Lasagna Landslide

Our crocuses are coming up and looking beautiful, briefly, before the squirrels get to them and nibble the flowers apart. Often this is what I see when I check out the bulbs -- this or worse. Soon after I took this photo something tore apart the rest of these flowers, leaving petals like purple confetti strewn on the ground.

Here's another one, pre-squirrel, that has since been demolished.

Ah, nature.

I must admit I have not seen the squirrels in action, so I suppose the culprit could be birds. Pigeons, maybe?

As long as I have a photo of the flowers I feel they've been appreciated.

I've mentioned a couple of times that houses on our street seem to be perpetually under renovation. Here's the situation down the road at the moment -- two gigantic scaffolding "sheds" constructed over houses on either side of one in the middle, still untouched. The one in the middle is the bathing beauty's house. It must be a drag to have all that construction happening on either side. And I thought I had it bad with the Russians!

Dave and I had a dramatic mishap last night at dinner. I was sitting on the couch watching TV, and Dave brought out two plates of lasagna from the kitchen. He handed me one on a potholder, and said, "Careful, it's hot." I took the plate but my thumb touched the china, which was indeed blisteringly hot -- straight out of the oven. I jerked my thumb back which caused the whole plate to come tumbling down onto me and the couch. Olga immediately leapt to attention, seeing an opportunity, but we held her back while I scooped up what I could and then got in the shower. Dave cleaned the rest of it up.

Fortunately, I didn't get burned, except for my thumb and that was minor.  And fortunately, we have a dark-colored couch that is near the end of its long lifespan, and which somehow shows no visible evidence of this episode.

Dave got me a fresh piece of lasagna, which I asked him to put in the microwave, which makes the plate much less hot than the conventional oven. (He prefers the oven because he says the microwave makes things soggy.) Last night as we went to bed I apologized for throwing his lasagna on the couch, and he apologized for dumping it on me. This is how marriages work, right?!

The Red Pest and a Wheel-Skater

I mentioned antique shopping a couple of times on my recent trip to Florida, and in addition to a stack of old photos I also bought some old postcards. (Well, to be completely accurate, Mary Moon's daughter Jessie bought a few of them for me.) They always make a good blog post!

Above, mailed Aug. 20, 1936 from Jacksonville:
"Dear Mary Jane -- This is the same red pest. I sure miss camp, do you? Please write me & tell me about your trip. I'm sure I would enjoy it. -- Betty Jean"

The card depicts the flame vine, Bignonia venusta, presumably what Betty Jean is calling a "red pest." At the time, Mary Jane lived in this house in Miami, where the card was sent. Google Street View shows vines on the landscaping even just a few years ago, right before the house was torn down. Could it be the red pest?!

Mailed from Sarasota to West Reading, Pa., June 29, 1967:
"Dear Neighbor -- Summer is here and I don't like it. Have purchased an air conditioner so I have some relief but I prefer fresh air. We have had much rain but not for the last week so things are dry again. I water your tree orchid and vine when I do mine. Have a wonderful summer. I am going to Connecticut in September. Best wishes -- Edith Bartlett"

This unmailed card, from the Sea Breeze Motel in Miami Beach, promises "tastefully decorated bedrooms and efficiencies" with air conditioning, free TV and a telephone in every room -- not to mention the "spacious all-grass patio." (Can a patio be grass? Wouldn't that make it a lawn?)

From what I can tell online, the Sea Breeze appears to have been torn down.

Mailed from Fort Lauderdale to Minneapolis, March 22, 1967:
"Hi -- Down in beautiful, wonderful Florida. Arrived last Wednesday and rented the same apartment on the inter-coastal that we had 4 years ago when the Reicherts were with us. The weather is warm, although we have had a couple of cool days the first few days we were here. Driving to Marathon, Fla., 150 miles south of here, tomorrow to meet friends from back home who are wintering there. Hope we can see you when we get home. We'll be back on the 3rd or 4th of April. -- Helen & Cliff"

According to the card's slightly hyperbolic caption, "The constantly changing flower displays attract thousands to the beautiful gardens at Patrick Murphy's Candlelight Restaurant at Bahia Mar, Fort Lauderdale."

