Category Archives: Social

The Road to 65, Mile 79: Beach Trees, A Cannoli, and That Blissful Honky Tonk

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Posted by on in Social, Travel

February 15, 2015- Panama City to Waveland I am a bit of a stick-in-the-mud, when it comes to breakfast. I want no fried, boiled or poached eggs, no bananas and I think keeping the heavy to a minimum is good- so very little, in the way of biscuits and gravy, hits my plate. I did, however, leave my friends’ home in Panama City, with a fair amount of freshly picked kumquats. They are a fabulous snack food, and full of Vitamin C, being the only citrus fruit which may be eaten, rind and all. I will hold these exquisite people in the highest regard, though, I’m not in the market for any of the various ladies with whom Host might want to arrange a relationship. My presence in anyone else’s life is too fleeting. Nonetheless, goodbyes don’t come easy.

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The road between destinations always throws in its share of bounties and bestowals. That’s the magic of the journey. So it was, that I left Panama City, headed for Pensacola, with at least the intention of spending a couple of hours poking around the historic sights and sounds of Escambia Bay. There was, as it happened though, the chance of connecting with my friends from Alabama, down in Ocean Springs, MS, for a day or so. Mental arithmetic led to my decision to put off Pensacola and Mobile, until an as yet undetermined “next time”. I did stop at Shrimp Basket, in Pensacola, for a take-out lunch. That was a good thing, as Sunday lunch in the Florida Panhandle means wearing one’s Sunday Best. My attire was neat, clean-and very casual. The crab cakes, though, were very tasty, once I got to that picnic table, outside Ocean Springs. The view of the channel at the rest area, west of Pascagoula, was comforting in itself.

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I called a new friend, who happened to be in Ocean Springs, and was pleased to share an hour or so, in that splendid little town, consisting of the two villages of Bienville and Iberville. We met outside the old Rail Station, as he walked towards my car.

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As you might guess, he, too, is taking the slow and easy approach to life, at least for a time.

We took the jeep to the beach area, after savouring coffee, and, at least in my case, a cannoli, at the only Coffee House in town.

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The beach here is a blend of sand, due to the recovery efforts from the Great Hurricanes of 2005.

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You can see that there are still some stands of cypress trees and pin oaks, along the Causeway, north of the beach.

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The Gulf here shimmers as well as it does everywhere, belying the ongoing recovery efforts from the Deep Water Horizon, which only the fishermen still feel.

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Well, the pelicans feel it, too. They were gathered this fine evening, on posts at the end of an old pier.

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The beach towns have always been places to while away a day, in gentlemanly fashion. Had this been a weekday, chances are some would be gathered in the beach-side park, for a game of chess.

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They’d have been greeted with a fine message.

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A suspension bridge connects Ocean Springs with the barrier islands just to the south.SAM_4123

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Downtown Ocean Springs had celebrated Mardi Gras, just a few hours earlier, as had several towns along the coast. There were beads and other mementos of the festivities, strewn along the sidewalks. In this grand scheme of life, even Man’s best friend gets in the act.

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Saying farewell to my friend, I headed further along, to Biloxi, another fine old French-heritage site. Before I ran out of daylight, some lovely memoirs of the Mississippi that was, showed themselves during an hour’s walk.

Here is Biloxi City Hall.

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The Magnolia Hotel is Biloxi’s Grande Dame. It was built in 1847.

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Mary Mahoney’s French House is the city’s premier restaurant.

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The white sand beaches, though, are a key element of what keeps Biloxi thriving.

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My last photo of the evening came with a brief stop at the grounds of a place bound to evoke mixed emotions for the history buff: Beauvoir, the Jefferson Davis Home and Library. Knowing the past helps shape the future, so on a future sojourn, I may well stop here and learn just what made the man form such an alternate view of how America was to evolve.

