North by Northwest

Our week at the Jolly Roger drew to a close and it was time to depart the Keys. Our next port of call was the Florida panhandle but Florida is 500 miles long, several days driving. Coincidentially friends were attending a wedding in NW Florida traveling South and East, while we were in the Southeast traveling North and East. We decided to see if we could intersect at lunchtime at a midway point. Naples FL was identified as the mid point, with a route through the Everglades and an RV park in Naples for our accommodation. 

Driving across the Everglades a canal paralleled the old highway. As Francis drove I was amazed by the flora and fauna so close to the road. Egrets wading slowly through the marsh, Anahingas spreading their wings under the Spanish Moss, masses of Bromeliads clustered on every tree and lying like half sunken logs everywhere, Alligators. Big lumpen lazy Alligators laying in the swampy water. Their torpor made me think of what the naturalist had said about the sea turtles, "they are cold blooded, very slow metabolisms". While the Alligators probably would have moved fast for prey or to rout a predator, they were motionless at this point, sometimes lying on top of each other too lazy to move.

We stopped at the Miccosukee Indian cultural village. In front of the village is a huge model of a swarthy, presumably Miccosukean man wrestling an  equally outsized Alligator, the Miccosukean version of Paul Bunyan and his blue ox? My experience brought more to mind the Roman post office more than myth. (The stamp window may be open but you must have exact change and the cashier is closed, when the cashier opens the stamp kiosk is closed.)

The Miccosukee facility entrance had a gift shop backed by a pair of symmetrical counters. Behind each counter stood a splendid specimen of willowy native american womanhood. Left hand counter girl studiously ignored me, facing in every direction except the space I occupied, each time I moved she pivoted to avoid my gaze. It was a rather amusing game. I caved first and wandered off to try right hand counter girl. She was indeed 180 degrees out, brightly greeting me and offering me samples of freshly made fry bread. When I asked about the guided tour scheduled for the next hour, she said that she was sorry I had to ask at the other counter... Back across the hall to find the other counter vacant, back to cheerful girl but she had now relocated to the left hand counter and I overheard her say "the one o'clock guided tour is self-guided". Huh, I can stand in the sun reading a brochure, better idea ride through the Everglades reading a brochure, so grabbed a brochure, bid Paul Miccosukee farewell and got back on the road with the real Alligators.

The Everglades ended and we emerged into tropical suburbs. Whoever developed Naples Florida really did have an Italianate sensibility. Canals and stucco work well for both tropics and Mediterranean.  While rather sprawling it was attractive. Our campground was cramped but equally attractive, lushly landscaped with palms and pines. Bromeliads clung to the trees and Francis collected fallen samples of several varieties. The campsites were very narrow, there was but six inches leeway between a concrete pad and tree for us to back into. Francis has shown himself to be adept in handling the truck and trailer rig. The proof was his sliding the trailer into that space with an inch to spare from an overhanging Tillandsia.

The fellow in the next camper, a huge 42 foot unit, complemented Francis on "threading the needle. They were leaving the next day and he said he would probably knock out a leaning ornamental lamp post on his way. Francis later went over to give them our contact card. We all ended up drinking wine and swapping histories. They were retired attornies, having left their firm, sold their house and bought the big truck and trailer to spend three years criss crossing the country. They had a son in the foreign  service and a daughter abroad. A family dedicated to wanderlust. We hope to stay in touch. He did by the way take out that lamp post.

Yolanda and William had attended a Niece's wedding in Tampa and intended to visit another in Fort Lauderdale. In Naples, we would intersect them on their way. Amazing but true, we did actually connect and had lovely lunch together before parting to go our separate ways.