This never-used card depicts "the Sun Lounge -- delightful, patio-like club car on Seaboard Railroad's Silver Meteor, between New York and Florida." Oh, for the days when people dressed up to travel. That woman at lower right looks like she's not thrilled with that book. She can't quite hold it open.

This one wasn't mailed either, and looks like someone's personal photo that was made into a postcard during processing. There's a handwritten note on the back:
"A bunch of 20 grapefruit on one stem from a grove near here. The man holding the two, one in each hand, is the father of V. M. Franks, the world-famous trick skater. We saw him one night at Keith's skating on a single bicycle wheel on each foot."

I can't find anything online about V. M. Franks, and I can't quite picture the bicycle wheel thing, so that will remain forever a mystery. But at least we have visuals of the grapefruit!

Daffodils and a Senior Dog

As the almost-springtime sun gets steadily brighter, it has given us another blooming cactus -- the Rhipsalis, or bird's-foot cactus, on the front windowsill. This plant is an offspring (via a cutting) of a plant given to me by my babysitter/surrogate grandmother, Mrs. Kirkland, back in the '70s. I've had it most of my life. Hard to believe! It just sits in the front window and except for a weekly watering I mostly ignore it, which is probably what makes it happy.

Our other blooming cactus has put out a second flower.

It's such a joy to watch the sun get brighter. We've had a really good weekend of sunny days, albeit a little cold. Yesterday morning Olga really wanted to sit out in the garden, but as usual she wanted me to sit with her -- so we did a complicated dance whereby I'd let her out, but she'd stare at me through the glass door until I let her in again, then she'd stand at the door asking to go out, etc. This only ended when I brought her dog bed and a chair and sat next to her in the sun with my New Yorker, which meant I needed a sweatshirt, hat and jacket because it was about 48º F (or 10º C). 

In the afternoon I walked her up to Fortune Green so we could check out the daffodils. Olga was a bit hesitant to walk that far but in the end she made it just fine and even chased her tennis ball. (Well, sort of.)

We paid the price last night, though, when despite her usual half-paracetamol with dinner she had trouble getting comfortable in bed. She woke us up twice scratching around and asking to go outside (which is what she does when she can't relax). Her achy bones demanded a second half-paracetamol, after which she finally settled down.

Otherwise, what did I do yesterday? I watered some plants, I cleaned the house. I finished another New Yorker. Normal stuff.

Citrus and Research

Remember when I said the blooms on our mandarin orange tree never fully open? Well, never mind. The tree is now covered with lots of lightly-scented white flowers. It's still indoors, and maybe the flowers last better inside rather than out. Just a guess. We'll see if this brings us any fruit!

I worked in the garden all morning yesterday, neatening things up after the gardeners' visit during the week. It may seem silly that I needed to do anything at all, but there were some jobs I didn't ask them to tackle (like deadheading all the hydrangeas) and others that needed some minor tweaks.

For example, we have a large Hebe bush in the back garden and although they cleared the ivy all around it, they didn't clear under the bush. So I wanted to neaten that up. I trimmed the frost-nipped leaves off the banana, cut down the tall grasses to prepare them for a new year of growth, cut down the last of the teasels, trimmed some of the ferns, stuff like that.

Altogether I filled three yard waste bags, and I think now we're going to order some mulch to help keep weeds down where the ivy has been cleared. (Since the gardeners removed all my carefully preserved fallen leaves -- argh!)

While I did all this, the lady of the house lay in the sunshine nearby for some strenuous napping. I love seeing her enjoying her sunbathing for another year. It wasn't particularly warm (48º F or 9º C) but the sun was bright and I didn't feel cold at all -- and apparently neither did she.

I also did three loads of laundry -- still catching up after Florida -- and caught up in blogland. I particularly enjoyed the vigorous debate at John Gray's blog about Trump and Zelenskyy. (And is it Zelenskyy or Zelensky? Different sources spell it different ways. Remember how, in the '80s, no one could decide how to spell Muammar Gadaffi's name using a Western alphabet? A problem that evidently persists even now.)

I find it so interesting that Trump supporters often say "don't trust the media" and "do your own research." What constitutes research in their minds? I doubt they're reading through primary source documents or interviewing participants in world events. They're simply reading alternative media, or more likely spreading it via shares on Facebook and Twitter. That's not research.

