THE GREAT PINK GLIDE

THE GREAT PINK GLIDE

THE GREAT PINK GLIDE

(by: Helen J. Strpczewski, October 9, 2020)

            In August of 2019, on a warm 92-degree Florida summer day, I received a phone call from my doctor’s office.  The call confirmed what my doctor already knew.  On that day, I became the one in eight women diagnosed with breast cancer. I began a trek down a path that I never planned to travel.  Yet, here I was with no u-turns in sight. 

            After enduring 3 surgeries, my big outings for over a year were some pretty aggressive chemo and radiation treatments.  I managed to survive all the poisons and burns and I can now say with pure glee that I am a survivor.

            During the time span of my personal challenges, a different health threat sprung up.  Covid-19 reared its devastating head upon the entire planet. This novel virus spread infection and death as its fiery dragon breath encompassed the globe.  Us mere and fragile humans took shelter in our homes and avoided any contact with our friends, families, and hugs. 

My immune system had been seriously compromised due to the chemo, so I needed to take great care around other humans during this global threat.  By using baby steps and following the guidance of my doctors, I began to wade back into my life.  I was ready to go out to play.

We all have people in our lives that constantly protect our well-being.  I have been blessed with many of these guardians.  With the help of my White Knight of a husband to my family, near and far, and my friends, old and new, I never faced my battle alone.  One of my dearest friends, Lynn, is a pretty perfect example of a protector.  We have known each other for decades and our sons (we both have two) have grown up together as great friends themselves.  Lynn and I are as close as sisters.  As a matter of fact, when one of us experiences any sort of pain or misfortune, the other deeply feels that event.  Lynn was well aware that I was chaffing at the bit to be able to take a break from the confines of our little condo.  Sitting out on the front patio was no longer cutting it for me, so she began searching Groupon sites for some fun “out of the house” stuff to do.

The big winner was a trip to Homosassa River for an airboat ride.  How much more “outside” can you get, right?  Lynn, her husband Greg, my man Leo and I decided that it would be best for us to stay overnight at their home in Hudson.  The plan was to leave the next morning from there for the one-hour drive to Homosassa, and that’s exactly what we did.

During the drive up to the river, I became curious about the word “Homosassa” and how it came into being.  It sounded like a Native American word and I was right.  According to Wikipedia, the word “Homosassa” comes from the Seminoles and means “river of fishes”.  The river flows into the Gulf of Mexico and because of that, it is a mixture of fresh and brackish waters in many areas.  We saw clear indications of this as we passed mangrove islands full of the lush greenery of the Sunshine State.  We also passed islands, which were home to many dead trees with their twiggy branches holding hands to comfort each other against the salty onslaught.

            Our host during this excursion was an outfit known as PT Airboat Adventures.  We had the pleasure of having the owner, Paul, as Captain of our little vessel.  If you’ve never been on an airboat, it’s a real treat.  These are flat-bottomed boats and can glide across the surface of the water and even swampy grassy areas.  They don’t have a traditional boat motor.  Instead, there are giant fans that propel the vessel.  These fans are pretty loud when fully revved up so we were given ear protectors.  Those muffled the noise so well that we learned to read lips that day.

            Airboats are an integral part of Florida’s hunting and fishing industries.  A man named Glenn Hammond Curtis registered the first boat of this kind in America in Florida in the early 1920s.  He was a pilot and aircraft engineer.  But, according to Wikipedia, airboats were invented in 1905 by none other than Alexander Graham Bell.  These boats were dubbed “The Ugly Duckling” and were used to test various types of airplane prop configurations.  The earliest practical use for airboats was by the British Army in their 1915 World War I Mesopotamian campaign.  Even though Florida was making use of them in the 20s, the general public didn’t latch onto them until well into the 1930s.

            The adventure that Captain Paul took us on was pretty amazing.  He is very knowledgeable of the river itself and boasts that he truly is from Florida since he was born and raised here.  Our trip began slowly through the river’s no wake zones. We glided past and drooled over some amazingly beautiful homes, some with two or three balconies and porches.  Paul cruised us around Monkey Island, which is a whole other story on its own!  This little island is actually a rocky outcropping and is home to approximately 6 spider monkeys.

            After leaving the no wake zones, our speed increased over the waters and grasses.  We were treated to a real side-to-side roller coaster ride.  We oooed and ahhhed our way from the river to the entrance of the Gulf of Mexico.  Suddenly, Paul slowed down our boat down to a crawl, then finally turned off the fan.  Out of nowhere came a small group of Florida manatees.  There had to be about 6 of them.  They swam all around our boat, as curious of us as we were of them.  As quickly as they appeared, these gentle sea cows drifted away from our boat, but not before we took many, MANY photos.  What a treat that was to see these gentle creatures up close and personal. 

