Key West Casts Its Spell

The laid back attitude that is the mystery of Key West can frustrate the casual visitor, not to mention the infiltration of the souls of all who stay here very long.

More than one tourist, used to living their lives while running in place with a cell phone attached to their ear, has gone mad waiting for service at any number of Key West locations. And don't even try to order a medium skim latte' with a touch of cinnamon, extra hot, double cupped, extra shot, with a few drops of butterscotch on the top.

You are likely to be greeted by a muffled "uh ha", and after he finishes his cell phone call, about 10 or 15 minutes later (you are the only person in the coffee shop), the drink maker/cash register operator/kitchen cleaner/t-shirt salesman will likely serve you a small, tepid, single-cupped whole milk latte, and walk into the back room before you can scream at him.

More than one New York City vacationer has been seen pounding their heads on the counters of various establishments in this lovely city.

Well, I must report that the spell has settled into my inner core. Dennis' daily question, "So, what do you have planned today," is now greeted by a blank stare from me. My mental acuity has plummeted to the level of sleeping through church. I wonder if this is dangerous.

Yet, I struggle to my computer to catch up on my blog before any number of friends starts leaving nasty emails on my Gmail account. You know, the old "Hello, is anyone there?" type emails. So I will catch you up.

We are in a wonderful, small RV resort. Grass, large lots, cement pads to park our rigs, with the owner living right on the property makes for a wonderful time. We moved our motor coach a couple spaces down and are right next to my sister Melodie and David. Our front window is about 10 feet from a bay on the Atlantic Ocean. We look out across the Atlantic. Except for the airmen and women from the nearby Boca Chica naval air base who take it as their personal responsibility to strafe us a couple times a day with low flying, sound barrier-breaking jets, everything else if fine.

We are right over the bridge from Key West. Melodie and David ride their bikes almost daily onto the island to exercise and picnic. Dennis and I did that once, but prefer a short trip up the keys to access Dennis' personal find--an abandoned flat road into the mangroves, ponds, and beauty of the Atlantic coast. I would tell you where it is, but I would have to kill you.

The local shrimp boats bring us fresh shrimp, the best in the world. David and Dennis may soon publish a book, "1000 ways to prepare fresh Key West Shrimp." We are eating very well.

In spite of our affinity for great food and drink in Key West, both Dennis and I are trying to lose weight. Although we could truthfully report success, I will refrain until it actually is visible to friend and foe alike.

Laura, Jens and Reese arrive soon. Hurray! We head to Ft. Lauderdale to see "Jersey Boys" (the musical) in a couple weeks. Laura, Sarah and Reese come back after that, followed shortly by our brother Bob and his wife Mary. April is going to be a wonderful feast of family. We are thrilled.

Oh no, I feel Key West whispering in my ear, "What the hell are you doing? You should be napping or just reading a book in the shade." See, it can creep up on you at any moment. Unfortunately, I feel myself succumbing again.

So for now I am going to have to s a y ................ g o o d b.........................

Florida, Florida, Florida

It was not prudent for me to start my Florida tales while our Minnesota loved ones were still fighting feet of snow and far below zero wind chills. I note it is above freezing today, and may soon hit the summer temperature of 45 degrees. Therefore, it is time to share the wonder of Florida.

For a couple of Northern boys it still seems unimaginable that for centuries people have actually lived through winter in temperatures that seldom dip below 60 degrees. I am convinced we were not made aware of this in our childhood for the simple reason that the north needed young people to populate it after they matured. By the time we caught on, it was too late to get the hell out. In my life we were not even encouraged (or could not afford) a spring break that involved senseless drunkenness on the tropical sand beaches of Florida. It all was a cruel conspiracy, but it worked.

Even as we sit here now in Key West, the front of our motor home about 10 feet from the shore of the Atlantic Ocean, I remember fondly years of icy slipping and sliding toward adulthood in Iowa and Minnesota. Perhaps it is true, you cannot truly appreciate the warmth until you have experienced the bone chilling cold of home-sweet-home.