Some high-profile scandals and missteps over the years have given people reason to mistrust the media, but professional news organizations -- especially those that attempt some degree of objectivity -- are still the best sources of fact-based information out there. A lot of professionally trained people have a hand in news presented via The New York Times or The Guardian or the Times of London or the BBC or CNN, whereas something posted on Facebook or a 4Chan message board may come from just one person with no editor and no real idea what they're talking about. I know that sounds like a very old-fashioned perspective -- particularly regarding objectivity, a word we seldom hear these days -- but having toiled in this field myself for many years I understand the industry and I can tell you reporters and editors at reputable news sources, for the most part, are trying their best to tell it like it is. I'll trust them any day over a possibly doctored video or some snippet of "fact" floating around online.

I do think there's value in reading a variety of professional news sources, which is why I read some on the right (and even the far right) as well as the left. Different perspectives can be helpful. But you've got to consider your source, and again, I wouldn't call that "research." It's just more media from another viewpoint.

Last night Dave and I watched "The Substance," the movie for which Demi Moore is nominated for an Oscar. It's a sort of dystopian horror film about a mysterious medical treatment that can restore youthful beauty, but at a terrible cost. There's quite a bit of blood but it was riveting and we both enjoyed it. It questions society's expectations about appearance, particularly for women, and takes the consequences to an absurd level. Some of those scenes are going to live in my mind for quite a while, for better or worse!

Double Booked

I'm getting a late start blogging this morning, having slept in a bit. Olga and Dave are still snoring away. Ah, Saturday!

I had a busy day yesterday, first at work and then having double-booked myself for social events in the evening. I told the LGBTQ+ Affinity Group at work (yes, we still have one of those, as Trump's tentacles have not reached us here) that I would go with them to a museum exhibit, and Dave told a co-worker that we would have dinner with her and her husband. To be fair, he checked with me first and I said yes -- I forgot about the museum thing.

The exhibit access was for 4:30 p.m. and our dinner was at 5:30 (early!) but nonetheless I managed to do both. I had to leave the exhibit early; I'll probably go back and finish it another time.

Here's a shot from the show, at the Tate Modern, which focuses on queer performance artist Leigh Bowery. I'd never heard of Bowery before, but it was a fascinating show about how he arose as a sort of "club kid" on London's nightclub scene in the early 1980s and eventually grew into an artist who explored the boundaries of clothing and body image. Above are some of his clothes from the early and mid-'80s, which he designed himself, against Star Trek wallpaper (!) identical to some used on the walls of his flat and documented in a film from that time.

I only made it through three rooms of the exhibit before I had to take off and catch the tube to Marylebone to meet Dave. We had dinner at Fischer's, a Viennese restaurant; I had pork sausages and Dave had schnitzel. We enjoyed the food.

It was during dinner that Dave, scrolling his phone, turned to me and asked if I'd heard about Trump and Zelenskyy's meeting at the White House. He told us how Trump and Vance had scolded Zelenskyy in front of the press corps, and their peace proposal had fallen apart. It was immediately clear to me that the whole thing was a setup from the start, meant to humiliate Zelenskyy and pressure him to accede to Russia's demands. Trump is working on behalf of Putin.

(Tom Friedman, in a column about the meeting, called it an "obviously planned ambush" and pointed out that it is unprecedented for a U.S. president to side "with the aggressor, the dictator and the invader against the democrat, the freedom fighter and the invaded.")

So I managed to survive my double-booked evening, but not without some degree of stomach upset. Once again, who have we become as a country? What does the USA stand for?

(Top: Marylebone at sunset, on my way to Fischer's.)

Sport, and Other Memories

Time now to check out some of the old photographs I "rescued" while antique shopping in Jacksonville. As you all know, I'm a fan of old pictures and I love putting them online so they can survive in digital perpetuity.

First, polishing up the Dodge on Easter, 1947. It looks like everyone is dressed up to go out, or maybe go to church. I think Mom in the background even has a little corsage.

On the back: "Sport." 

On the back: "My room." The decor has some style but it looks like the back of that chair is pushed right up against the bed. Not a whole lot of space!