            Also, during our trip along the Homosassa River, we were greeted by various wetlands birds.  Graceful Egrets floated around the mangrove islands while large black Cormorants escaped, on rapidly beating wings, the noise of our craft as we sped towards the end of our adventure.

            This outing was just a perfect day. The weather couldn’t have been nicer with clouds overhead which blocked the heat of the sun.  It was all fresh air, sunshine, wildlife and great friends sharing my great airboat adventure.  Gee, Lynn!  What’s up next?   

MY SECOND FIRST BIKE …..

On my eighth Christmas, Santa gave me a brand new, shiny bicycle.  The only problem was that it was for a boy, the kind with that center bar on it.  I am a girl and I was pretty upset when my Dad said to me, “I guess Santa made a mistake”.  Seriously? I wore my new Christmas dress when I sat on Santa’s lap. He asked me my name, told me that he knew I was a good little girl … and he gave me a boy’s bike as a Christmas gift! Seriously?

My Dad said he would get in touch with Santa and get things fixed for me .. and he did.  My girl’s bike arrived at our home in the middle of a snowstorm and it wasn’t till the spring before I could ride it. But then I promptly drove it straight into a cast iron lamppost.  Since this was the first time I was on a bike, I really had no idea how to stop it. My Dad yelling, “Use the brakes”, meant nothing to me so the lamppost was the next best thing. It was quite apparent to me that I could not stop the bike and I was awful at steering! After that, the bike was delegated to our basement and there it stayed for 2 years until it was packed up with the rest of our belongings for our move to a new home in South Jersey.

Our new neighborhood was quite modern in 1958 with all of the electricity placed underground.  The new lampposts were not cast iron but a lighter aluminum. I remember thinking how easy the kids in my new environment made bike riding look as they scooted around those lampposts like they were not even there.  So I asked my Dad if he would help me ready my bike for a little excursion in front of our house. When things were all cleaned up and ready to go, my Dad explained to me how to use the coaster brakes on the bike, how to safely steer clear of the lampposts … and I was ready to go.  Imagine my utter delight when I found myself just riding along on the new streets, gliding in and out on the sidewalks, around the lampposts and coming to a complete stop by using the coaster brakes! What a ride that was!!

After that, I went everywhere I was able to go on my bike.  Every day in the summer months I rode my bike to our neighborhood swimming pool, carrying my towel in my newly purchased handlebar basket.  I went to band camp carrying my clarinet in that basket. I went on short errands for my Mom to the local deli and carried home our lunchmeat and rolls order.  My girlfriends and sister often went up to our local shopping plaza to spend the day just hanging out .. and if I bought anything at all, into that little basket it went. Pajama parties were much more fun for me since I rode my bike to my friend’s homes and carried all my stuff in a paper bag that I placed in that basket.

I gave that bicycle a new life and it did the same for me.  I branched out as far as my bike and legs would carry me until the day that my bike began to show it’s age.  The chain would break and be fixed, the tires would flatten and would be patched. It got to the point where it became too costly to keep repairing it with my allowance earnings. So I retired it but never replaced it.  After all, how can you replace something that you shared so many adventures with, right?

But I can tell you this … I will never forget my second first bike!

 

(12/18/hjs)

OO, Baby … You Know What I Like — from the Porch

I’ve recently been seeing advertisements for something called a Chantilly Cake.  It looks so luscious with all the creamy white frosting and sweet, juicy berries throughout the layers.  I had never heard of a Chantilly Cake before so I got curious and “Googled” just exactly what it is and where it came from (or from where it came — LOL!).

I found out that the Chantilly Cake actually originated in Hawaii and looks nothing like the creamy, berry filled concoction that I saw advertised. Upon further research, I found that the cake has not one, but two, claims of origin.

Let’s begin with Hawaii, the land of tropical breezes, spectacular sunsets, and Duke Kahanamoku, the hero of long board surfing.  The Aloha State also claims to be largest consumer of SPAM and now I see that Chantilly Cake is also a delicacy dating back to the 1950’s.  This sweet treat from the land of pineapples and volcanoes is actually a version of a German Chocolate cake.  The cake itself IS chocolate, but the icing does not contain any coconut (what??). This yummy confection can be found at the Liliha Bakery and it’s been said that you should not leave Hawaii without trying a piece. What makes this so delicious is the holy grail of frostings … and it requires lots of butter and a double- boiler to create it in all it sweet, sticky decadence.  In an article from the Honolulu Star Bulletin from 2001, there is another bakery who makes this treat.  Known as the “old Hau’ula Bakery version — “da kine with macadamia nuts”, most Hawaiians still prefer the smooth, sweet version.