After an amazing trip across the Southern U.S., our two motor coaches (ours and sister Melodie and David's) arrived in the Fort Wilderness Campground in Disney World. The campground was fine, but not the mecca for all true RVers that had been foreshadowed to us. Expensive of course (this is the land Walt Disney created you know), but fun none the less. We spent four nights and five days. We were joined by our newest converts to the RV world, our best friends from Key West, Jack and Gail Sibley. They were on their maiden voyage with their new coach. After the Oohs and Aahs over the Sibley's new home on wheels, we were off to the theme parks.

Epcot Center, The Animal Kingdom, and Disney Hollywood were all on our itinerary. Dennis and I hit it big in the face of the $75 per day ticket prices! I had saved the remainder of 5 day tickets I have bought with Laura and Sarah when they were young (about 15 dollars a day back then I think). Anyway, they honored the punches we had left on these cards I had kept in my "memory" box for over 15 years. Of our six days, we only had to pay for one day for Dennis. Disney had said they were good for a lifetime, and sure enough they were.

The six of us had a blast, even factoring in our extremely different tolerances for the more "aggressive" rides. Some of us are aging faster than the others. I will not use names here. Suffice it to say to those of you that know Dennis, there was not a roller coaster or thrill ride from which he shied away. The scarier the better for him.

Off we headed for Ft. Lauderdale and a visit with Laura, Jens, Reese and Jens' parents, Julie and Gale. We had a short but great time with them all, especially Reese, of course. I am sure it is NOT my imagination when I share with you that Reese clearly has developed an unconditional, uncanny, deep and abiding love for her Grandpa Tom and Grandpa Dennis.

After an uneventful (not windy) trip down the Keys single-laned highway (including our trip over the 7 mile bridge), we arrived at the El Mar RV park. Our park is right on the ocean on Stock Island (across a short bridge from Key West). Melodie and David were here, and we started our two month stay.

Now, I know that many of you have (more than once) been exhausted by spending a couple hours around my sister Melodie and I. However, contrary to all of your office pools and bets, I am loving every day I can spend with Melodie and David. It all came into perspective when Laura said, "Do you even realize what I would give to have the luxury of spending two months with my brother or my sister?" She is right, such time is truly a gift. Our blessings continue.

We found Key West much the same, but still changed. The developments continue, the T-shirt shops seem to multiply before your eyes, and the charm just keeps slipping away. Don't get me wrong, Key West is still breathtakingly beautiful. The azure blue ocean still astonishes you with its beauty on sunny days (which are almost all of them). The people can still slow down and have a good time, but the cruise ships and the spring breakers take some effort at toleration.

With Mexico's assassination rates in the thousands of people, the Key West beaches are packed full and look like a living Abercrombie & Fitch catalog (only with less clothing). Dennis refuses to stop the car for me to contemplate any particularly breathtaking specimens, so they too become just another fleeting glimpse of life for this old voyeur. I just need some serious therapy soon to help me deal with my constant lament that I was never that young, beautiful, and care free.

I may rebound in April since our time is full of visiting family and friends. We look forward to those times. Soon enough, after the Song Writers' Festival in the first few days of May, we head for home via the grandchildren, of course.

My brother Bob and his wife Mary and daughter Kelley join us at the end of April. Both Melodie and I are excited to show them Key West for their first time. Perhaps Mary and Kelley would love a good drag queen show. Bob? We shall see. . .

Could I convince you it was writer's block?

I guess I cannot convince you I have had writer's block. The obvious reason for my not keeping up here for the past ten days is laziness. This lifestyle tends to promote putting off the things I thought I would do today.

Actually, the adventure back to Florida across the country has been so amazing, I just sat back and soaked it all in. I suppose some would assume three days crossing the dry barren lands of America's Southwest would be an endless drag. Not so! Hardly a mile went by that both Dennis and I did not point out another view of amazing landscapes, sunrises and sunsets, and animal life. Twice in Texas we save a pair of wild boars just grazing along the interstate. We took Interstate 10 East on most of our journey. It is a breathtaking trip.


We began with a quick overnight of parking all 60 feet of our rig and tow car in front of the Phoenix home of my cousin Sandy and her husband, Len. They live in a beautiful location, and we spent the evening with their (Len's) home cooking and Sandy's frozen Margaritas, laughing and sharing memories like we always do. Sandy and I were "kissing" cousins in our early, early years. We have a special bond, and are as close as cousins could be.


