We had moved to a small town in southwest Florida to be near my husband's elderly mother.
My mother and our 6 year old grandson, Sam, moved with us. In rapid succession my mother, who was Sammy's best friend and caregiver died, and then Dick's mom died following a short illness.
We were reeling and confused, rocked to our foundations. We were trying to make a home,
find jobs, grieve, and be good parents, when one of Sam's teachers invited us to Edgewater United Methodist Church. Many of Sam's school friends attended there, people remembered us and included us. We had a church home.
That was wonderful, but we needed paying jobs. During the illnesses of our mothers, our savings had dropped drastically and neither of us was eligible for Social Security. Sam went on Florida Healthy Kids, and got free lunches at school.
No one in either of our families had ever had to ask assistance, even during the Great Depression. Then we rediscovered football.
In Charlotte County Pop Warner is total participation. Everyone attends the games. The kids
from the high schools attend because they learned the game with Pop Warner. The Cheerleaders attend because they learned to cheer with Pop Warner. Their families go because they always had.
We registered Sam for Pop Warner football and became part of that community. Many of
our church friends were involved in coaching, playing and cheer squad. It was an enlarged family.
We took turns driving Sam and his friends to practice while Dick worked toward his real estate license. The football fields for Pop Warner are better than some schools I attended. Money to support the fields and the teams was raised by holding a raffle. They cost $25 and night after night I fended off the football moms saying I had no money with me. But on one of Dick's nights, he pulled out his wallet and paid up.
I exploded. Our bank account is down to 3 very low digits and how could you be so foolish
and what did you think you were doing and all those accusations came out of my angry
mouth.
My anger sizzled for weeks. I am pretty sure it festered everything I touched. Then,
one night at Bible study, friends at our new church prayed with me for peace and the anger left. We hadn't starved yet, we had a roof over our heads, clothes on our backs, and even decent cars to drive. We were blessed and Dick was studying for his real estate exam.
The day of the raffle drawing Dick came home stunned and bemused, holding the
winning ticket. He was now the owner of a big, beautiful boat contributed by a Marina
owner whose son played on Sam's team.
The generous contributor agreed to keep the boat on his lot and sell it for us. May God bless that good and decent man.
The proceeds from the sale supported us for nearly nine months while Dick learned the
business of real estate.
My family was saved by a $25 boat.
Down on the farm
Out of the woods.
Monday, February 9, 2015
Saturday, December 13, 2014
Silent little Christmas
It was our first Christmas at my father's new pastorate, the First Christian Church in Aurora. We had moved in the late summer and I had started first grade at the two story school that housed grades one through 12 in this little town.
The weather had turned suddenly cold and sniffles spread like the vicious little monster muggers they really are. Me, I felt fine! The church pageant and celebration would start at 6 p.m. so all good little children could be put to bed nice and early. And wonder of wonders, Santa was going to appear at OUR CHURCH this very night before leaving on his big round the world tour. The excitement was deafening. I skipped, I sang every Christmas song I knew, I danced and I giggled the whole day long. I am sure my mom was going stark raving mad! Daddy was at the church organizing and I wasn't allowed to help. I really liked to help, but Daddy said it tried his patience.
At last it was time to go. We crossed the street and climbed the broad stairs. The heavy wooden doors were festooned with evergreen swags, holly and big red bows. Joy and sorrow flowed and ebbed side by side. This was the first full year after the end of the war and everyone wanted to make a whole new start. Forget the bad, remember the good was the byword of the year.
The choir sang gloriously, the tree sparkled and spangled, winked and blinked while we listened to the story of the very first Christmas gift.
Suddenly Santa appeared and sat himself in the big old throne chair beside the tree. His huge bag bulged mysteriously. Corners poking here, things curving there, with bright ribbons and colorful wrappings spilling out the top.
Santa had a list of names, and one by one he called us to the front to sit on his lap and listened to our requests and handed us a candy cane and a gift from his bag. I bounced and twitched awaiting my turn to tell Santa my Christmas list...the usual, a pony, some paper dolls...I liked to punch them out but was totally uninterested in playing with them, cowboy boots and a holster with a pistol that would shoot.