From Naples, we at random picked a town called Carrabelle on the Gulf Coast for our next stop. It was a fishing village with a long pre civil history. Our rv park was a fishing camp owned by a fellow who looked like Jimmy Buffett and sounded liked Jimmy Buffett mixed with an AM deejay, a deep slightly gravelly very resonant voice. His wifi network was named Rich Rabbit and so he will remain Rich Rabbit to me. Mr. Rabbit, I have a crush on your voice. He recommended seafood at The Fisherman's Wife and urged us to buy a fishing site from his property. We weren't interested in the site but the seafood held promise.

 also had a waterfront park with a fantastic sculptural bike rack and a small historical museum. After the civil war, ferries had brought commuters and commerce between Carrabelle and Appilachicola. The ferry service ended when an overloaded boat capsized in stormy seas. The local museum featured information about the disaster and the survivors. A  great swimmer had notified the authorities of the disaster, he was lauded for his feat but the several black boatmen who also managed to swim ashore and survive could not even identified.  Judging by the historical museum there were no persons of color of note in Carrabelle, hmmm... The most interesting oddity in Carrabelle was a full size "Nina" docked at a private dock, Nina as Nina, Pinta, Santa Maria. The connection to back water Carrabelle still escapes me.

From Carrabelle we wandered North to visit Duke. We had met Duke, aka George Jonkel, when he was visiting his Daughter Laura, our Annapolis neighbor. A retired ornithologist, he was still a enthusiatic naturalist and bird watcher, who could identify a dozen different species in a flock of seagulls. Duke has the aura of a modern shaman, speaks often of being in tune with the earth and has constructed a contemplative labyrinth on his property. His little house  is a treasure trove of interesting things, a scattering of Indian artifacts, a wall of blue Scandinavian porcelain plates, a pile of new age magazines on crop circles, a entire room of his home made wine. Every day in his company brings out a new facet to his long and interesting life. Francis says when he looks into Duke's blue eyes beneath bushy greyed eyebrows he still can see the child inhabiting the old shaman. 

Grandson Colin, Francis and Duke

Key Fauna

Francis ever ready tp communicate

Florida is a long state and it is a long drive through the Keys. We only got about half way, as far as Marathon. Marathon actually encompasses several Keys, the Jolly Roger being on Grassy Key. With a new swimming pool and a dock and pavilion on the Gulf of Mexico we could have hunkered down on site. Francis would well have done so, spending his time adjusting radio reception. In preparation for the trip he had ordered a collapsible antenna. It was on back order and finally was shipped to the Jolly Roger. He had also purchased a new analyzer. With a new antenna and an analyzer, he had activities for days. While it is my inclination to get out and explore NOW, I practiced patience. It was a tough sacrifice sitting in the shade knitting or swimming while Francis played radios.

Non native but quite at home

Eventually we ran out of the preferred daily drugs, caffiene or alcohol, and were forced to set off to explore. It is a narrow highway, often with heavy traffic  and high winds through the Keys. Traveling through hauling the trailer was disconcerting, buffeted by trucks and the sea breeze. Unhitched, driving along in the pickup alone, was a real breeze. Much to our delight Florida sells wine in the grocery store, one stop shopping. After stocking up, we played tourist. Local fauna featured turtles, dolphins and pigs, yes pigs.

Turtle Orthopedics

Two contented residents

Down the road was the first veterinary hospital dedicated to the rescue, recovery, rehab and release of sea turtles. The hospital was originally a motel and bar. The owner, as an attraction for the motel, had converted a salt water swimming pool into an pond / aquarium featuring the local fauna. In order to have any sea turtles on display he had to agree to provide rescue and rehab. Turtle rescue gradually became the primary focus, with the motel finacially supporting the hospital function until a hurricane closed the motel. The hospital became a non-profit entity with the old motel serving as housing for volunteers and staff. The transition from using the turtles for personal economic gain to dedication to turtle welfare, I found poignantly moving. While fascinating, it was very sad to observe the plight of the residents. Due to the severity of their injuries many would remain residents for the remainder of their long turtle lives. On the other hand, in contrast to the half dozen retirees, over 1400 turtles had been successfully treated and released back into the wild.