Len posited his theory (which at that part of the evening was handed out more as the absolute truth) that the earth is a closed ecosystem and every single mineral, particle or whatever that is here today has always been here. Since then, as often as I refuse to go there, my mind still stalls out in complete frustration, knowing there is a flaw in his argument, but completely unable to debunk it. Any and all smarter than me out there, please help!!


From here we headed for Austin, Texas. We were blessed with an evening with Kathleen's son Andy and his girlfriend, Bri. Even though we were almost twice their ages, Dennis and I had a wonderful time. This completes the first round of my exploration and adventure with a part of my lost family. Dennis and I met Dawn and Dave, Ildy and Tim (and their precious baby Clover), and Lisi (and her exciting new house). It has all been a thrill and just keeps on going. Regrets of a lost shared past are set aside by anticipation and excitement for our shared futures.


REMINDER: MY MOTHER, DOLORES, DOES NOT KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT THIS PART OF OUR ADVENTURE. PLEASE DO NOT MENTION IT IN ANY WAY TO HER. She does not have a computer and cannot get the blog, so she does not read it. I am unable to edit out this part of my life anymore. That was done for me by others for far too long. Should any of you have any questions about this, please contact me directly. I of course apologize if this upsets any of you. That is not my intent. Thanks so much!!


We left Andy and Bri and met up with my sister Melodie and her husband David in eastern Texas or western Louisiana, not sure which. They have a motor coach of their own. All I can advise those of you who for years complained about the length of the trip across Nebraska . . . Try Texas from East to West. The land mass of that state is truly mind boggling--more than enough space for George W to be lost in and never heard from for the rest of his life (I can only hope and pray).


Somewhere in here we spent a night at a Casino. We ate crayfish prepared a number of ways (a major and unusual culinary adventure for this kid from Iowa!). The food was actually good, but so rich we all felt a bit queezy the next day (that is the polite way to explain hours sitting in our respective bathrooms).


We spent our next night together along the road in the Sam Houston Jones State Park, Louisiana. There is one observation that might get me in some trouble with our friends from Louisiana. I observed a noticeable and stark difference between the care people take of their property in Texas and Louisiana. I know, this was one of my grossest of generalizations yet (and that is saying something), but Texans appear (to me at least) to have a special pride in their state. It was clean; the roads were excellent; and the people generally took very good care of their property, even the obviously most poor (of which there were many along Interstate 10). It appears to not have anything to do with race, economic status or nationality. Texas just seems to have its stuff together more than most in the South.

We headed for New Orleans. We landed there on Melodie's birthday. We also arrived on the first day of Mardis Gras which we had not planned. The festivities were just getting cranked up the two nights we were there, but we got around, ate our seafood, drank our share of that awful red rum disaster, the Hurricane, and even saw a couple parades. We had a blast, but I have no need to make Mardis Gras an annual event. We froze our butts off a couple nights on Bourbon street. As a recent refugee of the frozen north, Melodie was not pleased.


I am told I challenged the credentials of a couple priests and the huge, mostly exposed breasts of their companions. After being told the women were not hookers but the sisters of the priests, Melodie jerked me into the crowd, and (I am convinced) said 12 Hail Mary's for me, and she is not even Catholic!!). I was heard to holler back, "Then you must be Episcopalians.

I am also told I continually seemed to stumble into the horses of the mounted police, asking the horse (while the policeman sat on top), "Is it true that you are hung like a horse?" I am convinced the horses smiled at me. Dennis was heard to exclaim, "Tom, if you are going to start drinking again, you really are going to have to learn to hold your liquor!" We shall see.

We traveled next to an amazing Florida state park then on to Disney World's Fort Wilderness Campground. I will hit the Florida adventures in my next installment. I am still recovering from those damn Hurricane drinks. David is forbidden to ever buy me a drink again.

Time To Leave the Desert

It is hard to believe that our time in Palm Springs has come to an end. I notice that I have hardly shared anything about our stay here.

First, to clear up a few things. If you ever want to hear from people you did not even know were tracking you, just write about a beggar in a supermarket! It has been a great discussion. I certainly learned a lesson about writing words and the very different things people glean from those words. So, I must clear up just one thing. I was not positing that this person was legit, or that I had any intention of ever giving him money.