Maybe he sent this picture to his sweetheart, prominently displayed on the desk.

Catastrophic structural failure is imminent, but no one seems worried -- except possibly that little kid on the left.

Dated 1964 -- Grandma is very proud of her new refrigerator!

My childhood babysitter had eyeglasses just like hers.

On the back: "Dec. 22, 1944." If I had to guess, I'd say someone was posted to the South Pacific during the war, and this is a picture of a piglet that became a Christmas feast.

On the back: "Durham: Geo Clymer." At first I thought the man in the photo was George, but I think actually the photo may have been taken on the USS George Clymer, a wartime transport ship. Perhaps Durham was his name.

And finally, a mysterious cityscape. It's obviously somewhere in Europe, and on the building on the left we can see the word "Haus," which suggests Germany. It took me a while but I finally figured out the location using the sign atop the curved building in the background, which says (not very clearly) "Rundschau Haus." This was the headquarters of the Frankfurter Rundschau, a daily newspaper in Frankfurt-am-Main, Germany. The building went up in 1953, so the photo was taken sometime after that.

That puts the location of this photo on Eschenheimer Tor. Here's what the area looks like today. Rundschau Haus is now gone, but the castle on the right, the white building in the center with the circular decoration, and the building on the left all appear to still exist.

These are just eight of 22 photos I bought. Here's the whole batch on Flickr, if you're interested.

Fact Check Please

I found this graffiti on my walk home last night. It's similar to another bin I found a few years ago, also bearing a Twitter-related message. We could use some fact-checking in our modern culture, that's for sure, rather than following a political leader who believes if he says anything enough times it becomes true.

My own personal dictator, Mother Russia, has won the front garden battle. The gardeners returned yesterday and did a much harder prune on everything:

It's clear she was standing out there giving them directions while I was at work -- as I expected -- because several areas that she specifically targeted have been hit hard. That poor Cotoneaster to the left of the front door, for example. Mrs. Russia wants enough space adjacent to the wall to put up a ladder so the front of the house can be painted, and she made sure to get it. The house does need painting so I can live with that.

For the most part I think it's OK. The first go-around was too gentle, and we wanted to see some definition of the bushes, which will fill in more in coming months. Afterwards she sent me a satisfied e-mail that said "I am happy with the result of the work," and paid me her share of the bill.

At least it's over. We've been talking about front garden pruning for at least a year, and I filed the maintenance request last August! Perhaps now life can move forward.

Olga Eats a Shrimp

Here's where the devil dogs wound up in our kitchen -- perched on a tiny ledge next to the window. When I put them up, Dave said, "Where did you get those?!" I said, "Don't you read my blog?" (Answer: No.)

And here's the plaque I picked up the same day in Jacksonville featuring a red-headed woodpecker. Obviously handmade, I suspect it's someone's craft project from summer camp or wood shop or something like that. It fits in nicely with our needlepoint wall. There's no obvious name or date on it.

Our garden saga has taken another turn. I wrote the gardeners yesterday and asked them to make another pass at the front garden, and surprisingly, they agreed. They're supposed to come back this morning. I'm going to work as usual; I'm going to leave the situation in their hands. I made it clear we need a harder prune than we got the first time around and included photos of some of the problem areas. Hopefully this will placate Mother Russia, who will no doubt be peering down from her upstairs window.

I slept well last night, thank goodness. Maybe my jet-lag is on the wane.

Garden Fatigue

Our windowsill cactus is blooming again, as it has done almost every spring since 2019. I think those nubs around it are old blooms from last year, but maybe they're new buds. In any case, I'm glad it's still happy.

It's happier than I am, I'll say that much. Blame the Russians.

Yesterday, the gardeners came to trim our garden. They arrived about 9:30 a.m., just as the rain slackened, and after I went to work they spent several hours in the back garden, pruning the roses and buddleias and ripping out all the ivy invading the borders. They trimmed the large hebe and several other bushes in the front and gave us several inches more space to go up and down the front steps.

I was mostly happy with the result. It's still quite "full," but looks neater than it did.

I was very happy with the back. They didn't strip all the ivy on the fence and in the trees, at my request -- I want to leave some cover for the birds. But they took a lot off the ground and the pruned roses look much better.