At last he called my name. I ran down the aisle and climbed on Santa's lap.
I could not utter a word. I was struck dumb. Nothing, not a whisper of a whisper came out. My face flamed and I put on my strongest grin and trotted back up the aisle to my mother. I could not even tell her what was wrong, but my silence had her wrapping me up and whisking me back across the street to my big tall bed.
It was the quietest Christmas ever. I had Vick's spread from ear to ear and down my chest, Daddy's sock was wrapped around my neck and pinned securely. Tea and toast were my Christmas eve snack. I did sleep silently through the night, and silently opened my gifts in the morning. I got paper dolls to punch out, a baby doll, and a cap pistol and holster.
I'll bet if I could have talked to Santa I would have gotten the boots and the pony.
The weather had turned suddenly cold and sniffles spread like the vicious little monster muggers they really are. Me, I felt fine! The church pageant and celebration would start at 6 p.m. so all good little children could be put to bed nice and early. And wonder of wonders, Santa was going to appear at OUR CHURCH this very night before leaving on his big round the world tour. The excitement was deafening. I skipped, I sang every Christmas song I knew, I danced and I giggled the whole day long. I am sure my mom was going stark raving mad! Daddy was at the church organizing and I wasn't allowed to help. I really liked to help, but Daddy said it tried his patience.
At last it was time to go. We crossed the street and climbed the broad stairs. The heavy wooden doors were festooned with evergreen swags, holly and big red bows. Joy and sorrow flowed and ebbed side by side. This was the first full year after the end of the war and everyone wanted to make a whole new start. Forget the bad, remember the good was the byword of the year.
The choir sang gloriously, the tree sparkled and spangled, winked and blinked while we listened to the story of the very first Christmas gift.
Suddenly Santa appeared and sat himself in the big old throne chair beside the tree. His huge bag bulged mysteriously. Corners poking here, things curving there, with bright ribbons and colorful wrappings spilling out the top.
Santa had a list of names, and one by one he called us to the front to sit on his lap and listened to our requests and handed us a candy cane and a gift from his bag. I bounced and twitched awaiting my turn to tell Santa my Christmas list...the usual, a pony, some paper dolls...I liked to punch them out but was totally uninterested in playing with them, cowboy boots and a holster with a pistol that would shoot.
At last he called my name. I ran down the aisle and climbed on Santa's lap.
I could not utter a word. I was struck dumb. Nothing, not a whisper of a whisper came out. My face flamed and I put on my strongest grin and trotted back up the aisle to my mother. I could not even tell her what was wrong, but my silence had her wrapping me up and whisking me back across the street to my big tall bed.
It was the quietest Christmas ever. I had Vick's spread from ear to ear and down my chest, Daddy's sock was wrapped around my neck and pinned securely. Tea and toast were my Christmas eve snack. I did sleep silently through the night, and silently opened my gifts in the morning. I got paper dolls to punch out, a baby doll, and a cap pistol and holster.
I'll bet if I could have talked to Santa I would have gotten the boots and the pony.
Tuesday, December 9, 2014
Doc Martin's Sandals
Dreams, good or bad, do not stick with me on waking, but I an oddly memorable one not long ago.
I was in Doc Martin's car which was parked in front of Auntie Joan's barn. Excuse that the TV show never showed any barn, I was there, sitting in the driver's seat.
Aware that I had to change into sturdier shoes or wellies so I could enter the barn, I reached under the passenger seat.
The most gorgeous sandals came cascading out. Leather, suede, silver, gold, pastels, rainbows and technicolor. Some had jewels, some had precious metals, delicate, elegant, all were my size, and all were for the right foot only. Out and out they spilled, each more lovely than the last, but no wellies to be seen and no shoe for the left foot.
I never got into Auntie Joan's barn, but my memory sees those sandals in glorious detail, and I wish I owned them all. Preferably for both feet.
I was in Doc Martin's car which was parked in front of Auntie Joan's barn. Excuse that the TV show never showed any barn, I was there, sitting in the driver's seat.
Aware that I had to change into sturdier shoes or wellies so I could enter the barn, I reached under the passenger seat.