This person was more a symbol of a dark cynicism that had found its way into my heart. I know these people can be dangerous and scary, especially to those who may not feel able to protect themselves when alone and confronted by such people. I learned that many have had the same line put to them from any number of different beggars.

Yet, that was not my point. While not afraid, I was terribly uncomfortable. This person had invaded my otherwise cozy, run-of-the-mill daily existence. He challenged my self image that I could handle most situations, and that ultimately I would respond compassionately. It was a healthy self-dialogue, and grew into an even healthier dialogue with many of you. Thanks for that.

I have also learned that if you send copies of your blogs to your mother (who still refuses a computer), leave out the blog about almost being killed by older Florida drivers who should have their licenses revoked. Even though my mother refuses to allow the word "old" to be spoken or even written in her presence, she took me down a couple (many) notches for my "stupid, uninformed" writing about senior drivers.

Quoting what I can only assume was the latest issue of the AARP newsletter, she was armed with a plethora of statistics regarding the vast majority of accidents being causes by young drivers. Deftly pushing aside any reasoning about there not being many 85 year old people left to drive, thereby skewing the statistics, she concluded by warning me to "do a little research in the future." You all know the line, "Honey, you are better than that." Ouch! I guess I also learned that being 59 years old in no way insulates you from being lifted by your ears by a pissed off, old (do the math) mother.

As for Palm Springs, it has rained for the past three days (yes, in the desert) and was 39 degrees this morning. I know that means it is Spring in Minnesota, but for us, it is time to continue our search for the perfect winter weather. So jacks up, slides in, start the engine, and off we go to Key West!

In the meantime we have had a great time. We have spent good times with other Minneapolis snowbirds, including Dennis' former real estate partner, June Berg, and her family and friends.

We also had a great time with Dennis' brother, Neil and his wife, Candy. Who said four adults cannot live comfortably in 275 square feet? We laughed all weekend.

Dennis volunteered at a store run by the Desert AIDS Project that sells top grade donated clothes and things. He loved the activity and met lots of people. We both enjoyed our time alone (275 square feet. . . remember?). I used the time to put a dent in my writing projects.

We explored the area and even drove into the mountains just so see some snow (old habits die hard). The high desert is a diverse and beautiful ecosystem. We did some hiking in the desert. Well, Dennis did some hiking; I hiked, once. I used up all my nitroglycerin. I have learned the invaluable lesson that I can enjoy the glory of nature and never ascend an incline. College in Nebraska apparently gave me a deep love for level ground.

Dennis' hiking group includes two 70+ men who resemble long horned sheep in their ability to scale a cliff without ever increasing their heart rates. Dennis treats the experience much like he treats ingesting that extra dose of scalding jalapeno hot sauce (while gasping and sweating), "Ah, that was great!"

We enjoyed theater, street fairs, dining, and coffee on the lawn of our favorite coffee shop. We shopped way too much, and ate even more. Our last purchase was a Weight Watcher's cook book at COSTCO. As soon as I break the plastic seal, we may start down that road. Don't hold your breath.

Our Precious Grandbabies

I know, I promised no blatant bragging, but I just could not help it. Here are Will in October and Reese in December. Does it get any better than this?

Haunted by the Boy

Having lived in Key West, I am familiar with panhandlers. I was just standing at the meat counter in the back of the Palm Springs grocery store. I was not ready for what happened.

"Excuse me sir, I have never really done this before. I am in trouble. I have a family emergency in Long Beach, and my car is out of gas. I don't have anywhere to turn. (His eyes welled with tears.)"

He then proceeded to ramble on about what I think was a suggestion that I give him the money I was going to spend on groceries. He seemed to also offer to carry my groceries to my car, although I was not sure how that fit in. Apparently, after giving him cash, I could charge my groceries. But this was all very confused. I did not understand a bit of this part of our conversation.

"I am sorry, I don't understand what you are saying."

"I don't know how I could ever pay you back, but I promise to try."

I am pretty much conditioned to just walk away from such people. So I looked down, told him I could not help, and walked away. I assumed that would be the end of it.