Somewhat more expected, there is a dolphin research facility. In addition to the preditable  dolphin displays and training shows, their research into dolphin cogitive process has discovered some interesting facets to marine style intelligence. Dolphins have initial persistence of memory but not if you relocate the object. The residents at the dolphin lab were bred there or were retirees from Sea World type shows. The research center has student programs, camps for youth and college credit for adults seeking employment in marine animal care. What a fantastic summer school for a teenager, to spend your time in the Keys, learning about and working with dolphins.

After the more intellectually stimulating aspects of local fauna we came across a completely absurd  aspect, the pig race. It was promoted as "National Pig Day",  a fundraiser for a local child care organization. Curiosity piqued, we stopped on the way back from sad turtles and decrepit houses. As we admired the fantastic kid's bungee sling / moon bounce,  which made me wish I was little, free flowing beer and a bar b que buffet, the announcer said 15 minutes to place your bets before the next racing heat. Perfect, we were too hot and sun struck for beer. The disappointed waitress brought us bar b que and plain water. Scarfing down the q we hustled over to the small but well decorated race track. A very enthusiastic woman hustled the crowd in proper NASCAR fashion. Right on time she announced the first heat, wild racing pigs, big ugly and fast. Next up were baby domestic pigs, little cute and very fast. The last big heat was the mature Asian racing pigs, bigger uglier and completely ridiculous. Just watch the video...

 

Off the Train and Onto the Trailer

The Amtrak train kept loading additional conductors. It seemed strange, what were they doing with all the conductors? Dave, our sleeper car attendant had told us that the attendants worked a round trip and then had a two day break, while the engineers worked 12 hours and switched crews mid way along. These conductors seemed to be hopping on at random. Nothing was said about unloading excess conductors, would we arrive with a double contingent? In addition there was work being completed to enhance the electrical control systems. The train would ssllooow down from it's cruising speed of 70 to about half that through the work zones.

Several times during the night there was an announcement that the train would be pausing in nowhereville or whoknowswhere to load a conductor. Sleeping on a train is like a dozing off in a car on the way home, as the car speeds along the highway it is lights out but when the vehicle slows and stops at the first traffic signal the rhythm changes and you awaken. The gentle rocking of the train assures a sound sleep but each time it pauses, you wake up. You look out the window at some rural siding,  remember the conductor or listen as a freight train rumbles by and promptly go back to sleep.

By the time first call for breakfast was announced, they were also announcing that breakfast service would have extended as the train would arriving two hours late. OK for us, 8 am seems a much more attractive time to get moving than 6 am. We wandered down to the dining car as the last breakfast call was announced. Excellent coffee, juice, fruit, cereal or bagels and a smear. Served by the ever smiling Fonda. A good beginning to another adventure.

Waiting for the cars from the train

It took another two hours for all the vehicles to be unloaded. The new pickup had been one of the first loaded, so it was one of the last off the train. Instead of early morning back on the road it was afternoon. Mid afternoon by the time we arrived at Grandsport RV. About a month prior, the RV investigation had begun, on line research, site visit to a local dealer and email with several distant dealers. The most likely candidate was a self contained travel trailer under 20 feet and 3500 pounds, with seperate sleeping and sitting areas. While esthetically a rounded fiberglass egg was appealing, we would have to drive to the mid-west to the manufacturer. No dealers for new eggs and no old eggs on the market.

The great guys at GrandSport RV,  Greg, Larry and Scott

On the other hand Amish made 16 and 18 footers which met our spec were waiting in Melbourne, Fl. The two trailers were similar except the larger one had a bigger bed open along both sides. Francis was adamant,  he wanted the one which did not require crawling over your sleeping mate. We showed up at the dealership made the selection, Larry the owner agreed to honor the price quote his Son had made me a month earlier. Particularly because it was Friday afternoon, I was annoyingly determined that we get into the trailer that day.  Oh Noooo, we can't cool our heels 'til Monday... Larry's tech installed the supplemental brake wiring harness, the heavy duty hitch, anti-sway bar and leveling system, before he left for the weekend. It was getting quite late when all was complete and Larry invited us to spend our first night as trailer trash on his lot, hooking us up for power and water. We needed to get dinner and linens for the new bed. Larry  then gave us the keys to his personal truck rather than have us fuss with the hitch in the dark. Astounding service!