The most gorgeous sandals came cascading out. Leather, suede, silver, gold, pastels, rainbows and technicolor. Some had jewels, some had precious metals, delicate, elegant, all were my size, and all were for the right foot only. Out and out they spilled, each more lovely than the last, but no wellies to be seen and no shoe for the left foot.
I never got into Auntie Joan's barn, but my memory sees those sandals in glorious detail, and I wish I owned them all. Preferably for both feet.
Monday, October 6, 2014
THE ORPHAN FROM THE TRAIN
Most stories about the Orphan Trains seem to have pleasant endings with children finding forever families and living happily ever after. Our story did not go so well.
In the early part of the 20th century my grandfather's Uncle John Campbell and his wife, Aunt Henrietta, moved from Franklin County half way across the state to the small lead mining town of Aurora, MO. Uncle Johnney was a foreman at the mine and made decent money. He and Aunt Etta had a small acreage, a decent house and in the way of things at that time, they raised chickens, gardened, had a cow for milk and a sow with piglets to sell and/or slaughter in the fall.
They were hard working people and if Uncle Johnney drank a bit too much, well, it was a palliative for the lead mine's side effects. Aunt Etta was downright upright, working from dawn to dusk, never letting up. She was a founding member and chief fund raiser for Aurora's First Christian Church. The imposing brick building was and is located a block down from the Court House on Pleasant Ave. Following WWII my father became pastor there. I have no idea if the lingering memory of the Campbells influenced this, but it might be.
John & Etta had no children, whether God's decision, a side effect of the drinking or the lead mine is hard to know, but when the Orphan trains began to run they decided to get themselves a son to care for them in their old age. They would set a good Christian example for the world. A bit of help around the farm wouldn't hurt either.
They adopted a young boy and began training him up in the right way. The rod was not spared. My mother's family met him once, I believe. Was he blonde and blue eyed? She thought maybe so, but wasn't certain. He was thin to the point of emaciation and seemed cowed and dodged when anyone moved a bit too quick. Not long afterward he ran off.
Many years later Aunt Hazel traced him to Texas and she and my mother placed a phone call to his family home. He refused to speak to them. How could he know they came from the good and gentle side of the family?
I do not even know his name. Mea culpa. Mea maxima culpa.
In the early part of the 20th century my grandfather's Uncle John Campbell and his wife, Aunt Henrietta, moved from Franklin County half way across the state to the small lead mining town of Aurora, MO. Uncle Johnney was a foreman at the mine and made decent money. He and Aunt Etta had a small acreage, a decent house and in the way of things at that time, they raised chickens, gardened, had a cow for milk and a sow with piglets to sell and/or slaughter in the fall.
They were hard working people and if Uncle Johnney drank a bit too much, well, it was a palliative for the lead mine's side effects. Aunt Etta was downright upright, working from dawn to dusk, never letting up. She was a founding member and chief fund raiser for Aurora's First Christian Church. The imposing brick building was and is located a block down from the Court House on Pleasant Ave. Following WWII my father became pastor there. I have no idea if the lingering memory of the Campbells influenced this, but it might be.
John & Etta had no children, whether God's decision, a side effect of the drinking or the lead mine is hard to know, but when the Orphan trains began to run they decided to get themselves a son to care for them in their old age. They would set a good Christian example for the world. A bit of help around the farm wouldn't hurt either.
They adopted a young boy and began training him up in the right way. The rod was not spared. My mother's family met him once, I believe. Was he blonde and blue eyed? She thought maybe so, but wasn't certain. He was thin to the point of emaciation and seemed cowed and dodged when anyone moved a bit too quick. Not long afterward he ran off.
Many years later Aunt Hazel traced him to Texas and she and my mother placed a phone call to his family home. He refused to speak to them. How could he know they came from the good and gentle side of the family?
I do not even know his name. Mea culpa. Mea maxima culpa.
Sunday, March 23, 2014
THE BLOWOUT SALE
We are downsizing. The house will remain the same but the extraneous stuff has got to go. My favorite Cuban whirlwind came over for a couple of hours on a weekend and accomplished more than I had in a month. It may be an energy level thing, but I'm guessing it's a talent for organization, which I do not possess. She pointed, Geoff moved, I sorted, then she tidied behind us.