As delicious as this sounds, the Hawaiian Chantilly Cake must not be confused with the creamy version that is said to have originated in the early 1800’s most likely in London. I say “most likely” because Chantilly is actually the name of a very beautiful and delicate lace that is made in a little town just north of Paris, France, in the Forest of Chantilly.  The lace is used in wedding and christening gowns and is made of silk.  It has scalloped edges while the interior designs can contain vases, scrolls or baskets of flowers.  Maybe the delicate feel of the lace is why the berry filled cakes are called Chantilly … don’t forget that creamy white icing.

Regardless, the original Chantilly Cake was also referred to as a ” trifle in a cake”.  It was a tall cake with the top cut off. That way, it formed a container for various custards, whipped creams and liquors, brandies and white wine …. not all at the same time! According to the “Researching Food History – Cooking and Dining” blogspot, here are the directions for making this version of the cake: Chantilly Cake …

Cut a piece out of the top of a Savoy cake, and scoop out all the inside; put it on the dish in which it is to be sent to table, pour Lisbon wine into the cake, and as the wine soaks out pour it over it with a spoon; when it has absorbed as much wine as it can, pour the remainder off the dish, pour custard down the sides, and put some in the middle; whip up some cream, the same as for a trifle, and put it in the middle of the cake: blanch some sweet almonds, cut them in quarters, and stick them round the edges, and on the sides of the cake.

So now, just what is Chantilly lace?  Here’s what I found out.  The most famous of the laces were made of silk but way back in the 17th century in a little town called Chantilly (go figure) in France, a new type of lace was developed as a hand-made bobbin lace. Chantilly lace comes in black and has a large market in Spain and the Americas. White lace was also made using silk and linen.  The location where the lace was manufactured as well as the patterns made it Chantilly .. not the material itself.  Some of the laces were soon manufactured in Belgium, yet they were still considered to be of the French origin known as Chantilly.

However, in the 17th century, the manufacture of the lace was finally reorganized in France again and has been made there ever since .. except during and immediately after the French revolution.  The lace was a special favorite of all of the royals. The every-day folks saw it as yet another symbol that stifled their independence so when the King, his mistress, and his wife were sent to be guillotined in 1793, along with the lace makers, all production of the lace ceased. No lace makers = no lace.

Between 1804 and 1815, Napoleon I reinstituted the use of lace.  No longer manufactured in Chantilly, these newer versions were created in Normandy. The older patterns and techniques were still in use, though.  Chantilly lace reached the heights of its popularity in the 1830’s.  In 1844, a machine was developed that created such great quality lace that it was difficult to distinguish between hand or machine-made.

Today, you can purchase many items with the name Chantilly … like the cake … or a certain paint color .. or a wine.  My wedding gown was all Chantilly lace, from the layered front to the back bustle to the 12 foot cathedral length veil edged in large madallions of lace and all trimmed with seed pearls and sequins (imagine that, right??).  The lace also comes in a variety of colors now that compete with the beauty of the original blacks and whites.  Picture hot pink, royal blue or lemon yellow … what a feast for the eyes with the still beautiful patterns of flowers, vases, and baskets.

So if you think that lace is “old fashioned” and out of date, sink your teeth into a slice or two of Chantilly cake as the Big-Bopper continues to say ….

Chantilly lace and a pretty face
And a pony tail hangin’ down
A wiggle in the walk and a giggle in the talk
Make the world go ’round.

THE MOST WONDERFUL TIME OF THE YEAR …..from the Porch

THE MOST WONDERFUL TIME OF THE YEAR …..from the Porch.

THE MOST WONDERFUL TIME OF THE YEAR …..from the Porch

It’s the most wonderful time of the year … again!  The trees are decorated, the tinsel is hung …. wait!!!! HAHAHAHA .. fooled ya’!  It’s not THAT time of the year … but it is time to catch beads and learn to talk like a pirate!

Yep — here in the Tampa, FL area it is time again for Gasparilla festivities. You know, New Orleans has Mardi Gras,  Philly has the Mummers, but here in Florida we have PIRATES!

What the heck is Gasparilla all about, you ask in your “not so pirate-y voice”? Well, I’ve been back and forth to Florida many times and have heard about this.  When I asked about it though, a lot of people told me that’s its just an excuse to get a little toasted … hmmm …. I always thought that was what the weekends are for, but that’s just me — LOL!!!

So, I decided to do a little research on my own since it appears that its a rather big deal in this area of the Sunshine State.  Here’s what I found out …. this is an annual event held in the city of Tampa.  The festival began in 1904 when a group of Tampa’s business folks decided to re-enact a pirate “invasion” of the city.  The legends of Jose Gaspar were growing in popularity, so why not cash in on them? At that time, the invaders dressed as pirates and rode through the city streets on  horseback.  The event was such a great hit that the following year, using all 60 of Tampa’s cars, a parade was held in the downtown area.