Our bulbs and day lilies are more exposed and although the lawn is sodden and muddy right now, it should fill in well when growing season begins.

The one thing I wish they hadn't done is rake up all the fallen leaves I'd left in the borders and piled at the back of the garden. I was deliberately allowing them to break down as mulch. Oh well.

At work I spent the day in a training session learning about Chat GPT and Artificial Intelligence. This isn't something I use much -- in fact not at all, up to now -- but I can see how it might be beneficial for certain tasks like synthesizing data or composing routine e-mails. (I confess there is a blogger who commented once or twice on my blog many months ago who I strongly suspect uses Chat GPT to compose her comments. They're always very detailed and yet they seem blandly artificial. I will not name names!)

After I got home yesterday evening, I wrote to the Russians and our landlords and asked them to pay their portion of the fees for the front garden. I'd already paid and was seeking reimbursement. (We're responsible for the back but not the front under the terms of our lease.)

Mrs. Russia responded by knocking on our door and complaining that the trimming in the front is inadequate. She feels they should have done more and went on and on about how they'd promised four hours of work (I don't know where she got that number) but spent less than one and left the bushes too large. Possibly because I was halfway through my evening gin & tonic, I lost my temper with her and said I was finished dealing with the garden and went inside and closed the door, leaving her out on the stoop.

This morning, after about two hours of sleep (jet-lag and annoyance), I wrote and told her that I don't expect her to pay for work she feels is inadequate, and I will ask the gardeners for a more thorough trim. (Which I am doubtful they will provide.) But I also reiterated that the garden isn't our responsibility and all future communication about it should go straight to our landlords.

Dear God, I am so tired.

To finish on a happy note, I took my glasses to the optician yesterday who managed to rescue them after they'd been fairly badly mangled during my trip to Florida. I dropped them at one point and an earpiece broke off, and the other earpiece got bent in my luggage. Miracle opticians! My glasses are fine now -- at no charge!

Settling In

We are jumping back into our London lives! In fact the trip to Florida seems so short it's almost dreamlike. The blueberries we left in the refrigerator didn't even have time to shrivel. I had them on my cereal yesterday and they were perfectly fine.

I spent the day unpacking and organizing -- doing laundry, that kind of thing. The devil dogs have been given a bath and are now perched in a prominent spot in the kitchen. I haven't hung my woodpecker plaque yet but maybe today.

The garden is looking springlike, with the daffodils and crocuses blooming. The snowdrops are all open and hanging like upside-down moths from their stems.

The gardeners are supposed to come today to trim the front garden and get the ivy under control in the back, but it's pouring rain at the moment and the forecast doesn't show that changing. I wonder if they'll want to reschedule. I suppose an English gardener is used to working in the rain.

Here's Olga, curled up next to me on the couch. It's very dark in this room, with only light from the hallway casting a dim glow, so I'm impressed that picture worked out. She seems very glad to have us home. She slept soundly on the couch next to me all afternoon, and she was out like a light last night.

Or maybe that was me, honestly. I resisted sleeping during the day, to try to get back on track, but once 9 p.m. rolled around I climbed into bed and had no awareness of anything until 5:30 this morning. Again, I think we were gone such a short time that jet lag didn't even have time to kick in.

Well, we'll see what happens with the gardeners. I really hope they come because our roses are starting to show new growth, and if they're going to prune them they need to do it now. Plus today is a professional development day at work so I can come in a bit late without ramifications -- unlike when we have kids around (starting tomorrow).

Oh, by the way, my Gulf of Mexico t-shirt did arrive at Dave's parents' house, just as we were preparing to leave. I wore it home on the plane, and I'm wearing it now.

Home Again

This was Friday night's Florida sunset, seen from the back yard of my stepmother's guest house. I love those filmy veils of clouds, lit by the sinking sun.

And now we're back in London. Olga was thrilled to see us, once I woke her up -- she was sound asleep on the couch and didn't hear us come in. She's been jumping around and is now lying next to me, sighing deeply. All is right with the world.