Sale treasures went against the left hand wall. Keepables were sorted into plastic bins for storage. Five underbed boxes now live under my bed. There's not much room left for Bob the cat to hide when Chuchi the weiner dog comes to visit. Then again, he may be safer as chubby Chuchi cannot get over or around the boxes.
Giant tables entered the garage. The day of the sale they would be filled with items that someone else surely longs to possess. Games with pieces missing. Games that have never been opened. Art works that have seen their day come and go. Clothing, some with tags still attached. Sheets, towels, lamps, curtains, pots, pans, dishes, kitchen pieces and parts. Books, lamp shades, art, sewing, & craft supplies, things surely needed by someone else. Debris and detritus, somewhat past the USE BY date.
When Jenni came we cleaned the tops of the cupboards and sorted through my mom's grandmothers' remnant dishes. The blue gray bone china tea cup that only ever held gin belonged to my great grandfather Jerry's brother John. Grandpa Campbell's wooden shoe forms from the repair shop and a lidded withy basket woven by his grandfather were washed and returned to the shelf. Grandma Nettle's brass cherub got polished and is once more poised proudly on one toe, arm outstretched awaiting his gas lamp. Aunt Hazel's brightly painted Christmas cookie tray is sitting cornerwise waiting for it's place on the holiday table, Grandma Grethel's Franciscanware platter and bowls again lean bright and proud against the wall. Memories and family history washed clean, refreshed, relabeled and stowed carefully away again. Almost nothing up there, except the pitchers I bought for color, went into the sale. Even the rooster purchased to match the cutsie French chef décor got a stay of execution. I just like it. What can I say?
Black and white checked curtains with red trim, ice cream chairs cushioned in toile, a yellow wrought iron table and an old red toaster, faded to flamingo pink, went to the sale side. Holes dot the house where too much used to be. The feeling of accomplishment is wondrous.
Even emptying waste baskets accomplished something. Files, folders, a 15 years of real estate research and such got pitched. Eight years of newspaper info and regs got tossed.
Recycle those ancient phone books! Toss the tattered Real Estate study books! Pitch the old maps! Out with all the 'dexes (rolo, filo, etc.) We're retired and they're out of date! Into the fire pit with it all! Toast them 'shmallows! Build them s'mores! Get a little fatter, but the papers are burnt!
On sale day, in the dark of the morning we set up the tables in the driveway and arranged our glorious array. The coffee was on and we sat in the chilly garage, waiting, but it was a sunny 8 a.m. before a steady stream of older male schmoozers came and asked if we have any tools for sale. No, we didn't. Fishing equipment? Just an old rod and reel. Eventually a guy bought those for his grandson. A box of random electronic wiring I meant to toss got sold for $1. Wow. Who knew? How much for this? What do you want for that? Will you take $X? The extremely heavy Creuset enamelware went in the 10 a.m. wave of older couples. We'd bought it at the Thrift Shop and used it for nearly 10 years. Towel sets from the closing up of multiple relatives' homes sold, along with sheet sets and random kitchen thingies.
About 1 p.m. women in pairs and singularly began to show up. By 4 we were staring glassy eyed at one another. At 5 p.m. we dragged the tables into the garage and closed down.
By 7 a.m. Sunday morning we were ready and rarin' to go. Unfortunately our first customer showed up at 11 a.m.
The day dribbled on. $1 here, 50 cents there. A book, a plate, a tray. In the late afternoon a lovely lady finally bought the wrought iron garden table with the ice cream chairs. She had a rather small car, but we slotted and puzzled it all in and tied it down with ropes. We waved her off and carted the leftovers back into the garage. Boxes, books, bags, and things were once more stacked high around the walls. That was not part of the plan.
It felt a bit better after counting the intake. We covered expenses plus a bit that we didn't have before. It went in the bank until the next time, because we WILL have a clean garage. We are determined! Sort of.
Sale treasures went against the left hand wall. Keepables were sorted into plastic bins for storage. Five underbed boxes now live under my bed. There's not much room left for Bob the cat to hide when Chuchi the weiner dog comes to visit. Then again, he may be safer as chubby Chuchi cannot get over or around the boxes.