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The night did not come in a shy manner. I continued on, through Pass Christian, which had just finished its Mardi Gras parade, Bay Saint Louis, where none of the Mom and Pop motels had their Welcome lights on, to Waveland, where I got a modest-sized room, for a premier price- this being so close to Mardi Gras and all. Dinner was cheap, though, at Third Base Bar and Grill, a honky tonk which is one of the most convivial places I’ve yet had the pleasure to visit. This is country Mississippi as I wish it had been in the 60’s, everyone getting along, without regard to who was from where, or from what background. I was treated just fine, with my mushroom Swiss burger, lightly-oiled fries and a pitcher of ice water- me being a teetotaler and all.

The journey becomes a destination, in and of itself.

The Road to 65, Mile 78: All Love’s Labours

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Posted by on in Entertainment, Hiking and Nature, Social

February 14, 2015- Panama City, FL. Actors have an open-ended mission: To relieve tension in their audience, but also to incite thought. This is as true of those who devote themselves to small-city “stock” theater productions, becoming more intimate with both their audiences and their crews, as it is of those who stride the Red Carpet on awards night.

The rehearsal on which I sat in, this lovely north Florida morning, was intent on taking the viewer/listener back to childhood: Specifically, it addressed the Spelling Bee, on the surface level, and the issues of parents living through their children and the resulting effects this brazen, immature vicarious life has on the child, on the more crucial, underlying, level.

Two hours of love were put into this endeavour, at least from the actors’ perspective. There will be more, before the February 20 presentation. The troupe presents before school groups, so this play will hit home, for any child who is in an activity for the sake of his/her parents.

I started the morning watching my hosts’ dogs play, in the back yard. Dogs have the right perspective: Only do what feels right, do it as a team, and mess around a bit, while doing it.

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The actors have the team thing down, and so will get through the production quite well. My host is one of the best at this, and while messing around is not on her agenda- there is no one who has more fun with her work.

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The Martin Theater, where the production will first be staged, is a venerable institution in Panama City, and was a USO site during World War II, when north Florida was a key staging area for the European Theatre of the conflict.

The murals on its south wall reflect the spirit of that time of national teamwork, and determination. Womankind in those days was far more than Rosie the Riveter. Style and grace remained key elements of maintaining morale.

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After the two-hour practice, there was a new mission: Lunch. Where better to begin this important search, than at a Farmer’s Market. Panama City has a fine one, in the St. Andrews neighbourhood.

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We found lots of arts, crafts and fresh vegetables, but a complete meal required crossing the street- to Little Village, a lovely old house that was converted by its owner into a small restaurant, bar and gift shop complex. It reminds me of a similar arrangement in an airplane hangar, at Oceanside, CA.

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Little Village is certainly well appreciated by the residents of Panama City: The place was packed, and we got stuffed by the amazing Veracruz-style Mexican cuisine. Music was provided by a pianist-singer, evoking a cross between Billy Joel and Carlos Santana.

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I was beginning to think that I might end this journey looking like these fellows.

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We decided to walk off the meal, as best we could, and drove to St. Andrews State Recreation Area, first visiting Gator Lake, an encounter with a swamp environment. The signature creatures were nowhere to be seen. Of course, it was early afternoon, and alligators usually prefer to be out and about in the morning.

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The sand here is the whitest I’ve yet seen, being largely the result of shell deposits.

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Needless to say, Host and I were both in our elements.

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The afternoon would not have been complete, though, without going across the parking lot and seeing the fabulous stretches of pure white sand and rather feisty surf.SAM_4091

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This was a very full St. Valentine’s Day. As much as sourpuss revisionists like to put down the Patron Saint of lovers, I like to think his devotion to his chosen mission was a path of love, much like that of the actors whom I watched last night, and this morning.

The theme of real love continued on into the night, as we sat in my hosts’ living room and watched “The Good Lie”, wherein Reese Witherspoon teaches, and is taught by, four refugees from Sudan. We did so in segments, around the work of loving parents who put their son and his needs first. Later this evening, with my exhausted hosts gone to bed, I had the pleasure of talking with another house guest, an amazingly insightful boy of twelve, for about ninety minutes of free-ranging exploration of just what is needed, in order for families that are fragmented, to reconnect and ultimately thrive. I think the man-child will do just fine.