The flight was smooth. As a special treat, Dave and I bought business class seats for our return voyage. (They were the only ones available on the direct London to Gatwick flight, so it was either that or connect through some other city.) We were each in those pods with divider walls between them, and a seat that basically turns into a bed. I read The New Yorker, watched two episodes of "Absolutely Fabulous" and slept for part of the trip, a light snooze, but I'm still exhausted.

Here we are toasting through the partition between our pods, with our pre-takeoff champagne. Cheers!

And just for fun, here's my stepsister's cat, Ozzie, at her house in Tampa. Jennifer and her husband spoil their two cats rotten. They are very satisfied animals. (Of course I wouldn't know anything about spoiling pets.)

I'd give you a picture of Olga but I feel sure she'd be insulted if I put her in the same post as a cat.

Ybor and Bayshore

Yesterday was one of those spectacular Florida winter days with a cloudless sky and bright sun -- the type of sun that casts shadows turning even mundane streetscapes into something wonderful. It was also really cold -- 38º F (or 3º C) when I went to Dunkin' Donuts in the morning. This morning it's 45º (or 7º C) so slightly better, and of course I'm back at Dunkin', pumping out a blog post before driving to Bradenton to pick up Dave.

I had a leisurely morning yesterday before driving into Tampa to meet my friends Sue and John, who I've known since college. Remember me mentioning the Rod N' Reel Pier in Anna Maria a couple of days ago -- the one destroyed by last fall's hurricanes? Well, John and Sue are the friends who sat with me on that pier on so many evenings back in the '80s and '90s. I always try to connect with them when I pass through Tampa.

We met in Ybor City, the historic Cuban/Italian quarter where cigars were hand-rolled in gigantic brick warehouses at the dawn of the 20th century. Now it's the arts and entertainment district, with a thriving bar and nightlife culture, and lots of popular restaurants. It retains some elements of its previous identity, such as the terrazzo floor at the entrance to the former Max Argintar menswear store.

John, Sue and I ate at Carmine's, where I ordered the hot pressed Cuban sandwich and black bean soup (with onions, please). We used to go to Carmine's when it was squeezed into a much smaller space and one of John's friends performed in a band there. I remember being crammed into that tiny space and dancing to their cover of the Violent Femmes' "Blister in the Sun," which was always the high point of their set, at least to us.

Anyway, Carmine's is a lot different these days and I have no idea where John's musician friend might be, but suffice to say, I share a lot of history with John and Sue. We talked mainly about retirement options and the dismal state of the newspaper industry, because we are journalists (or former journalists) of a certain age.

Afterwards Sue and I got a Cuban coffee at the nearby Hotel Haya, which I didn't even know existed. It's quite swank, with a palm-fringed pool in a sunny courtyard, and I'd love to stay there sometime. And the cafe makes a mean Cuban coffee! It's next to the site of the former El Goya, a renowned drag bar back in the '70s and '80s (which became Tracks, a popular gay dance club where I spent a lot of nights dancing in my college years).

Afterwards, I drove down sunny Bayshore Boulevard to Ballast Point Park, which offers spectacular views of the city across the bay. Again, this was a favorite spot during my college years. I'd drive down and study at one of the tables with a coffee from the fishing shop next to the pier. Nowadays the fishing shop has become a gleaming little cafe called Leon's Lobstah Shack, but it still sells a good cup of coffee. (It may sound like I'm over-caffeinating but that Cuban coffee was small.)

The pier at Ballast Point is closed, because of hurricane damage, I believe. But there's a shorter dock (above) where a couple of anglers were trying for the day's catch.

I mentioned how great it is to drive down Bayshore Boulevard, one of Tampa's most exclusive addresses. I made a little video to replicate the experience, as if you're in my car listening to my iTunes while soaking up the sunshine. (Specifically, you're hearing Astrud Gilberto's "Canoeiro." And before you chastise me for filming while driving, all I did is hold my phone out the window without watching the screen, so my eyes were still on the road.) You'll see some cones and barricades, and that's because the Gasparilla Distance Classic is being run on Bayshore this weekend. At the end, you get a quiet moment at Ballast Point, listening to the waves. Enjoy!

Last night I went to dinner with my step-sister, her husband and her son. We went to a neighborhood steak place where the steak was good but the martini was marginal.