Our new 18" home

The next morning as various folks wandered in to check out the other RV's, we were instructed on the necessaries of our new homette and away we went down the Florida Turnpike. Francis was at first quite conservative driving well below the posted speed limit. The other drivers passing around us as though we were a boulder in a stream.  There was a sizable storm blowing, with winds exceeding 40 miles per hour. The anti-sway control made it seem as though it was a gentle breeze against the trailer. The truck smoothly pulled the trailer down the highway and Francis gradually became more confident with our speed gradually increasing. Our RV oriented GPS is programmed to nag you each time you exceed the posted speed limit. By the time we were pulling into Homestead, Fl, "gateway to the Keys", I had had to figure out how to stop the GPS' speed warnings.

Our first night on the road we stayed at a resort village of mostly park model trailers. The single wide to the right of us was for sale, Francis was not interested. To our left was a younger family, who seemed to spend all their free time working on their cars and trucks. The shining new pickup and sedan definitely had greater commercial value than their stabile-mobile home. Our time was spent getting the odds and ends to facilitate compact living on the road and figuring out the portable plumbing systems. Three holding tanks, white, grey and black water, and never the twain shall meet ... you sincerely hope.

The RV park was oriented to retirees. As we exited to get provisions several cars were driving in to participate in the Valentine's Dessert Dance. We were in search of dinner as well and just outside the campground we found a little taqueria serving real authentic Mexican. When the menu has tripa and lengua, it is authentic. Yummy. The day before we had tried a Mexican place which claimed to be authentica but it was very Amerikanized. This was the real deal. It was so good we went back for carry out on our way out of town.

Where's my kitchen?

The trailers cooking facilities are minimal, a propane camp stove and a microwave. Never the less we both seem to prefer my cooking to most dining out. There are certainly exceptions to that rule. The pot luck dinner at our next RV park being a major one. From Homestead we drove down to the  Keys. More or less at random selected an RV park called the Jolly Roger. Once we arrived, we were immediately struck by the atmosphere of the place. After consultation we Francis, I asked if they had room for us to stay a week. They only had six days and we took them.

Jolly Rogers turning out for the fish fry

Palms,  orchids and flowering trees.  One of the reasons Francis and I immediately liked the Jolly Roger was the landscaping. Combined with the tivoli lights wrapped around the larger palms there was festive air. The management and the longer term residents did all they could to support the festivities. One evening there was do it yourself wine tasting, the next a pot luck fish fry, followed by a chili poker run. We of course showed up at the wine tasting with a bottle of Conch y Toro, which was well received. The principle was bring your fave tipple and share it. 

Charlie models the latest in fish frying chef's toques

At the wine tasting we met Charlie and Linda. Coincidentally Charlie had retired from MD D o T. They lived in Baltimore, except for the three months of the year when they RVed it at the Jolly Roger. Charlie was one of the primary instigators of the fish fry. A group fished during the week, prepped whatever they caught and fried it up en masse. Everyone else provided the pot luck of sides and desserts, while the park provided the facilities and service. Over a hundred  participated at the fish fry. Charlie and his crew did a splendid job with the fish. Was it good? Francis ate three plates of fish!

South to Annapolis and FL

We left the hill with a new sensation. Instead of regret in ending our rural idyll, returning to our suburban home, we were full of anticipation leaving the mountian retreat to begin an adventure. This would be our first real trip since retirement. The long awaited road trip to explore the country as we had often discussed. In preparation, I had traded up my fourteen year old pickup truck on a newer model. A truck cap over the bed provided  added storage for the tools and supplies we might need during a couple of months away. While our first stop was to be a birthday visit in our old haunt, we were ready to purchase a travel trailer for the long haul  across the states.