The Road to 65, Mile 77: As Luck Does Have It

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Posted by on in Hiking and Nature, Social, Travel

July 13, 2015- Panama City, FL Yes, I believe from now on, I will add location to my datelines. I am back on track, writing, after several days of focusing just on what’s in front of me. Today, I connected with two friends: One, an extended family member who’s in an exile, of sorts and the other, an online friend who’s been after me to come by this town, off and on, for the last three years.

So, here I am, in lovely northwest Florida. The area does seem more soul-connected than some other parts of the Sunshine State, but maybe that’s because its heritage, along with that of St. Augustine and the northeast, runs a bit deeper. I began my visit by lunching with said family member at Gary’s Oyster Shack, in Springfield, about five miles east of PC. My eponymous restaurant host was a taciturn sort, a bit reserved, but he and his kids put forth some great Low Country Boil, and a full range of other dishes. It’s great to be back dining by, and of, the sea.

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After an hour’s conversation, I bid farewell and Godspeed to my friend, and leaded forth to downtown Panama City. Walking around the seemingly defunct Hawk’s Nest Bar and Grill, I spotted signs that the place was once a fabulous place at which to while away an afternoon, or an evening. The woods outside make for a fine picnic spot.

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Murals most often tell a good story, as this one does.

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Then, there is the front veranda and patio- one of the great appeals of the Coastal South.

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Back along the waterfront, there is a crowded marina- reminder of fishing’s prominence here.

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I walked along the coastal path, crossing a drawbridge- the oldest working such bridge in these parts.

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Towards the end of the road, there were several lovely historical homes. Some are large, like the Howell/Hobbs House (1909).

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Others were cottage-style, like the McKenzie/Pickens House (1918).

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These homes are in grand proximity to some of the clearest ocean anywhere.

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My host later explained to me that there are pools of fresh water, parallel to the ocean, and that alligators traverse between the two water supplies, feasting on the best of both.

I was in need of a rest, and of wifi, after this fine little outing, and so repaired to Willows British Tea House, just up Harrison Street, as it happens, from the Martin Theater, where I would observe a play practice in a day or so. The awning shows where Willows is located. There were some ladies inside, who did not wish to be photographed, so this is as close as I choose to show the lovely establishment. Here, I finally connected with my host, and arranged to meet her at the Martin. After a refreshing pot of orange tea and a piece of lemon cake, I headed for the theater.

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Here is a scene from the Martin Theater’s lobby. It has a long exchequer of fine performances, and still serves as Panama City’s center for showing art cinema.

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That evening, after a marvelous meal of gumbo and rice, Kelly, Fernando and I headed for Kaleidoscope Theater and watched a pleasing, though overlong, production of a play entitled “There’s A Burglar In My Bed”- a British-style farce, where several people got in one another’s way, mostly in an inadvertent manner. It’s all great fun.

The Road to 65, Mile 76: Happiness Is A Hot Wheels Tattoo

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Posted by on in Social, Travel

February 12, 2015, Marianna to Sylacauga- Today was a day of few photographs. The central purpose of my drive up to Sylacauga, midway between Montgomery and Birmingham, on the Beeline (U.S. 231), was to lend a listening ear to a young friend. Alabama has lots to offer the visitor, but for this journey- it was enough to visit the Welcome Center at Madrid, enjoy a couple of barbecue meals (lunch at Smokin’s, in Wetumpka and dinner at Larry’s, in Ozark, where I spent the night), and sit conversing with my friend, while her toddler alternated between playing in the McDonald’s rumpus area and coming over to get our attention. That’s what 3-5 year-olds have to do, to make sense of their slowly unfolding world.

I began the day in Marianna, about an hour west of Tallahassee. I had spent the night there, at Best Value Motel, and did my laundry at a nearby coin-op. I had an interesting conversation with the owner of the laundromat and one of the other patrons. The owner was a native of Marianna, and has watched it go through several changes. To him, having grown up and stuck with the city’s West Side as home, the gradual deterioration of family values and increase in crime and dysfunction were not things he foresaw. On the surface, things in that area look quite peaceful, but he advised me not to walk around much, at that hour of the night (It was 8:30). I only had to walk next door, so it was no problem.