Who IS Jose Gaspar?  The stories say that he was born in Seville, Spain, and was a nobleman.  He was compelled to join the Navy or go to prison because he apparently kidnapped a young girl … but he was only 12 at the time, so he was young as well, right?  I guess holding her for ransom was not in his best interests, though.  There is another part of Gaspar’s legend that states that the King of Spain’s daughter-in-law fell in love with him (I am sure he was older than 12 at the time of this incident).  He didn’t return his love and in a fit of temper becoming to a member of the royal household (hell hath no fury!), she accused Jose of stealing the crown jewels.  Knowing that he would be arrested, he promptly stole a ship and took off on the high seas to pillage and plunder.

There are a number of other threads to the legend that has followed Jose Gaspar down through the ages. One shows him rising through the ranks of the Navy.  Another boasts that he was a darling of the court of Spain.

Whatever the case, Tampa has embraced Jose Gaspar as their own personal character in the history of the city.  Jose’s base of pirate operations was off the coast of South Tampa in Charlotte Harbor. The story goes that Gaspar’s intentions were to take Tampa by storm.  This event, which began as a horseback run,  is now re-enacted each year by sailing the ship “Jose Gasparilla”, a 165 foot pirate ship, into Tampa Bay while firing off “cannon”.  Once the pirates win their prize, the mayor hands over the keys to the city and a “victory parade” begins.

Beginning near the end of January and running for a few weekends after that, the Gasparilla Festival is quite the sight to see.  The first parade is held for the kids, followed by quite a spectacular fireworks display. It gives the kids a great chance to experience the fun of a “pirate’s life for me”!  These parades are hosted by Ye Mystic Krewe of Gasparilla.  Accompanied by numerous other krewes, they toss beads and other trinkets into the crowds of would-be pirates lining the 3-mile parade routes. Other parades include grown-up versions of the Children’s Parade .. the Gasrapilla Parade of Pirates and the Sant’Yago Knight Parade which features illuminated floats and runs into the wee hours of the morning.

The financial impact of this festival is huge for the city of Tampa.  To top that off, each krewe is involved in fund-raising for their dedicated charities … so the Gasparilla days are a win/win for surrounding area.

Back to the man himself .. Jose Gaspar.  It appears that almost everything written about him is fairly consistent.  It’s been my experience that almost all legends are based in some sort of fact, no matter how small.  After the King’s daughter-in-law had her hissy fit and Gaspar stole that ship (the Floridablanca), he actually renamed himself “Gasparilla”.  For the next 38 years, from 1783 to 1821 (the time known as the Second Spanish rule of Florida), he and his mates sacked every single ship that crossed their path.  A huge treasure was amassed — reportedly somewhere in the 30-ish millions — and stashed on Gasparilla Island (treasure hunt anyone?).  As for any prisoners, most of the males were put to death or recruited to act as crew members.  The female captives were taken to a nearby isle where they would serve as concubines or wait for their families to ransom them.  The isle is known as Captiva Island for this reason.  In 1821, Spain sold Florida to the United States.  It was during this time that Gaspar grew weary of his high-seas shenanigans and planned on retiring from his pirate life.  He had untold riches and could well afford to live long and prosper in a happy life of leisure.  As he and the crew began to slit up their loot, a big fat British merchant ship was spotted.  What better way to end such a rewarding career that have one last go at adding more treasures to the pot?  Sometimes, we all find out one way or the other that our greed is not the best thing for us to act upon.  As this ship sailed closer to Gaspar’s, the Union Jack was lowered and the flag of  the good old USA was raised — SURPRISE!!! And guess what the name of this vessel was!  It was the USS Enterprise (read back a few sentences .. see what I did there?).  At any rate, Gaspar’s pirate ship, the Floridablanca, took quite a few cannon ball hits.  Determined not to be taken prisoner, the story now says that Jose wrapped himself in anchor and chain, jumped overboard (hmmm … so since he went first, this captain really didn’t go down with his ship??), shouting, “Gasparilla dies by his own hands, not by the enemy’s”.  After the battle, the remainder of his crew were either killed or captured.  Those who were captured were later tried as pirates and executed in New Orleans.

That was the end of Gaspar, but his stories and many like these were told over and over by one of the survivors … a man named Juan Gomez. When the merchant ship was first spotted, Gaspar left 10 of his most trusted men (Juan among them) on the island while he and the rest of his crew began pursuit of the ship.  After seeing the Floridablanca go down, those guys loaded 20 chests full of treasure onto longboats and slipped unnoticed up the Peace River to land in Spanish Homestead.  There, a woman known as Lady Boggess, promised not to divulge the location of the escaping pirates or the treasure.  She didn’t do this out of the goodness of her heart and was paid a small reward for her services.  The next day, the pirates buried the treasure chests in various locations along the Pearl River  — uh-oh! Not on Gasparilla Island??  Opps .. looking in the wrong place, treasure hunters?  Never fear .. it took Mel Fisher 17 years to locate the Atocha, so you still have a chance (I have a small piece of the Atocha treasure thanks to Luscious Leo!).  At any rate, part of the Lady’s hush money was located … about $300,000 …. but the remainder of 30-ish million in gold and jewels have never been located (or reported) .