Dennis was in another part of the store, and when he got back to our cart, I told him what had happened. He decided that the manager should be told that there was a panhandler bothering people in the back of the store. I soon saw the young man walk quickly out of the store and into the evening haze. I cannot get him out of my mind.

The man was really just a boy. He was barely into his 20's. His clothes were tattered, but he was cleaned up and not offensive in any manner. There was a haunting genuineness in his eyes. He was younger than my own children.

After we had paid for our groceries and headed for our car, I scoured the parking lot but could see no sign of him. I had an all encompassing feeling that I had left something undone; that I had missed an opportunity; that I had significantly departed from some core belief I knew I had, but could not retrieve at the time.

Dennis is still convinced that the boy was on drugs and was looking for money for more. Even that revelation did not assuage my uneasiness. As crazy as it seems, I found myself struggling with some remote boyhood church lesson that I would never again be sure whether this had been my opportunity to help one of God's angels, or even Jesus himself.

I am quite aware that even writing such a thing will get listed in my "I have spent too long in a motor home" column of my life's analysis.

Could all this be coming from my long ago idealism that as a new teacher there was not any young person who I could not help?

If he had been dirty, unshaven and drunk would I have even reflected on the experience? No matter, he was none of those things. Had I missed an opportunity to help someone far beyond an empty gas tank or even a drug problem? How could I have actually teared up during our new President Obama's call for us to do our part to help each other, and still have turned my back on this boy?

In my career, I had argued toe-to-toe with big city mayors and negotiated with the nation's largest cable companies, yet this young man had reduced me to looking at the floor and mumbling something nonsensical about not being able to help. What was the source of this boy's power over me?

What was my hurry? It was not as if I had some urgent appointment to which I had to run. I had failed this boy. I had failed myself.

I may remain haunted by this boy for a long time. As for now, all I do know is that as an individual whose life is so blessed, I plan to no longer just step over those whose lives are not so blessed. I know I can next time respond with compassion, conversation, and even guidance without falling victim to some grand scam.

I know I will not solve any of life's problems. That is not the goal. Dennis and I have changed the perceptions of many people regarding our relationship, one person at a time, by living our life together with integrity and honesty.

I see no reason why embracing the same integrity and honesty in any such future encounter could not also positively effect a life. I will be none the less for trying.

And what about the possibility of encountering one of God's angels in disguise? Well, aren't we each one of God's angels? Aren't we all?

Just Respectful, Not Lazy

I have not been lazy, just respectful. I knew I did not dare share the desert with all of you while my friends in the northern plains were trying to stay alive in 30 degrees BELOW zero. When your friends' nostrils are sticking together, you do not complain about a sunburn.

Now that Spring has arrived in Minnesota with temperatures soaring into the 20's, I can finally share Palm Springs, California with you all.

Growing up in Shenandoah, Iowa, I never really knew that people actually lived like this. Of course we had television (I am not that old). I saw Lucy move to California and spent my adolescence "California Dreamin' " with the Mama's and the Papa's, but even then I could not imagine spending an afternoon in January napping around the pool.

Don't get me wrong, I cherish my childhood, but that does not stop me from counting the many blessings that have allowed me to escape the morning terror that I forgot to plug in the car engine heater so it might start and get me to work. Palm Spring is beautiful.

Since we arrived almost two weeks ago I do not recall a cloud in the sky. The days are in the 70-80's and the nights cool down to the 40-50's. There seems to be a perpetual breeze, and we even spent a day experiencing the Easterly mountain side of the Santa Anna winds (not as strong on the western side). We have driven the low desert and walked through snow in the quaint mountain town of Idylwild.

No place is perfect, of course. Dennis has a new understanding of how raisins are made as he lathers up with all the lotion he can find to prevent his daily molting of dry skin. My elbows are so rough I could sand wood with them. Even my eyes need lubrication. We are also reminded that it can reach the 120 degree mark in the summer--supporting our escape back to our Minnesota homeland in only a few months. But there is nothing like putting on a tank top in January and sharing some designer coffee on the lawn of our favorite downtown coffee house.

We are settled into the Two Springs R.V. Resort, although I cannot see any evidence of any underground source of water. Our motor coach lot is spacious and surrounded by a six foot tall hedge that provides just the right amount of privacy. We are surrounded by mountains (certainly not the Rockies, but still capped by just the right amount of snow). Once we got used to the huge propeller-style things across the road that use the wind to generate electricity, everything was good.