The drive South to Annapolis was smooth. The new truck handled well but there still was a learning curve on our part. Backup has been reversed, beyond first rather than fifth gear. New feature,  a backup camera with the display integrated into the rear view mirror. Very convenient and a great boon to the hesitant operator like myself. Parallel parking is the norm on Annapolis streets and the backup camera continually came in handy.

Francis had planned to spend his birthday with his old employer at Procom.  The models he had designed and the projects he had begun we being implemented. He felt he was missing out  on all the fun. His plan had been to work for a day at Procom but they were moving to a new facility. Packing and unpacking was not what he had had in mind. Instead he ended up rebuilding Rebekah's doorway, the molding and door latches of which had been damaged. How? Well that's another story... Francis was very disturbed by Rebekah living in a substandard situation with a broken entrance. A trip to the hardware store and our supply of  tools put the  door to right. Have dozuki will travel. In  any case while I caught her up on the laundry and made sure G was collected from daycare on time Francis was the carpenter. Somehow retirement has led to traditional roles for the two of us.

There were several people we really wanted to see during our short stay, former neighbors and coworkers. We ended up meeting people for meals out. An afternoon we happily spent at the "swamp" with Margaret and Beth. At a pizza shop Francis had frequented while at DNR we met up with Rina and Erin. Finally, Jeff and Diane  invited us to dinner for Francis'  birthday, a  lovely gesture. We asked if others could join us. Only Lars and Laura  showed up. In fact they all showed up before we did. We were hoping Rebekah could get out of work on time and retrieve her son. She had to work until past nine. We had closed down the restaurant before she got home. Gabriel behaved like most hyper toddlers. He wanted to run laps through the restaurant and play hide and seek. While Francis exulted between two of his favorite females and Lars and Jeff discussed politics, I spent an awesome hour convincing Gabriel that proper behavior in a grown  up place meant quietly sitting in one's seat. He curtailed his wails for his Mother once he accepted she would be even more annoyed than we were about his running around. G finally gave up, sat down and amused himself taking photos of Francis and snipping scraps of paper with my folding scissors. Whether it was the meal or my attention divided between large and small people, my entree seemed muddled. O'Leary's in Eastport is still the only "dinner out" in Annapolis. When we return in April we shall reciprocate there.

Having concluded our domestic and social activities, it was time to pack up and take the train. Rather than drive the 1000 miles to Fl we had booked space on the Amtrak autotrain. Last year I had calculated the vehicular and accommodation costs and concluded it was cheaper to take the train. There is no comparison between 24+ hours trapped in a compact car with a restrained toddler and being whisted along the rails with the freedom to wander between the rail cars. Instead of a day and night of nerve racking wails we experienced a happy giggles along the corridors and a child charming bananas from the bar man. Francis wouldn't wail of course but a day and night of scowls and grumping driving along 95 could be as nerve racking. 

Off to Va. The autotrain has just two stops Lorton, Va and Sanford, Fl. The process is slow but efficient. You drive to a booth, receive a number placard, leave your vehicle in a loading area, go inside the terminal, receive a boarding pass and wait. Eventually the cars are loaded and you board to your assigned accomodations. The auto loading process is fascinating. Both cargoes, the human and vehicular are double decker. The lower car deck is at platform level while the upper deck has a ramp. Two train lengths together, the lower level is filled back to front and then the upper. There is an inexplicable sense of excitment as the cars disappear into the long cavern and the train staff remerge minutes later for the next. It can take two hours for five hundred or more vehicles to be stowed away. About the time one bores with the loading process, the conductor calls for human loading. There is coach seating, with seats resembling barcaloungers, and sleeper cars, compact space capsules for two to four. 

We had booked a roomette, each takes up half the width of the rail car, with just enough space for two facing seats with a fold away table. In the evening the attendent turns the seats into a lower berth and makes an upper berth appear from the ceiling. With radio piped in, temperature controls, windows into the train corridor and to the countryside streaming by,it is the civilized way to go. A wine and cheese reception, dinner and breakfast are provided.