The mystery of Jose Gaspar, the Last Buccaneer”, credited with the capture of 400 vessels may be shrouded in mystery.  But the Gasparilla festivals that take place in the city of Tampa, FL certainly are not.  And during the Gasparilla days, EVERYBODY is a pirate!  Yo ho ….

ADSORB THE LOVE ….. from the Porch

On June 19, 1971, I married a man who I knew would be the perfect fit to my life — the kind of man who would appreciate me for just being me, who would support me even if he disagreed with me, who would be there when some of my ideas turned out to be not so good while others where just the bees knees.  I knew that with his value systems he would be an awesome Dad and a great partner for me — in spite of him being more of a “chrome and wingtips” guy compared to my “life is short, wear sequins” mentality — 🙂

When we were first married, Luscious and I lived in a one bedroom apartment — pretty routine, just like most of my friends as we started out making a difference in each other’s lives.  Our apartment was local and we had only planned to live there for about a year.  Our goal was to move forward in our new lives together and settle in to raise a family.

I began to think back on all of the places that I called “home” — not that there were so many.  I know people who have lived all over the world — but I have spent most of my life so far right in the Delaware Valley.  The first place that I remember anybody in my family calling “home” was in a little suburb of Philadelphia, Pa, called Stonehurst — in Upper  Darby Township, Delaware County.  I so totally do NOT remember living there but I think that my older brother, Bob, might remember.  From listening to the family chatter over the years, I learned that we were surrounded by row home after row home … but that we were a short ride on the 69th street EL to downtown Philadelphia.  When I got a bit older, I did a little research on my own and discovered that our neck of the woods was, at one time, inhabited by the Lenape Indians (and I just thought they were in New Jersey — apparently, they went to Jersey on “vacation” just like we did when we were kids …. so do you think that the Lenape went “downna shore”??).  And here’s something interesting about Upper Darby …. it was part of the Underground Railroad, which makes perfect sense since the entire area was settled by Quakers.  The area was rife with abolitionists who felt their beliefs so strongly that they even formed the Pennsylvania Anti-Slavery Society.

My first memory of what I would call “home” was our little row home on Lindenwood Street in Southwest Philadelphia. There I grew into being me along with my brothers, sister, Mom, Dad and my grandmother, Nana Blake.  It was where I shared so much joy, laughter, learning and loving … I was (am) one very blessed little girl.  The building that we called “home” is no longer there … most likely collapsed with the blight and neglect that followed the great exodus of the late 50’s of newly returned veterans from the War to End All Wars.  These young families worked their asses off — no hand-outs for these guys!! — so that their families could enjoy the fruits of those labors and share in the American Dream of owning a home of their own.  So we left Philly to travel across the great waters into New Jersey.  It is sad to think that my childhood home is gone.  I always imagined that the walls in that building absorbed so much of us … our love … our fears and tears …. our total caring for each other.  And I imagined that families who lived there after us felt that caring simply by leaning against a wall or touching the banister as the new children went “up the Golden stairs into Dreamland”. I learned to read and write there … learned to ride my bike, play jacks, jump rope there.  There was never a dull moment on our street as it was filled with families just like us … with tons of kids, shared toys, winter forts with snowball fights, summer water ice and the cooling spray from the fire hydrant.

In 1959, we moved from the only place I knew as “home” to a different — VERY different — home.  This one was brand- spanking new …. and the features were actually selected by my parents.  The big color scheme of the day was turquoise or pink or green or gold.  It was the 60’s baby … and the flashiness of that decade was reflected in the color schemes offered by Levitt and Sons in their newly built houses.  My parents choose the turquoise, which was fine with me since I’ve never run away from color — no “boring beige” for me ….LOL!!!!  Anyway, I remember our first night spent in the new “Carey Palace”.  There was a great deal of crying going on that I couldn’t understand.  I was 10 going on 11 and was so excited about this new adventure … new friends, new school — a whole new life outside of the city.  I think that I must have been the only family member NOT crying.  Sure, I knew that I’d miss my friends, but quite frankly, most of my classmates and neighbors were actually my aunts, uncles, and cousins!  That was city-living in our Irish/Catholic neighborhood and I would definitely be seeing them all again — and I was so right on that count — 🙂 To top this all off, I would finally be able to ride my bike without running into lamp posts or having to worry about my tires getting stuck in trolley tracks.  Even if you hear the clang-clang of the trolley bell, you just don’t have enough time to get those babies unstuck — so you just jump off and hope for the best!  Trust me, when a city trolley runs over your bike, there is no repairing the mangled mess that is left behind.

