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.

Oh, Holy Night

It is Christmas Eve.

The presents were opened early. Sarah and Jacob have headed to their downtown Nashville home. Dennis and I are sitting outside the motor home around one of those mesh/cone/firebox things with a Duraflame log flickering. I would have lost a fortune if I had ever bet against you ever finding us on Christmas Eve around an artificial log in a KOA campground within sight of the Opryland Hotel! And yet, I am aglow in the peace of this night and warmed by the wonder of the love of family and friends, present and past.

Institutional religion has long ago lost its allure for me. Even though the glory of Christmas music filling a sanctuary still can accessorize a Christmas Eve celebration, tonight even that is not necessary. We found a Nashville radio station with non-stop Christmas music. Who knew there were so many country music versions of all our favorites?

There is a chill in the Nashville air, but a glance toward Dennis and a deep look into our artificial fire warms me to my core. I pause for just a moment in a curious reflection upon anyone who could see our lives and still believe that our relationship is not valid, not worthy of an equal standing with our straight brothers and sisters, and even a sin. Of all the sorrows in the world, of all the divine challenges my God must face every day, I simply cannot believe that God actually could care less if the state chose to recognize our love and the love we give together to this world.

Such thoughts are fleeting. I settle upon memories of Christmas Eves past, focusing on my lifelong belief that a child was born this night long, long ago. I still wonder at the fear and love of an unwed mother, wrapping her newborn son and placing him in a feeding trough of a dirty stable. I fast forward to the wonder of my youngest child Sarah wrapping critically ill babies in blankets and saving many of their lives with the skills she has worked so hard to acquire.

I recall the recent visits with Rob and Rebekah and Laura and Jens. I smile at what I have seen these past weeks as they love and nurture their new babies. I marvel that the unconditional love of Mary and the unconditional love of my children's parents and grandparents are so naturally passed on to these new members of our world. I know that the world will be a better place because my children and their wonderful spouses are a part of it all.

I shiver for a moment in the night chill but return quickly to my memories. My mind is flooded with the thrills of Christmas Eves as a child made so special by parents struggling to provide for four children, yet always making Christmas a time of amazing memories.

Flooding my heart are memories of years of assembling Hot Wheels and rocking horses after the kids were asleep, searching by phone (pre-Internet) for a Cabbage Patch doll (having to settle for buying a Cabbage Patch doll head and sewing and stuffing a doll body in an attempt to save a Christmas), and waiting while Sarah performed her annual duties of package distribution on Christmas morn.

Still as special as this season is in my Christian heritage, Dennis and I still pause and wonder at the experience of watching our son-in-law Jacob light his Menorah candles and sing the ancient songs that the baby Jesus would soon learn and sing his entire life. I wonder at the love and understanding we are priviledged to share with those of other faiths. I mourn the ungodliness of the sufferring and death that people of different faiths (including my own) have brought to others throughout history.

The cold overtakes me. Dennis and I leave our burning wax log and head into our motor coach. Home is truly where one's heart is. It really is love that makes a home, and I am at home with my life partner Dennis.

Oh, holy night.

The Fate of the Fiery Death

Little doubt can any longer be had that I shall surely die a fiery death on a lonely residential road in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida. It will happen at the hands of one of three types of people:

1. An elderly driver whose face is so far below the dashboard that I will never see it.
2. Some idiot on a cell phone who will never notice me until his/her pickup is implanted squarely in the side of my little Saturn.
3. A young man, still in his teens, who will never hear my blaring horn over the thud, thud, thudding of his hyper-base speakers implanted somewhere in the rear of his car.

Please do not mourn for me. I know it could come, and there is absolutely nothing I can do about it except stay off the roads.

As for the elderly driver, I will never see a face. I know my last sight on earth will be of two shriveled hands grasping the top of a steering wheel, with no sight of a head in the car. As much as I mourn the loss of freedom that such drivers will experience, I will support any petition drive to get them off the road.