This morning, I took a walk around downtown Marianna, after breakfast at Bobbie’s Waffle Iron.  The mood in the breakfast spot was a bit colder than that at Jim’s Buffet, the night before. I was pretty much served quickly and expected to eat and leave quickly- with some men at the other end of the place muttering about “stranger over there”. No one bothered me, though, so I just went on about my exploration.

I checked out some of the noteworthy buildings and an obelisk commemorating the Confederate Veterans. I noted the difference between First Baptist and First Methodist.

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The Confederate Obelisk stands in front of an apartment building, in the center of Marianna.

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Leaving Marianna around 10 AM, I made good time along the Beeline. Here are some scenes from the Madrid, AL Welcome Center. Composting is done with watermelon rinds, by shredding them.

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This Army helicopter is a reminder of Alabama’s strong military presence. Fort Rucker is not far away, and the regional airport is named for Igor Sikorsky, the inventor of the chopper.

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Alabama has welcomed me nicely, each time I have passed through.

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I didn’t take any photos of Sylacauga or of my friend, Christy and her son. The mood didn’t feel right. Little man was quite tired, it being mid-afternoon and all. He was, however, quite proud to show me his Hot Wheels tattoo, so I know a bond was starting to form. His mom and I talked for a short while about things that concerned her, and I think she felt a bit better afterward. That is time well-spent.

I headed back downstate, and took a room at Ozark Motel, 3 miles north of the town of Ozark- close enough, so that I would be on track for Friday’s two meet-ups, in Panama City. Time grooves on.

The Road to 65, Mile 74: Reversing Course and Meeting Butterflies

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Posted by on in Personal goals, Social, Travel

February 10, 2015, Gainesville, FL-This has been one of those days when I am reminded that deeds done by others, with the best of intentions, can backfire and take innocent people down with them. It just makes me weigh my own words and deeds that much more carefully. In a nutshell, my mother-in-law said she didn’t want any visitors, including me.

I was ten miles away, at that point, and so turned around, in south Ocala, feeling quite calm, actually. I think my angel was carrying me through the rest of the day. I had two confirmations: One was stopping at Jim’s BBQ Pit, in Reddick, just north of Ocala. A bubbly, very pretty young lady served me as if she were serving her father, or a favourite uncle. The food was comfort, also: Smoked chicken, barbecued beans and slaw, with a fabulous house barbecue sauce.

The second stop of the afternoon was Florida Museum of Natural History, on the campus of the University of Florida, at Gainesville. The institution traces the state’s varied conditions and changes, focusing on the Pleistocene and on some of the Indigenous peoples, who pre-dated the Seminole and were ancestors of the Miccosukee. The icing on the cake, for me this afternoon, was the Butterfly Rain Forest.

The Pleistocene exhibit’s star is the Colombian mammoth skeleton. Colombian mammoths ranged south of their woolly cousins, and had finer hair.

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A Mastodon was featured next to the shovel-tusker, for comparison. Mastodons ranged in north Florida, as well.

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A family of Paleo-Indians was shown in the next hall. Florida’s indigenous people had a very rich culture and system of governance, well before Europeans arrived here. The Apalachee, of the northwest, and the Calusa, of the southwest, were powerful, savvy and industrious people, pre-dating the great council-oriented Creeks, who became Seminoles, once they came down to Florida, with the British, in the 1700’s.

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My attention was spotty at this point, so while I read and absorbed some of the remaining information about the Native Peoples, I needed nature. So, off to the Butterfly Rain Forest it was. The following pictures, presented without comment, represent a cross-section of the Lapidoptera and their surroundings. See how many butterflies you can spot.

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Butterflies are vital, in a variety of ways. There is some attention here to Monarchs, but also to Swallowtails and Blues. I recommend this to all residents and visitors to the Gainesville-Ocala area. After such a rejuvenating afternoon, I headed north and spent a restful night in Bainbridge, GA, north of Tallahassee. Glen Oaks Motel and a salad from Zaxby’s, served by another pretty, congenial young lady, capped the day. Actually, a Zalad can make three meals, for someone like me.