Giant tables entered the garage. The day of the sale they would be filled with items that someone else surely longs to possess. Games with pieces missing. Games that have never been opened. Art works that have seen their day come and go. Clothing, some with tags still attached. Sheets, towels, lamps, curtains, pots, pans, dishes, kitchen pieces and parts. Books, lamp shades, art, sewing, & craft supplies, things surely needed by someone else. Debris and detritus, somewhat past the USE BY date.
When Jenni came we cleaned the tops of the cupboards and sorted through my mom's grandmothers' remnant dishes. The blue gray bone china tea cup that only ever held gin belonged to my great grandfather Jerry's brother John. Grandpa Campbell's wooden shoe forms from the repair shop and a lidded withy basket woven by his grandfather were washed and returned to the shelf. Grandma Nettle's brass cherub got polished and is once more poised proudly on one toe, arm outstretched awaiting his gas lamp. Aunt Hazel's brightly painted Christmas cookie tray is sitting cornerwise waiting for it's place on the holiday table, Grandma Grethel's Franciscanware platter and bowls again lean bright and proud against the wall. Memories and family history washed clean, refreshed, relabeled and stowed carefully away again. Almost nothing up there, except the pitchers I bought for color, went into the sale. Even the rooster purchased to match the cutsie French chef décor got a stay of execution. I just like it. What can I say?
Black and white checked curtains with red trim, ice cream chairs cushioned in toile, a yellow wrought iron table and an old red toaster, faded to flamingo pink, went to the sale side. Holes dot the house where too much used to be. The feeling of accomplishment is wondrous.
Even emptying waste baskets accomplished something. Files, folders, a 15 years of real estate research and such got pitched. Eight years of newspaper info and regs got tossed.
Recycle those ancient phone books! Toss the tattered Real Estate study books! Pitch the old maps! Out with all the 'dexes (rolo, filo, etc.) We're retired and they're out of date! Into the fire pit with it all! Toast them 'shmallows! Build them s'mores! Get a little fatter, but the papers are burnt!
On sale day, in the dark of the morning we set up the tables in the driveway and arranged our glorious array. The coffee was on and we sat in the chilly garage, waiting, but it was a sunny 8 a.m. before a steady stream of older male schmoozers came and asked if we have any tools for sale. No, we didn't. Fishing equipment? Just an old rod and reel. Eventually a guy bought those for his grandson. A box of random electronic wiring I meant to toss got sold for $1. Wow. Who knew? How much for this? What do you want for that? Will you take $X? The extremely heavy Creuset enamelware went in the 10 a.m. wave of older couples. We'd bought it at the Thrift Shop and used it for nearly 10 years. Towel sets from the closing up of multiple relatives' homes sold, along with sheet sets and random kitchen thingies.
About 1 p.m. women in pairs and singularly began to show up. By 4 we were staring glassy eyed at one another. At 5 p.m. we dragged the tables into the garage and closed down.
By 7 a.m. Sunday morning we were ready and rarin' to go. Unfortunately our first customer showed up at 11 a.m.
The day dribbled on. $1 here, 50 cents there. A book, a plate, a tray. In the late afternoon a lovely lady finally bought the wrought iron garden table with the ice cream chairs. She had a rather small car, but we slotted and puzzled it all in and tied it down with ropes. We waved her off and carted the leftovers back into the garage. Boxes, books, bags, and things were once more stacked high around the walls. That was not part of the plan.
It felt a bit better after counting the intake. We covered expenses plus a bit that we didn't have before. It went in the bank until the next time, because we WILL have a clean garage. We are determined! Sort of.
Saturday, November 2, 2013
1944 MUD MEDS
I have no clue where the idea for mud medicine came from. Were we possibly bent on the destruction of the hated cod liver oil or trying to extend our meager supplies? No matter, there we were, the three of us, under the back porch in our favorite hidey hole, deciding to create mud medicine.
As I am sure you know, medicine requires "stink"! That it would taste bad went without saying. It was mud.
None of us could read, so we took every bottle in the medicine chest. I do not know how we escaped the notice of three eagle eyed moms in residence.