I am not talking here about the perpetual left blinker that all of us Midwesterners know so well. I am talking about drifting across three lanes of traffic without any warning. I can attest to intersections run straight through with nary a glance to either side as the green-lighted traffic slams on their brakes in self defense.

I have screamed in terror as a beloved senior driver screeched to a halt on a four lane highway at the base of an exit ramp, wondering I assume if this is the exit he or she should have taken. And know this, honking your horn only insures that the befuddled little person will slam on the brakes no matter what the circumstances of traffic might be.

Do not assume you are safe in a Target parking lot. Reversing out of a parking space seems to disable the brakes of such elder-driven vehicles as they do not back out, but hop or bolt out of a space regardless of pedestrian or vehicular traffic. My guess is that the elderly are the most likely to get me.

However, they are followed quite closely by various idiots with cell phones lodged permanently in their ears as they attempt to drive both automatic and (much, much worse) standard transmissions, mostly on souped up pickup trucks. Yes, God forbid such fools should drive little harmless cars. I find myself yelling upward into the two story window of trucks without mufflers carrying drivers with no clue of the traffic around them. My zoned out fellow travelers are deep into a phone call without which surely their lives as they know them would cease to exist. What could possibly be so important that a 30 minute trip in traffic requires 30 minutes on the phone?

I have waited through traffic lights which went unnoticed by these phone junkies. I have signaled, pulled ahead and started to change lanes, only to be met with blaring horns from the trucks of these phone implanted empty heads who have only just noticed that I am on the same road as are they. Yes, some person unknown to me will be the last person to hear me scream, over someone else's cell phone.

I am so upset at this point in the writing that I cannot even delve into the curse of the background base or sub-woffer or whatever it might be called. Suffice it to say, all the curses mentioned above settle in the steering wheels of these music destroyers. Added only to such a danger is the tragedy that the last thing I will hear on earth will be the rattling of some cheap speaker attempting to crank out unintelligible noise, touted as music by the deaf young people who apparently listen to it.

Please, no flowers. A contribution in my memory to your favorite charity will be greatly appreciated (provided it is not the AARP Right-to-Drive lobby).

First Birthdays

I see on the Internet that it is below zero windchill at our Minnesota home. Now I remember why we flee South this time of year! My bones ache in the sun, imagine me in the deep freeze.

On Saturday Dennis and I experienced a warmth that had nothing to do with the temperature. Our precious granddaughter, Reese Elizabeth Kottke, celebrated her first birthday. It is probably more accurate to say all the adults celebrated it for her. I am sure that as far as Reese was concerned it was just a day when the house filled with people, she got to wear a pink tu-tu and a silly head bow, and sugar was everywhere.

Poor Reese. She is already, well let's politely say, an active child. She has never had much sugar. She dove into a cake of her own that her Grandpa Tom baked for her (at her mother's request). Laura was heard to say, "This is my child on crack!" There were no naps that day and bedtime was quite protracted.

Reese really didn't have a chance with her blood lines from the Creighton, Lewis, and Zinn families. Each family can claim rather hyper souls. I leave out Kottke because her grandpa Gail Kottke is at times the only source of calm at a gathering of the families.

Laura and Jens worked very hard and had a wonderful celebration. I told Laura how much I remembered Laura's first birthday and wondered if she remembered it. She said, "Well of course not." My response was, "My point exactly. Let's relax a little bit!"

Dennis and I once again resisted the urge to buy a metal drum set for Reese (we already passed on it for grandson Will). I know I will not be able to hold out much longer. There is such a sense of fun in providing non-stop obnoxious noise to the households of one's children.