The Road to 65, Mile 69: The East Parking Lot

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Posted by on in Social

February 5, 2015, Prescott- I read something in the paper today about a major Men’s Overflow Shelter in Phoenix, which is closing. It will be replaced by a new shelter, “later this year”. In the meantime, people affected by this closure- all individuals with various social ills- will be “housed” in the parking lot adjacent to the condemned building. It has Port-a- Potties, and lots of space, but no shade.

I had a brief experience, helping a transient man, during January. He has a vehicle now, and so he has moved on. Few such people get out of their dire straits so easily.The people in the situation mentioned above will likely find their ways to various city parks, libraries (a good place to get out of the heat, during regular library hours) and shopping malls. Some even go to Indian casinos, where they can chow down on bar food, provided they’ve cleaned up a bit.

Homelessness does generate resourcefulness. I had a brief experience with it in 1977, in the dead of a Bangor, ME winter, but there were a few couches on which to surf, and my car was large enough to hold all my possessions, at the time. As luck would have it, I rented a room within three days of being evicted. Said eviction, I found out later, was on false pretenses, but no matter. I had a great experience with my new landlady and her family.

Every town has its homeless. What is done with, and to, the unfortunates is a mirror of what the given community thinks of itself. Utah, and some places in Idaho, offer mini-houses, rather than forcing people to congregate on the streets. Portland has people sleeping in doorways of businesses. Many merchants seem to regard the door minders as part of their business family, and let them use the restroom to sponge bathe and groom themselves, before the normal business hours begin. In Arizona, we have shelters, which are often dependent on how cold the nights are, or how hot the days, as to when they are actually open. Some Florida communities give their transients one-way bus tickets, out of town. Hawaii has a few beaches which seem to be reserved for the homeless. I read that Fairbanks had a major power outage at the University of Alaska, in -40 weather, so I shudder to think how people down on their luck would fare up there, with so many students needing in out of the Deep Freeze.

Parking lots, bridge undergirding, caves, forests, back alleys- it seems Utah has the better solution.

The Road to 65, Mile 68: Healing A Hole

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Posted by on in Social

February 4, 2015, Prescott- I spent several hours with restless twelve and thirteen-year-olds, during the course of this morning. Some of that time was spent guiding them through the worksheets which are the bane of an adolescent student’s existence. Another segment was spent addressing the illogical consequence of unimaginative lesson planning: The paper wad, shot by a rubber band. I was able to get the artillery brigades to stop, by pointing out that a hard-shot paper wad, in a classmate’s eye, has severe illogical consequences of its own. The regular teacher will have to change out the whole worksheet aspect. I had to learn that hard fact, in my own teaching, such as it was.

I visited a friend this evening, intending to only take an hour of her time, as she is even more insanely busy than I am. The visit extended to a light supper, two cups of coffee, and a fuller emptying of her languid cup, than I have been privy to in some time.  Most of the details are irrelevant to a public post. One topic, however, to which I keep returning, out of my own personal ache on the matter, was a fair concern tonight.

Children who are discounted, or marginalized, by one or both parents- or worse, yet, not even acknowledged by one of their parents, are receiving one of the cruelest, most unusual punishments known to humanity. My friend has devoted everything to each of her children, as the best among us are wont to do, and consistently. I ache for a child who is discounted or unacknowledged by either parent. There is only so much I, a relative acquaintance, can do for such a child, but that little gets done, in making clear her value as a human being. She will survive and thrive, because her mother takes her seriously. The shame of an absent parent, however, lasts a lifetime.

I’m proud of my son, and see that he is made well aware of it, consistently. My friend does likewise, and a very special, multifaceted young woman is arising. The hole in her heart will heal, because she will not have to feel left out, or on the outskirts, of any occasion in which her devoted parent takes part. Once again, a child needs both parents.