Back under the porch we dumped the contents of each and every bottle into our pail, then added dirt to make a really good goo. We rolled it into "pills" and put them out to dry in the sun. When they seemed dry enough we put them back in the bottles. It did not go well. On the trip back to the bathroom cabinet we were discovered.
During the war most medicines were hard to come by. Our moms had pooled their treasures of cough syrup, aspirin, and vitamins along with the hated cod liver oil and my mother's precious "nerve medicine". That was the irreplaceable one.
The doctor prescribed in it's place 2 bottles of beer each day. Mom hated beer. Each time she tried to choke down a swallow she reiterated the mud medicine episode. I heard about it for more than 50 years, which may be the reason I remember it so well.
The rest of the medicine was slowly replaced as war coupons became available, except for the hated cod liver oil. It was cheap, available and back the next day.
As I am sure you know, medicine requires "stink"! That it would taste bad went without saying. It was mud.
None of us could read, so we took every bottle in the medicine chest. I do not know how we escaped the notice of three eagle eyed moms in residence.
Back under the porch we dumped the contents of each and every bottle into our pail, then added dirt to make a really good goo. We rolled it into "pills" and put them out to dry in the sun. When they seemed dry enough we put them back in the bottles. It did not go well. On the trip back to the bathroom cabinet we were discovered.
During the war most medicines were hard to come by. Our moms had pooled their treasures of cough syrup, aspirin, and vitamins along with the hated cod liver oil and my mother's precious "nerve medicine". That was the irreplaceable one.
The doctor prescribed in it's place 2 bottles of beer each day. Mom hated beer. Each time she tried to choke down a swallow she reiterated the mud medicine episode. I heard about it for more than 50 years, which may be the reason I remember it so well.
The rest of the medicine was slowly replaced as war coupons became available, except for the hated cod liver oil. It was cheap, available and back the next day.
Friday, August 30, 2013
FAMILY VACATION 2013
We planned to spend a few days in Key West when Jenni and Tony came down. They had never been there and it had been nearly 20 years since Dick and I had gone. Geoff recommended a place he and his friends stayed when they went fishing. I reserved a couple of rooms at KingSail on Marathon Key and after I finished work on Wednesday we headed out for parts south and east.
Tony drove, Geoff was our GPS and Jenni was our official tourist. When she saw something fun, we stopped. Tony wanted flip flops, but they had to be special. It took three stops at three Sandal Outlets (there must be 80 of those between Key Largo and Key West) but he did find something that suited. I was gasping at their "outlet" prices...$186 for a pair of shoes that cost $39.95 at Bealls! Tony paid an awful price for his acceptable flip flops, but I wasn't buying so oh, well!
When we reached Key Largo, Jenni wanted to stop. She'd seen the movie and liked the sound of it, but Geoff and I both assured her there was nothing to see so on we went. We got to Marathon around 5 and sorted out the rooms.
One was on the second floor and had a kitchenette and 2 double beds, the other was on the patio near the dock and had two double beds and a sunroom with a mini fridge and microwave. No stairs, so Dick and I took that one.
Both rooms had white with black trim tiles floors and cheap wood paneled walls, with tattered, broken matchstick blinds at all the windows. Everything was old, somewhat chipped, and quite clean. Nothing had been updated since 1970, but the beds were comfortable, and the TV got the golf channel so Dick was happy.
Outside on the dock a short round mahogany tanned gentleman wearing flip flops, a baggy swim suit and a floppy straw hat cleaned his catch, filleting each fish perfectly to prepare on the nearby grill for his dinner. He was there the next day, too.
We had a lovely dinner at a little Mexican place Geoff knew and spent the evening between the pool and the patio, sipping cool drinks and watching the Cubanitos play in the pool while their parents congregated on the patio.
Geoff knew a lot of good inexpensive places to eat so we ate well and cheap and except for the Waffle House on Thursday morning, not once did we darken the door of a chain restaurant.
It was Key weather. Hot and sultry with a lovely breeze. After breakfast we headed for the end of the USA.
Our aim was to find a glass bottomed boat for Jenni, and an Atlantic beach for Tony. We drove once around Key West to get our bearings then parked near the trolley stop.