By the way, I apologize for being unable to answer all your comments -- I don't have much opportunity to be online at the moment -- but I am am reading and enjoying them all! Dave and I will be winging back to London this evening. Coming to you tomorrow from the land of Olga!

Trilliums and Jesus, with Special Guest Stars

It's not quite 6 a.m. and I am back at Dunkin' Donuts in Lutz, my Internet outpost when I'm staying at my stepmother's guest house. The WiFi there isn't hooked up so I hop in the car and come up here, and have a delicious and surely perfectly healthy Boston Kreme donut while I type my blog. I've done it so many times on so many trips that it's become my routine.

Yesterday involved a whole lot of driving. I left Jacksonville about 9 a.m., after my brother and I dropped my niece at school and stopped for a final coffee at Starbucks, where we sat across from each other at a wide, long table, like two attorneys trying to settle a complicated case.

Once on the road, I luxuriated in some solitude and played my iTunes (is there a happier, more vapid song than "The Hustle" by Van McCoy?) while barreling west on I-10 toward my not-so-mysterious destination -- Lloyd, Florida, and fellow blogger Mary Moon.

Mary and I have met several times -- in 2015 and 2019 in Florida, and once in Cozumel, when we happened to be there at the same time. But it's been many years (not since the pandemic) and I really wanted to see her unusual wild trilliums (above) and enjoy a bit of North Florida thrift shopping!

It took me something like two and a half hours to get there, a little longer than I expected, so it was about 11:30 a.m. by the time I pulled into Mary's driveway. We're both native Floridians and we joke that we are long-lost siblings, so greeting her was like greeting family. I also got to say hi to her husband once again and meet her daughter Jessie, who accompanied us on our day's adventures.

We headed to Monticello, a picturesque little nearby town. I'd driven through before but I don't think I'd ever stopped there, and Mary goes there quite a bit, so I was eager to check out the scene through her eyes. We began with lunch at the Rancho Grande Mexican restaurant, which surely has the most colorful dining room in the world. I was so engrossed in conversation with Mary and Jessie that I pretty much ordered the first thing I saw on the menu -- a Speedy Gonzalez, which turned out to be a taco and enchilada with refried beans and rice. Yum!

Monticello has an ornate courthouse (complete with monument to fallen Confederate soldiers) in the middle of a traffic circle at the heart of downtown. The Latin phrase Suum Cuique is inscribed over the door -- "to each his own," which seems typically individualistic in the American vein, but apparently means each constituent will receive fair treatment at the hands of the government.

And then -- shopping! We were in an antique store and I wanted to send a picture to Dave, so I grabbed the ugliest nearby object to use as a prop. "Don't buy that," Dave wrote back.

We had a great time talking and laughing and marveling at the incredible assortment of weird junk populating the shops. We saw a pineapple-shaped ice bucket, which led to a discussion of whether displaying an upside-down pineapple indicates a person is a swinger. (Cosmopolitan magazine confirms this, so it must be true. Far be it from me to question Cosmopolitan on matters of sex.)

Speaking of sex, these paint-by-numbers nymphs were apparently judged too scandalous to display in their entirety.

My childhood babysitter/nanny/surrogate grandmother, Mrs. Kirkland, used to have a poodle like these. I liked the one with the cat-eye glasses, but I wasn't going to pay $48 for it.

Jessie's face says it all.

In the end I only bought three old postcards -- and actually Jessie bought them for me, which was incredibly kind and gave me a fun souvenir. I'll turn them into a future blog post, I'm sure, so whether Jessie knows it or not she has invested in my blog and is now part-owner of the intellectual property contained herein.

We got back to Mary's and I promptly hit the road for the long drive back to Tampa. I was conflicted about which route to take -- the longer but probably smoother all-interstate route, I-10 to I-75, or the shorter but stop-and-go U.S. 19 that hugs the curve of the state's sparsely populated "Big Bend" area. In the end I did the shorter route and it went very smoothly despite the small-town stoplights along he way -- Perry, Cross City, Crystal River. I just cruised along with my iTunes and had a great time. I got to Lutz, the suburb where I'm staying just outside Tampa, about 8 p.m.

It was a long day but well worth it to re-establish human contact with my blog sister!