While you can have meals served in your compartment, congregating in the dining car provides not only an opportunity to explore the train but also an oppotunity to explore your fellow riders. Both the trainstaff and the travellers can be fascinating. Fonda, who served wine in the afternoon and evening and coffee in the morning, was a seventeen year veteran with Amtrak. She, like the rest of the attendants, had had to earn her spot on the Autotrain. At breakfast and dinner, Kyle, was our waiter.  The smiles, he and Fonda displayed, and the warmth in their voices truly made us feel welcome on the train. Our sleeping car attendant, David,  struck the perfect balance between concern for our needs and respect for our privacy, just what one would wish of some one wandering into your bedroom.

On this trip I discovered that the meals served to coach and sleeper were different, potroast versus steak, baked versus chicken piccata, cod versus crabcakes. Hmm, if the coach meals are as good as the sleeper's there will never be class warfare in the dining car. The food is definitely on the caliber of a restaurant I would return to, our steaks were perfectly cooked with a piquant morel and wine sauce. Admittedly the wine selection was limited, just two whites or a single red. There were more options for dessert, ranging from a ponderously rich flourless chocolate cake to a simple scoop of ice cream or fruit. In the morning there is a continental breakfast, cereal, fruit, pastries, juice, tea or coffee. Throughout the trip there is self serve coffee, tea and cocoa and fruit and snacks in the bar/lounge car. There are even two showings of a film in the evening. Trains are the civilized way to travel. Would we find RVing to be as civilized?

Of Wild Horses and Liars

In the last millennium, when I was in high school, a friend’s girlfriend lived down a long rural road past a horse farm. Driving her home late at night on the unlit road, a horse came out of nowhere, over a fence directly into the path of his car. The force of the impact pushed the beast right over the hood and through the windshield. The accident was traumatic, the couple hospitalized, the car totaled, the horse dead. A year later, in his new car, he was driving her home and it happened again. A horse escaped from the barn, jumped a fence directly into the road. New car totaled. The driver both times was conducting himself in a completely appropriate and law abiding manner. The general response to the situation was “OMG, what bad luck!”.

Several young women of my acquaintance have recently encountered philandering consorts.  From my perspective, the situation is similar. The young women are going about their lives in a completely appropriate manner. They encountered a suitable young man, in the course of the relationship their hopes were crashed. In the course of discussing these situations with others, I discovered there seemed to be a tendency to look for inciting factors on the part of the young women.

Aside from property damage versus personal injury, another difference is no one blamed the driver for his bad luck. Clearly if a horse jumps the fence into a car, the driver has no control over the situation. Even if it happens twice on the same road, the driver is not at fault; the driver had no control over the horse’s actions. When men tell women lies and jump the fence into another bed, our society tends to blame the victim. “She must have done something to cause the philandering” or at the very least “she must have bad taste in men”. Reversing the gender roles, a young man would be afforded sympathy and the lying consort labeled a tramp.

Everyone has the right and reasonable expectation for trust. The onus is on the deceiver and the not the deceived, irrelevant of gender.

To Butt or Not to Butt In

Here is a quandary of which I have been considering since yesterday and would like your opinions... 

Yesterday I needed to run some errands, which included stopping in a local big box retailer. While I was walking up to the entrance i passed an elderly woman. She was moving very slowly supporting herself with a rolling shopping cart. Clearly suffering with kyphosis, she appeared to have related coordination / mobility issues. Never the less she was maintaining her independence, doing her own shopping without assistance. Her attire was a simple sweat shirt and sweat pants; the elastic waist pants were beginning to slide down. As she leaned over the cart a crescent of skin had been exposed. Walking past her I thought to myself, "she surely would be embarrassed by this display but would also be embarrassed if I mentioned it to her". At the entrance she sat down in a motor shopping cart which effectively concealed her attire malfunction.

They intend to make a spectacle of themselves.

Coincidentally as I was departing the store, she was  directly in front of me. She was waiting in line, again standing and supported by a cart. Unfortunately   her pants had dropped low enough for a considerable amount of her intergluteal cleft to be on display. It was a lot of skin and the exposure was progressing as she moved forward. Plumbers and Vegas showgirls would have been embarrassed to make such a show of themselves in the checkout line.