When we got out of the car the traditional Key West chickens fluttered and clucked at us. With his usual enthusiasm Tony skittered across the puddles trying to capture the rooster for a photo op. The rooster was having none of it and being far more experienced in escaping boys than Tony was in capturing chickens he got off scott free, or Tony free in this case.
We boarded the trolley and rode around the route listening to the wonderful patter from the driver. He had a story for every point of interest and a joke as well. We got off for a photo op near the buoy at the end of the world, or what ever they call it. Geoff and Jenni got some great shots, but when I tried to use Geoff's camera it kept going to the main menu without snapping the pic. The tourists in the long queue were beginning to grumble so we moved on. We stopped at a little row of cutsie tourist traps and fingered merchandise while Tony ordered T shirts for himself and his 2 brothers and the littles.
We found a little place for lunch...decent and forgettable. Used the bathroom, checked the merchandise, and moved on.
Back on the trolley we enjoyed more patter from the driver and viewed more Key West sights. About midafternoon Dick and I were feeling our age. We sat on benches near a museum and wished we'd thought to bring water. Back on the trolley and back to the beginning. Tony went to fetch the car while we sagged against a bike rack. They drove us back to Marathon to the KingSail, provided us with Subways and such then Jenni and Tony drove back to Key West, caught a sunset cruise, checked out the beach action, and got lost good and plenty. They got back about midnight, full of experience and sun.
In the morning we headed back, stopping for breakfast at a little café around Bird Key. By the time we got to Key Largo Jenni had convinced us to stop, even though there was nothing there. We found a sign advertising cruises on the real, original AFRICAN QUEEN.
It sure looked like it. Maybe even smaller than it seemed in the movie. They offered dinner cruises...our group of 5 plus someone to run the boat would have scuttled the shiplet! We snapped our photos and moved on.
As we pulled out a sign told us a state park was nearby with beaches and such. We took the wrong turn, meandered pleasantly about, but finally reached John Pennekamp State Park. Besides a lovely beach they offered glass bottomed boat rides out to the coral reef at $24 each. The cabin was air conditioned and had 2 glass "windows" in the boat bottom. Benches lined the cabin and you could climb down into the cavity around the glass and get a closer look. We passed over a couple of turtles, a sting ray, a small shark and plenty of colorful fish, as well as seeing the corals along the reef. They were selling seasick pills for $1 a dose, so I fortified myself. I was fine, but I saw a lot of greenish gills and many seasick bags as we moved along. It was a bargain of a lifetime trip with expert park rangers giving us the lowdown and uptick on all the sea life. The glass bottomed boats on Key West cost in excess of $50 each. I do suppose there are more and better reefs off Key West, and I am sure they have knowledgeable guides, but were they cute, long legged, shorts clad, pony tailed young women swinging from bench to glass bottom like a trapeze artist? GO, Key Largo!
We drove, passing through refurbished Homestead and points west and north. At home Tony grabbed a beer and flopped onto a floatie in the pool.
Tony drove, Geoff was our GPS and Jenni was our official tourist. When she saw something fun, we stopped. Tony wanted flip flops, but they had to be special. It took three stops at three Sandal Outlets (there must be 80 of those between Key Largo and Key West) but he did find something that suited. I was gasping at their "outlet" prices...$186 for a pair of shoes that cost $39.95 at Bealls! Tony paid an awful price for his acceptable flip flops, but I wasn't buying so oh, well!
When we reached Key Largo, Jenni wanted to stop. She'd seen the movie and liked the sound of it, but Geoff and I both assured her there was nothing to see so on we went. We got to Marathon around 5 and sorted out the rooms.
One was on the second floor and had a kitchenette and 2 double beds, the other was on the patio near the dock and had two double beds and a sunroom with a mini fridge and microwave. No stairs, so Dick and I took that one.
Both rooms had white with black trim tiles floors and cheap wood paneled walls, with tattered, broken matchstick blinds at all the windows. Everything was old, somewhat chipped, and quite clean. Nothing had been updated since 1970, but the beds were comfortable, and the TV got the golf channel so Dick was happy.
Outside on the dock a short round mahogany tanned gentleman wearing flip flops, a baggy swim suit and a floppy straw hat cleaned his catch, filleting each fish perfectly to prepare on the nearby grill for his dinner. He was there the next day, too.