I adopted so well to my new home and I loved the freedom that the town offered us kids.  We didn’t have to worry about our kites getting caught in the overhead wires (or those pesky lamp posts) because all those thingys were underground.  We could go to the swimming pool EVERY day and not have to wait for the “boys day/girls day” stuff!  We still had to come back home when the street lights came on — no cell phones or pagers for us …. we were given our family rules (OK, you can call them “guidelines”) and my parents trusted us as well as the safety of the neighborhood to allow us this privilege.

It was an exciting time in my life way back then.  I was coming into my teenage years …. frightening and frustrating as they were …. but so were all my new friends.  We were all in the same boat as we shared “boy” stories, chatted about our first kiss, learned to dance so that we didn’t look too goofy.  I was introduced to nail polish (“not a color, Helen, but its OK to use silver”), makeup (“just a little blush, Helen”), Noxzema to wash my face and Ponds Cold Cream to keep it soft and youthful (I was 12!).  Oh, the stories that the walls of that home could tell!

During our many trips up and down the east coast, I spent a great deal of time gazing out the truck window and just taking in the sites — and yes — there is a great deal to see if you just “see”.  Anyway, I noticed along the roadsides many homes that are down and out on their luck.  But I can’t help but wonder as the passing breezes from the rush of traffic causes the shredded curtains to flutter and snap …. who lived there?  Was it a family like mine … lots of kids, laughter, tears, hopes and dreams?  Did they move away because the highway was coming too close?  Or did they fall on some sort of a financial misfortune which caused them to vacate?  When I see these homes, if reminds me of my first home on Lindenwood Street, now a vacant lot.  What happened there? Was its decline really due to the exodus of the late 50’s and early 60’s?  We will never really know for sure .. that’s a given .. but the memories from that home that I’ve carried throughout my life will never fall into ruin or crumble away in the dust of time.

Now, I have embarked on yet another adventure … this time very far away from the Delaware Valley up in the frozen tundra I call New Jersey .. and a bitter-sweet move this is.  After all, we will soon be in the same position that my parents were when they sold their home in Philly as we prepare to sell our home in Jersey.  It is the home where our sons were born, where we took them “down the Golden Hall” (no stairs in a rancher, right? — LOL!!) to tuck them into Dreamland.  We greeted each new day with them and smelled their sweet baby fragrance.  We taught them how to ride their bikes there, how to spell their very long last name, cheered for them at Little League games, wrestling tournaments and year-round soccer games (yep — even in that nasty cold white stuff, they played!). We shared the joys of their marriages there, the birth of their children, the paper-ripping fun of Christmas and the egg hunts of Easter (“How many eggs did you put out?”  “All of them”.  “All of them is not a number, babe!”.)  They learned which fork to use, experimented with cooking (both of our sons are GREAT cooks!), learned to swim in our back yard pool, made their own life-long friends …. the list of the joys, the sorrows, the totally complete human-ness of the years that we all shared together stretches back into a galaxy far-far away!   Our walls are thick with memories, the voices of laughing children, the sheer joy of family. Our sons have moved from their childhood home to their own now.  They are raising their children and the walls of their homes are absorbing their laughter now, their fun, their joys.  They are settled into their wonderful lives and are all very happy.  So we have  purchased a small condo in the Clearwater, FL, area and  we are also ready to enjoy this next phase of our lives.

One of the dreams that my Mom and Dad shared was to “retire to Florida” … an expression that I heard often them say to each other.  Sadly, my parents have gone onto that big “Del Boca Vista” in the sky …. but now Luscious and I have picked up their dream.  Our little condo has more than enough room for us and plenty of room for when our family and friends come to visit – just waiting to add to all the love and laughter that we’ve already plastered to our new walls — 🙂

 

A ROAD WELL TRAVELED …. from the Porch

Dorothy had her Yellow Brick Road …. the Beatles had their “Long and Winding Road” …. and I have the highways and byways of East coast driving.

About 1-1/2 years ago, my husband and I found ourselves in an exceptional position.  We had dreamed of retiring to a nice area of the good old US of A and had our sights sent in the Clearwater area of Florida.  The most attractive thing about that area is its simple beauty — so close to the Gulf of Mexico as well as fun locations well within driving distance.  An added plus is family, family and more family — right in the immediate and surrounding areas — what a bargain!!!