Without really thinking I came up behind her, as gently and discreetly as possible grasped her waistband and pulled up her trousers, saying quietly "I just know you don't want to lose your pants." The elderly woman nodded but did not look at me nor say anything. The sales-check did glance at me and mouthed "Thank you".

Did I do the right thing to intervene or should I have minded my own business? In such a situation would you want people to ignore your problem or assist you?

Tradition?

November through February is the Holiday Season to me. Friend and family birthdays begin and end with the conventional holidays sandwiched in between.  

Just before Thanksgiving someone asked “what were your family holiday traditions?” After a moment’s thought, I realized we had none. We weren’t Jehovah’s Witnesses, who do not believe in celebrating holidays or birthdays. Ostensibly we did celebrate both public and religious holidays and certainly birthdays. The problem was we just didn’t actually do anything celebratory.

There were birthday gifts but there were gifts at other times. There were holiday presents but those presents were likely to be purchased in your presence and/or distributed at random. Thanksgiving was celebrated, if at all, by dinner at the Country Club. Given my Mother’s notorious cooking skills we were frequent guests at their buffet through the year. Religious Holidays I recall, were occasionally spent at relatives or with the congregation, but usually they were discussed in passing.

At some point in this vacuum, I began to observe and often participate in other people’s traditions. Most of them were not representative of my ethnic group or religious culture. As a result I began to make up my own traditions in keeping with my personal attitudes and reconstructionist theology.

Organized religion seems an oxymoron to me but still celebrate the milestones of my culture. On the day of atonement, I fast and read my prayer book; once while on a camping trip. On Passover my goy Husband officially owns any yeast in the house, while I eschew bread for the 8 days. We usually have a big Seder at which I have often been the sole Jew and my Husband asks the four questions. When my Father was alive, long discussions of numerology often delayed the final meal, but we always consumed the full complement of glasses of wine. When my Daughter was a small child, we began a tradition of candles and exchanging a small present each evening of Chanukah. Coming up with eight small items you have to think. And it truly is the thought that counts.

And my favorite special event  - - Thanksgiving!  Perhaps it is the notion of giving thanks, as I have always felt fortunate. It was at Thanksgiving that we received word that the adoption of our adored Daughter was final; that she was truly and indelibly ours. Or, that it often falls on the Thursday prior to my birthday [everyone is giving thanks for me!] Or maybe I just like an excuse for a big, big dinner party.

For thirty plus years we have lived in and celebrated Thanksgiving at 1311, the house which will shortly be sold. There are pictures of random groups around the Thanksgiving dinner table. Candid shots with the fork half-way to the mouth or the eyes half-closed with laughter. Photos of dear family and friends who are gone and dearly missed, my Mom with her infectious giggle & my Dad in a rare moment, content. I will not miss this house or this city but I will miss those Thanksgivings.

Our Holiday open door policy means there are also photos of those of whom we say, who was that and what ever happened to them?

It was just before Thanksgiving that we received a phone call from a young man who was affiliated with a group called “the World for Free”, a practice now known as couch surfing. He was from Britain wandering through the US and would we put him up for a couple of nights? Ever open to unexpected guests, we said “sure” and introduced him around. He stayed with us over Thanksgiving, then a few days on a friend’s boat and finally with another friend who offered to drive him to his pre-dawn flight.

In the middle of the night his random host experienced terrible pains and could not get out of bed. The only reason he was not alone and isolated was because of his offer to drive the young Englishman to the airport for hiss pre-dawn flight home. His guest hearing the moans of pain checked on his host and called for an ambulance. As the young man flew back to England [someone else drove] our friend was in emergency surgery for a ruptured femoral artery. The Brit never realized that his presence had saved someone’s life.

Perhaps, it is the random moments that give the best reason to give thanks. Certainly, the it is the decision say “yes” and help in random circumstances which is the best tradition to maintain.