Aside from all the fun, the blessings of the day cannot be overstated. Just as when we were with Rob and Rebekah and Will, I stood again in wonder at God's gift of healthy happy children and the amazing blessing of grandchildren. Here Reese stood at the culmination of her first year on earth. She was loving, happy, eager, and nonstop observant of everything around her. To pause just a moment to take in the wonder of our own gift of life through the eyes of a child is truly one of the most humbling yet beautiful experiences of adult life. It holds a lesson that we all could use in these times of the worldwide mess we older folks have made.

As have parents and grandparents since the dawn of time I yearn for something better for all children. I wish we could all pause for just a moment, capture the beauty and wonder of our world through the eyes of a child. Perhaps we could then recommit ourselves to do our part in these difficult times ahead to contribute to the solution, not the problem, and commit to leave to all the children a planet and its humanity on the mend.

Blessings this season to all people of goodwill regardless of the faith you chose to celebrate. And blessings to all of you who during this season choose to look once again at a world and its promise through the eyes of a child of hope who came to us so many centuries ago. Happy Holidays and Merry Christmas to you all. I hope you can rejoice in your many blessings.

A Florida Thanksgiving

We can only hope you enjoyed Thanksgiving as much as Reese enjoyed her first. I am told my face had about as many sweet potatoes on my chin as Reese did. Such are the privileges of being young and growing old. 75 degrees and sunny. I recommend Thanksgiving in Florida.

The meal almost started off with a major disaster. We had all seated ourselves, and Laura was finishing off filling the water glasses. She was hurrying to put the glass pitcher on the kitchen counter when she caught her foot on the leg of Reese's high chair. She fell very fast and very hard. The glass pitcher hit the Florida tile floor and shattered. I thought she had fallen face first in the broken glass. My heart stopped.

By the grace of God she arched her back instead of hitting the floor with her face. Brian, a friend joining us for dinner, rushed to her side and picked her straight up out of the glass like a rag doll. He saved her from serious injury. She had a few shards of glass in her hands, but no other cuts.

Her shoulder was not as lucky. She has been in and out of doctors' offices. No tears or broken bones, just serious sprains. She cannot handle all the Reese chores, so Dennis and I get to help care for Reese. So sorry for Laura, but hurrah for us!

Yesterday found me making a call to my sister Melodie and David (fellow motor coach owners) to check if these things can blow over. The wind was roaring, tornado warnings, and I was pretty sure we were doomed. Dennis saw the tornado warnings and just said, "Oh, great." Thus is the steady hand of our relationship.

My next question after more than an inch of rain was, "Do these things float?" They do not, but we did not need to find out. All water eventually rushed into the Atlantic, and we were saved.

Dennis had always wanted a tin roof on the Spider Lake home. He got the same effect in the downpour. I remember years in our tents on Potato Lake as kids, sitting in the tent on our air mattresses to stay out of the water coming up through the tent floor. I recommend motor coaches.

Reese has her first birthday this Saturday, then we celebrate Dennis' birthday on the 11th. Christmas decorations must wait for these December birthdays. So we decorate on the 12th. Getting in the mood to decorate for Christmas in Florida is a challenge. Us northern kids still need a little snow to get in the mood.

Unwilling to take all the traditional cold that goes along with that mood stimulus, we somehow will find a way to be festive among the palms.

We hope all of you had a wonderful Thanksgiving. We have faith that next year we will have loads more to be so thankful for as our nation hopefully unites to pull out of this mess together.

The Precious

Yes, both Dennis and I love our grand children more than he loves the fish. Yes, I know that you have seen a picture of the sailfish and not any pictures of our Will and Reese (and Roger). There are excuses. Perhaps not good ones, yet excuses just the same.

There is the old standby that it is not wise, even dangerous perhaps, to put pictures of children on the Internet. Shielded as I am from the very limited people who would ever bother to read this drivel, I have still received this warning from some. I am however comfortable that our anonymity is secure.

Following close behind is the obvious self-serving nature of grandparents foisting endless pictures of children upon friends (aren't Christmas letters enough?). I survive this excuse by the common knowledge among you, my friends, that self-serving just comes second nature to me. You have long ago forgiven me such indulgences.