Well, we had been looking a single dwelling homes but finally realized that we would still have the responsibility of all of the upkeep that goes along with that.  My feeling is that we are retired and we’ve put in our time in regards to hard work.  Now it was time for us to enjoy “horse-play”.  We began looking at condo living and, lo and behold, we stumbled upon a place that we both fell in love with … warts and all! (NOTE: when you see the words “needs TLC” and/or “a real Fixer-upper” don’t be fooled — it means there is a major overhaul in your very near future — LOL!!)  Never afraid to take up the challenge, my hubby assured me over and over again that he could do the work, he could “fix it” — and guess what!! — he truly did.  We’re not quite done but man-oh-man — he has made such great progress and I’m loving it!! I kept telling him that the only opinion and voice that he needs to pay any attention to is mine … he took that to heart and we are both thrilled with our next adventure in a cozy little condo in Clearwater.

In order for us to take part in this huge undertaking, lots and lots of travel is involved, mostly of the “road trip” kind.  During these kagillion trips up and down the eastern coast of the United States, I made notice of some pretty interesting sites.  Leo NEVER lets me drive — which I am perfectly capable of doing, by the way — but he says he enjoys it so who am I to argue, right?  So I usually settle myself in and catch some of the amazing visions along the way.  No video games for me — I see lots of life passing by as we head south (or north) towards our destination.

For example …. have you ever noticed just how many types of mobile homes there are on the roads?  They come as small as little tiny claustrophobic ones in the beds of small puck up trucks.  Or there are the huge monstrosities cruising at 65 MPH while getting 3 miles per gallon — AND if they break down with no extra vehicle being towed, these behemoths are essentially stuck with nowhere to go as they wait road-side for assistance.  I remember one that I saw just recently without that extra mode of transportation being towed by a truck that was just as large as the mobile home!  What a site — not one but TWO huge machines hauling ass down the highway!!

Then there are the “turtles” that sit atop of automobiles … and the different types of “pop-up” campers (we had one of those!!), along with the camping vans (we had not one but TWO Volkswagen buses — that I really miss having!!), as well as the various tents and other camping increments lashed willy-nilly to passing cars loaded to the gills with families and all of their stuff!  It’s amazing to me that we all turn into gypsies during the summer months — tying up bikes, coolers, and sharing caravans with friends and loved ones to destinations known only to the passengers of these conveyances.

I love reading the names of all of the different mobile homes, campers, vans and “turtles” that we encounter on our little “Magical Mystery Tours” towards either the Sunshine or the Garden states.  They conjure up mysteriously dreamy visions of a life of freedom … names like “Open Range” or “High Country Cougar”.  When I see names like this, I am reminded of the untamed western part of our great nation … not necessarily of a journey to Rehoboth Beach, know what I mean?  These names invoke visions of camp fires, horses, coffee and beans for breakfast, lunch and dinner … not ocean kayaking or paddle-boarding in the Atlantic ocean — 🙂

My favorite name that I’ve seen for one of these mobile homes (funny — I also see actual houses being transported on huge trailers and hauled by VERY huge trucks — WIDE LOAD!! — and these are the real “mobile homes”, right? Get it?) is the name “American Dream”.  Dragged along by a pick up truck known as a “5th wheel”, I take quick peeks as just what all is being moved along with the trailer and truck.  I notice on the side that there are places where the trailer can be extended out to add more living space, which comes in handy especially since there might be 2 or 3 bicycles tied to the back of it, each with its own person.  As we creep up next to the pick-up truck itself, I notice lots more family oriented stuff in the truck bed — maybe a tricycle, some body boards, and many outdoor types of toys.  Inside the truck itself, extended cab and all, families of 4 or 5 people are whisked along towards their own personal “American Dream” of a fantastic family vacation — low on expense and high on memories.

I don’t just look at the trucks, cars, motorcycles and other vehicles on the roads as we travel.  I also like to take in some of the road-side sites — and it you look closely enough, you will be amazed at just how much of right outside your car’s windows.    Take, for example, the many, MANY motels that dot the landscape — with their HUGE billboards advertising free WI-FI, heated pool, free breakfast.  Well, for us, keep the Wi-FI and pool … and make sure that the “free” breakfast comes with plenty of coffee — LOL!!  I got to wondering just how the phenomenon of roadside lodgings came into being.

With the advent of the automobile also came the wanderlust of Americans.  But hitting the road back in the early 1920s meant a shot day-trip since long distance traveling was not the best path for enjoyment.  Those who did make those early “road trips” spent many an evening under the stars in tents pitched in fields along side the roads.  Called “auto camps”, there were no amenities (hot tub in your tent, anyone??) other than running water,picnic grounds and — maybe — restroom facilities.  It wasn’t long, however, before “for-profit” commercial camps began springing up.  During the Great Depression, land owners whose properties butted against a highway began building small, one floor cabins.  They were a step-up from the “travel trailers” which were actually personal automobiles that people might have converted for sleeping, had makeshift kitchens and even roof decks.  However, the cabins only saving graces were that families could spread out more at night — and for fees of less than $1, it didn’t break the bank.

