Caribbean. They are home to the only living coral reef in the Continental US. They may be lacking in some of the culture and amenities that Cleveland had, but more and more I appreciate how special the Keys are. They sort of grow on you. Like barnacles! And if I feel a need for a fix, I can drive up to Miami - one of the largest, and truly hippest cities around. Like I know hip... But where else would you look down in the canal behind your house and see an 80# tarpon swim up to nibble on the fish carcasses from the days catch. Or see a crazy upside down lizard hanging like an earring on your Thai prince statue. Nature surrounds you here, and the people that live on the islands are more passionate about that nature than anywhere I have ever been. Something about this place is funky, and it grows on you. It has character, and characters!

Matt, Megan, Jack and Ruby came down for the long Memorial Day weekend. Megan's brother Ryan and his girlfriend Julie also joined us. We were also joined for one day by my cousin John Mitchell and his buddy Pete Toscani. After fishing with Captain Matt, they joined us for a fabulous fresh Mahi-Mahi dinner. It was really a busy, family and friends filled time.

The weekend was full of sun, water and fun. We took the boat out to Molasses reef for snorkeling and fishing. The water was crystalline blue. The sky was dyed to match. No wind, and just hot enough. After catching a number of fish to satisfy Jack's growing fishing interest, and grown-up snorkel time, we motored up to Rodriquez Key sandbar along with half of south Florida to join the party. It was heaven. Warm, crystal clear water. Jack learned to snorkel. Ruby bobbed about in her life jacket. The grownups searched for sea biscuits or just cooled off with a beer in hand with the sounds of different music playing from nearby boats.

Evenings happened around the dinner table and later, at nearby clubs with Grammy Care and Grandpa Harry babysitting. The house had toys strewn about. We played with bubbles, and Sam's old building toys were a big hit. Ruby delighted us with her adorable smiles, affectionate demeanor and charming toddler talk. Jack was a whirlwind of activity and giggles. Everyone got a good dose of kid love. And of course, there was the requisite breakfast at Doc's Diner. We had many a Saturday morning breakfast there when Jack was a baby and we were visiting. Matt would take his boy out to let mommy sleep in. When Matt's favorite waitress is there, no matter how long he has been gone, she remembers what he drinks and brings it without being asked. Living in a small town has its privileges.

It was a wonderful time. I realized not too long ago, while Harry, Sam and I were sitting outside at a restaurant for dinner on the water, that my life is like being on vacation. I used to laugh about Florida and all the old folks. And now I am one. But truly, life is easy here. The sun lifts the spirits. People are more active. I can be out on the ocean in minutes from my home doing world class fishing. I can throw something in the ground and instead of trying to get it to grow, I have to try to keep it contained. I think it is paradise! If only I had all of my friends and loved ones nearby, it would be perfect. But, from the noises that I hear from up north during those long grey winters - maybe I will have them nearby soon.