I am only left with the truth. I find it nearly impossible to figure out how to load pictures from a camera, from the Internet, from one of those Kodak on line album sites, and even from my computer picture file. I was only able to do the fish shot after Jens loaded it for me and made the whole process possible.

I have conquered the fear of blogging, and have put two pictures on these pages already. I go forward with the unwarranted confidence that three more pictures might be possible. I am about to attempt the uploading of pictures of William Hawkins Creighton, Reese Elizabeth Kottke, and Roger Greene the wonder dog (baby to Jacob and Sarah). So here goes..................................

So much for confidence. I seem to be able to upload pictures, but I cannot find a way to get them off the top of the blog and insert them instead were there would make the most dramatic impact--after the "So here goes" in the previous paragraph. Additionally, I note that the pictures appear above in the reverse order from the way they are listed in the text. In other words, the first picture is NOT William. Roger Greene appears first (a position that both Sarah and Jacob would argue ad infinitum is the correct order anyway).

Oh well, they are sure cute, aren't they? We are two lucky grand papas!

Fish on!

It only took a mere gesture toward the ocean for Jens to convince Dennis that it was time for some fishing. Ever the first to personally sacrifice for my family, I stayed home with my grand daughter (and Laura). Thirty mph winds (Dennis claims they were only 20 mph) and waves to match versus time with grand daughter/daughter. . .you do the math.

Little did I know that a monumentally historic event would unfold during my absence from the high seas. After all these years Dennis had a virginal experience.

Yes, Dennis caught his first sailfish. This one was actually as big as Jens and Dennis described it (not a common occurrence with their fish stories). It lived and was returned to the ocean, as are all of the fish they catch. The struggle to land it in the boat lasted a half hour with all the appropriate fish-flying-out-of-the-water that the Learning Channel would show. I am not sure if the rest of the winter even matters to Dennis. He is scouring the T-shirt shops of South Florida for just the right shirt with a picture of a sail fish, hoping it will start conversations with perfect strangers.

As for the plastic ring in his lap, he insists it is to hold the fishing pole. I really did not want to know any more than that.

We triumphantly returned to Key West for a five day visit. No one seemed to notice. Well one did. Our favorite check-out man at Publix Grocery asked where we had been. "Away for the summer" seemed to suffice. "How time flies," he added. "Doesn't it, though?" pretty much wrapped it up.

We came to Key West to join and support our dear friends Jack and Gail in a memorial service for their son, Jes. Aside from the joy of being with them again, the rest was very, very sad. Yet, the sailing ship they had selected and the setting afloat of Jes's ashes just as the sun dipped below the horizon could have been the most beautiful memorial service we have ever experienced. I do not know how a parent survives the loss of a child. Jack and Gail are our heroes in love, courage, and compassion. It was one of those seldom in life honors to be asked to be a part of the celebration of Jes's far too short life. Although you may not know them, please keep them in your prayers.

More good friends, Charlene and Michael (of Boccie ball team fame) also came to our rescue and allowed us to join them in their beautiful home (and guest cottage) perfectly located on Fleming Street in Old Town Key West. We are so blessed to have friends from whom we can be apart for months (or years) and just pick up where we left off when we reunite.

How does one act upon returning to a tourist destination where you no longer live after years of making it your home? Dennis just walks, visits, drinks his con leche (among other adult beverages) and enjoys the place. I, of course, slip into an existential exploration of feelings. Am I a tourist? Am I still kind of a local? I feel at home, but this is no longer my home. I love our new winter life on wheels. However, I am still one of those plants that can sprout roots even without soil.

Well, hope you enjoy following us as Dennis finds yet another fishing mountain to climb, and I nurture that old rollin' stone that gathers no moss that must be somewhere inside of me. Hell, if I can figure out how to blog, I can do anything, right?