For those of you who have been to this area, you ahve seen that someone got the great idea to harness the constant wind rushing through the pass toward L.A. by putting up 40-60 foot high white, three-blade windmills. Now, I am the first to support alternative sources of energy, but this particular great idea has turned into literally thousands of these things littering a once spectacular mountain valley with endless, ever-rotating propellers. Surely there was some distant, uninhabited windy space in this endless Western plain where these things could have been placed. I know, I know, it is the eternal "not in my backyard" argument, and we must have alternative solutions, but I pray we find a way to use fewer, better placed, more efficient alternatives to these things (while we stop wasting so much power and other or our dwindling resources).

Dennis claims I get more "crotchety" every day. The re-reading of that last paragraph surely supports his theory. But boy, do I feel better getting that off my chest.

I recommend the desert. It is a very close toss-up between my love of Key West and this new found oasis (did I mention NO mosquitoes or "no-see-ums"?). There are so many magnificent places right here in our own American backyard, and Dennis and I look forward to discovering them all.

The Magic of the High Desert

We are a couple hours out of Palm Springs. We left the interstate and are traveling along a paved, secondary highway. It is amazing.

Of course I am not driving, but Dennis is not complaining. I sleep while he drives. He groans and gasps at each gust of wind when I drive.

I recall when I assisted teaching in a summer program at Nebraska Wesleyan for gifted high school science students from across the country. The emphasis of the program was environmental study. One day I was taking a car load of students about 60 miles west of Lincoln to look at some remaining original prairie. We came over a hill, and one young man from the back seat started yelling for me to pull over. There was no traffic, so I pulled over. He bounded out of the car, went up to the fence line and spun all around a number of times. He was a young man from the inner city of New York.

I asked what he was doing. He responded, “I have never in my life been able to see the horizon in every direction.” I stopped for a moment and realized that I had grown up in a very special part of America. I don’t think until that moment I had ever really made special note of the endless horizon that surrounded my youth. I wonder now what effect that might have on a person’s life-vision. I recall hoping at that moment that I never lose the wonderment of my young friend from New York. But, I had lost much of it.

Somehow today it all came into focus once again. Wherever I look I see the rugged high desert of southern California. In every direction I see the outline of mountains—not the imperial mountain peaks of the Rockies, but beautiful subtle purple peaks in the shadows of the afternoon sky.

The road is just fine, but not the flat, forever forward road of the Interstate. The dips and hills in today’s road remind me of simpler summer days when my Uncle Merlyn would rev up his old Buick with my cousins and I in the back seat. Off we would go, taking the gravel hills and dips in the back road near our Minnesota campsite at Potato Lake. There was never a roller coaster that could put my young stomach in my throat like those long ago summer rides.

Today there is a single rail track running parallel to us. The black and white gravel rail bed is raised five feet or so from the desert floor. For at least the last 40 miles on our side of the raised bed we have seen a continuous amazing array of “I was here” art and phrases created with this gravel. People (I assume young people) have taken the black and white rocks and have left their mark on the raised sand of the desert. “Abbey loves Mark”, “Class of ’83”; “Benjamin”; “Peace on Earth”; “Billy Sucks”; etc. There is not a house visible in any direction. Who are these people? Where did they come from? How did this tradition ever start? It all has a complex, mystical impression on this passer-by.

We pass a “For Sale” sign for 3,250 acres of this flat desert. Dennis wonders out loud what anyone could ever do with the land. Of course that is the logical question, but perhaps this is just land upon which the “doing” of something has never been the point. Such observation no doubt limits the market for such land, but I cannot help but wonder why anyone should ever own this land? A property law professor once observed in class that no one ever owns land. His point was that we simply hold real estate for our lifetime. As long as land is perpetual and we are finite, we can never really possess it. At times like this, I ponder his insight. I wish to hear again the order to “pull over” so I can walk to the fence line and with outstretched arms take in the magnitude and majesty of it all.

I think in the future we may avoid wherever possible the sterile Interstate. Of course this all assumes I can talk my driver into sharing my momentary existential real estate experience, and that I can stay awake long enough to enjoy it all.