The Road to 65, Mile 67: Deferred Attention

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Posted by on in Personal goals, Social

February 3, 2015, Prescott- Television stayed off today. I did not go to morning prayers, nor did I even get out of bed until 10 AM. Of course, getting home at 3:30 AM had everything to do with that. My respite at home will be brief. Some here in Prescott will wonder, again, why on Earth I even bother coming back here. There were three key elements at play: I took part in the commemoration of the deaths of four Navy Chaplains, in the sinking of the USS Dorchester, off the coast of Greenland,on February 3, 1943. This is an emotional time for those who served in World War II, and many who served later, in the Korean Conflict. It is significant in that four noncombatants gave the ultimate sacrifice, choosing to die, alongside 653 others, rather than mount a lifeboat. They set their own hopes and dreams aside.

The other two tasks that need doing here are left for tomorrow and Thursday. They involve quality attention to dear friends. So here is a key aspect of the changes that became apparent to me, as I drove home last night: I am leaving isolation behind. That’s the scary part, but it’s also the satisfying element. When I focus on a person, or a task, I am all in. It may not suit the people who are on the sidelines, and have to wait until a later time for me to attend to THEIR needs, but that attention is only deferred, not cast aside.

I am also getting better at deferring, not casting aside, my own needs for rest and rejuventation. So, I got up at 10, not 6 or 7. Early rising will return tomorrow.

The Road to 65, Mile 66: Totems

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Posted by on in Personal goals, Social

February 2, 2015, Prescott- From the time I was small, there has been something about bears that has set in my heart, far beyond the Teddy Bear connection that has led some to dismiss that fascination. I have learned that my Penobscot ancestors regarded the bear as a sacred being, as many Indigenous Americans do. So, it was a particular honour when a longtime friend gave me an eagle feather, my name slightly misspelled, and with four bears lovingly placed along the bottom edge.

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It sits now, at the edge of a heart, created by my wife, from mesquite sticks around 2002. That was a symbol of all we had, and its ruggedness foreshadowed what we were to endure. The eagle and the bears are symbols of keenness and strength, two qualities which I’ve known, erratically, most of my life. During all her suffering, though, I could not let go of either quality.

Now, I’m coming into another phase of my life, its specifics still unclear, but in which sharpness of mind and strength of character will need to flow, uninterrupted. It will entail a lot of flexibility, energy-wise and time-wise, and could very well include going back to work full time, though that is a matter now in the hands of others. The totems will impart a certain energy to the process. Stay tuned.

The Road to 65, Mile 65: Weirdness Finds Us

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Posted by on in Entertainment, Social

February 1, 2015, Longmont, CO- Katy Perry has done one or two songs that resonate with me, and several others with which some of the girls, with whom I’ve worked over the past few years, have sung along. Her videos, though, are mostly flamboyant and of the “all about MEEE” genre. When I visited my paternal uncle on Sunday, after the Winter Summit had finished, he was glad that I had come along- all the more so, as he could turn from the tv, which he had muted during her performance.

We talked of several things- my visit to our ancestral neighbourhood in Rouen, my having gone across the Pacific, from Honolulu to San Diego, my son’s wise choice in doing four more years in the Navy and Uncle’s dealing with the gradual effects of nearing 90. He is a practical man, who plans things out and addresses issues creatively. So, as Super Bowl play resumed, and the sound was turned back on accordingly, he was a bit perturbed to see the various blunders which took up the second half. It’ll be a while before the question, “What kind of coach orders a PASS at the goal line?” is addressed to Uncle’s satisfaction. As New Englanders, we were pleased with the outcome, but we both have had good experiences in the Northwest, so there were condolence thoughts expressed, as well.

It was, he and I agreed, a surreal game. For the Seattle wide receiver to catch the ball, while sprawled aground, as if it were a greased pig, was kind of like eating bacon ice cream- a bizarre treat that would be an acquired taste. The Patriots’ rookie defenseman’s finding the ball coming right into his hands, behind the goal line, was equally bizarre, but felt more like a triple chocolate, dripped caramel, with peppermint, triple shake-albeit in the dead of winter. Weirdness brings the most delectable surprises, and never when or where one might expect.