No bragging about grandkids, I lied

Welcome to the Tom and Dennis travel blog (and you all thought this old dog could not possibly learn new tricks)! Hopefully this will end my children's humiliation with my mass emails, allow you to avoid our news if you choose, and drag the rest of you kicking and screaming into the blogisphere. This may be fun or soon become the longest unwanted Christmas letter in history. Time will tell.

For those untold million others who have already found our blog, you should know this is actually the third rambling from the road. All you need to know about the other two is that I am the Tom half of the equation, and that I promised to not spend my time bragging about my grandchildren.

As for the "Tom" part, I told the truth. As for the no "Grandchildren" bragging part, I lied.

We arrived in Durham, NC, parked the COW (condominium on wheels), and headed to Rob and Rebekah's house. It was Halloween. The door flew open and a little orange man (probably a pumpkin) sprang out, ran toward us and shrieked "Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii". As Tom Cruise said in that "show me the money" movie, "You had me at 'Hello'."

Will is a wonderful child with exceptionally good taste in grandpa's. After noticing Rob (sorry Rob but grandchildren just do that to grandpas), we settled in to await Rebekah's return from work at the hospital. A great 10 days ensued.

Rob, Will, Dennis and I took a trip to the outer banks for a couple days. Rob had stuff to do and some kite boarding to attempt (not necessarily in that order). We wanted to see it.

Who knew that a Nor-easter (wind, rain, and cold) could be just as comfortable turning into a sou-easter. It rained like hell with hurricane force winds and was freezing cold. As adept as we are at making lemonade out of lemons, we hunkered down for some grand quality time with Rob and Will. We got to sit in the elements one morning to watch Rob impressively kite boarding (all I know is it involves a short surf board, a kite, a harness, and lots of wind.) For the first time in a week a swaddled Will did not even squirm on Dennis' lap. Will believed, I assume (and accurately so) that he was about to freeze to death. Believing the same, I was not squirming on any laps either. (Keep it clean Friedman)

Rob advised us that we both could easily kite board. Rob and I obviously still have a vastly different definition for the word "easily". I can honestly report that kite boarding ranks right up next to sky diving on my list of must-never-do things. Surprise to you all--Dennis thought it sounded fun.

The place we parked the COW in Durham made the casino parking lots of the last couple days look clean and inviting. It still beat the motels we had previously frequented on these trips with someone else's linens and the pungent smell of curry wafting out from the room behind the check-in desk.

Off to Florida. From the valley to the mountain top. We made a stop in South Carolina at an amazing peaceful family campground on the hill. We had dinner with Kathleen (my recently found sister) and her husband Gary, then on to Florida. As always the time with Kathleen and Gary was magical and amazing.

FLORIDA--'nuff said!

We had both forgotten that one dare not move at Minnesota speed in Florida heat. As we scrambled to set up the COW, I advised Dennis that I was pretty sure I was going to faint. The heat and humidity was of the summer kind. Suffice it to say, I was in a near-death experience. If going toward the light had not sounded so hot, I might have just done it!

Laura and Reese brought lunch. It will astonish all of you that although you know me to be an instantly lovable person, Reese was unsure. It must be a primal judgment that has kept our species alive to distrust obviously dangerous people. Reese in other words has impeccable judgment of people. Although we are pretty sure Laura and Jens are here too, I will have to limit observations to Reese. At eleven months Reese is smart, beautiful, funny, wise beyond her years, capable of playing the concert violin, volunteering at charity events, and able to run a sub-4 minute mile. This blog may be the first you hear of her talent, but you should keep you eyes on CNN for news of her (and Will's) inevitable future accomplishments.

We have settled into Yacht Haven (not as fancy as it sounds) and anticipate our first prolonged stay in our Condominium on Wheels. (I wonder if I can put pictures in a Blog--Oh the frontiers yet to cross). On Monday we head to Key West for a four day stay. I will report any news I can remember or dare put in print.