We had a lovely dinner at a little Mexican place Geoff knew and spent the evening between the pool and the patio, sipping cool drinks and watching the Cubanitos play in the pool while their parents congregated on the patio.
Geoff knew a lot of good inexpensive places to eat so we ate well and cheap and except for the Waffle House on Thursday morning, not once did we darken the door of a chain restaurant.
It was Key weather. Hot and sultry with a lovely breeze. After breakfast we headed for the end of the USA.
Our aim was to find a glass bottomed boat for Jenni, and an Atlantic beach for Tony. We drove once around Key West to get our bearings then parked near the trolley stop.
When we got out of the car the traditional Key West chickens fluttered and clucked at us. With his usual enthusiasm Tony skittered across the puddles trying to capture the rooster for a photo op. The rooster was having none of it and being far more experienced in escaping boys than Tony was in capturing chickens he got off scott free, or Tony free in this case.
We boarded the trolley and rode around the route listening to the wonderful patter from the driver. He had a story for every point of interest and a joke as well. We got off for a photo op near the buoy at the end of the world, or what ever they call it. Geoff and Jenni got some great shots, but when I tried to use Geoff's camera it kept going to the main menu without snapping the pic. The tourists in the long queue were beginning to grumble so we moved on. We stopped at a little row of cutsie tourist traps and fingered merchandise while Tony ordered T shirts for himself and his 2 brothers and the littles.
Back on the trolley we enjoyed more patter from the driver and viewed more Key West sights. About midafternoon Dick and I were feeling our age. We sat on benches near a museum and wished we'd thought to bring water. Back on the trolley and back to the beginning. Tony went to fetch the car while we sagged against a bike rack. They drove us back to Marathon to the KingSail, provided us with Subways and such then Jenni and Tony drove back to Key West, caught a sunset cruise, checked out the beach action, and got lost good and plenty. They got back about midnight, full of experience and sun.
In the morning we headed back, stopping for breakfast at a little café around Bird Key. By the time we got to Key Largo Jenni had convinced us to stop, even though there was nothing there. We found a sign advertising cruises on the real, original AFRICAN QUEEN.
As we pulled out a sign told us a state park was nearby with beaches and such. We took the wrong turn, meandered pleasantly about, but finally reached John Pennekamp State Park. Besides a lovely beach they offered glass bottomed boat rides out to the coral reef at $24 each. The cabin was air conditioned and had 2 glass "windows" in the boat bottom. Benches lined the cabin and you could climb down into the cavity around the glass and get a closer look. We passed over a couple of turtles, a sting ray, a small shark and plenty of colorful fish, as well as seeing the corals along the reef. They were selling seasick pills for $1 a dose, so I fortified myself. I was fine, but I saw a lot of greenish gills and many seasick bags as we moved along. It was a bargain of a lifetime trip with expert park rangers giving us the lowdown and uptick on all the sea life. The glass bottomed boats on Key West cost in excess of $50 each. I do suppose there are more and better reefs off Key West, and I am sure they have knowledgeable guides, but were they cute, long legged, shorts clad, pony tailed young women swinging from bench to glass bottom like a trapeze artist? GO, Key Largo!
We drove, passing through refurbished Homestead and points west and north. At home Tony grabbed a beer and flopped onto a floatie in the pool.
Jenni called Aunt May to tell her we were back and happened to mention Tony being in the pool with a beer.
May cries out "Ginny, you git him outta thar! He ain' usta drankin' and he's li'ble ta dround!"
Tony was fine. We love May.
Saturday Tony and Jenni went shopping at Fish'ville for souveniers to take back to the littles. Sunday they left.
The following week it was so quiet I wanted to jump in the pool and "dround" my own self. On Saturday I got a call from Jenni. Tony thought he'd left the precious Key West flip flops on the front porch. Would I go see if they were there. I opened the front door and there was Sam. Hallelujah. Sam. We didn't do much, but we talked and he walked Baby. We had a birthday dinner for the birthday boys, Geoff and Sam and Dick drove him to the airport Tuesday. It was wonderful. A family vacation complete.
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