Expansion of the highway network in America brought more and more travelers … who demanded more and more traveling luxuries after sitting in a car all day.  So, the cabin industry developed more plans, larger buildings, and arranged them into u-shaped arrangements called “courts” — travel courts complete with filling stations, maybe a cafe and a corner store.  From these early camping/tourist courts sprang an entire industry dedicated to highways and by-ways of our great nation.  Now you can pull off the road, take a dip in the pool, have free TV, Wi-Fi, and even breakfast in bed if you so choose.

On many of our trips, we woke up at zero-dark-thirty, caught some breakfast (coffee and a Danish — breakfast of champions!) and took off again towards our final destination.  I love that time of day — mornings are my favorite!! — and I got the chance to see so many beautiful sunrises.  The colors in the sky are just breathtaking to me … all the pinks and golds and yellow and violets as God keeps finger-painting over and over till the Sun finally wakes up strong!  Sometimes all along the side of the road are fields of all sorts of wild flowers.  We drive by so fast that  I can’t really get a good like at the types of flowers but — boy oh boy — those pinks, yellows and whites!  I also see rows and rows of budding fruit trees — apples, peaches, pears — along with field after field of corn, cotton, and all manner of veggies!  As the sun creeps higher into the sky, the light sometimes gets trapped in the trees only to be released again in a dazzling display of strobe.  Then we might find ourselves driving into a roadside forest where the trees are so high that they reach across each side of the road with their upper branches holding hands.

As we drive down — or up — the coast, I notice many of the brown road signs marking the way for travelers to check out these points of interest.  I’ve never done this (yet), but I am always intrigued by some of their historical contributions.  Take, for example, Sapelo Island in Georgia.  Just what on earth makes this such an interesting place that vacationers would be forced to leave the highway just to go here?  Well, if Wikipedia is to believed, this seems to be a pretty interesting place.  It is a state protected barrier island located in McIntosh County and is reachable only by boat or plane.  The history of this place goes way, way back 1526-1527 when a short-lived settlement sprang up.  It was called  San Miguel de Gualdape and is thought to be the first place in the present day United States that the first Catholic Mass was celebrated.  In the early 19th century, the island was purchased by Thomas Spalding who developed it into a plantation.  There appears to be a long and fascinating history of the island as its development continued over the years …. even boasting the home of Howard E. Coffin, President of Hudson Motor Company.  Along with this distinguished owner came his guests …..such as Calvin Coolidge, Herbert Hoover, and Charles Lindbergh.  In an area known as Hog Hammock located in the barrier island there is a general story, a bar, and some small businesses.  This area is inhabited (population 47) by the Gullah-Geeche community.  Descendants of enslaved Africans in Georgia’s low-county, this community has developed a culture and language that is rich with their roots and blended with the creole languages associated with Barbadoes, Jamaica, Trinidad, Bermuda,  and Belize as well as the Krio languages of Sierra Leone of West Africa.  During the Civil War, the Union rushed the blockades of the Confederates.  Many plantations owners fled to the mainland and only the Gullah remained — eager for freedom and eager to defend it.  So they joined the Union army and some were even depicted in the movie “Glory” as part of the 54 Massachusetts Infantry Regiment under Robert Shaw.

One of the most fun road-side attractions is — wait for it!! — South of the Border in, of all places, South Carolina.  You can tell from miles and miles away that you will soon be seeing that huge sombrero in the sky!  We stopped there only once during our many trips … and I fell in love with it (and that’s no bool!! — LOL!!!)  It is  a kitschy little place loaded with tons of souvenir shops and restaurants.  One of the best ever tourist traps in the United States, it began in 1949 as a beer stand right next to Robeson County, which was a “dry” county at the time.  With business booming, Alan Shafer, founder, began expanding his business with little Mexican trinkets.  Growing and growing, South of the Border now features fireworks for purchase, a couple of motels, lots of eateries, playgrounds and various other amusements.  One of the many highway signs along I-95 usually state of humourous play on words. Hmmmm .. this sounds like a “road trip” to me!!

 

 

So, you see, kiddies — put down tie iPads, stop watching that DVD, and check out all the fun, exciting and VERY unique visions right outside your car window.  Get a taste of American travels, wonder at the origins of places like Ft. Morris Historical Park, marvel at the incredible engineering of the Chesapeake Bay Bridge/Tunnel.  You will be sooooo amazed!!!

SOAKING IT UP …. from the Porch

SOAKING IT UP …. from the Porch.

SOAKING IT UP …. from the Porch

So, I’ve been spending a little time in the Sunshine State — thawing out while soaking up rays, spending a little time at baseball’s spring training, seeing some family, having some visitors.  It’s been quite a beautiful time for me with the most stressful decision I have to make is “which bathing suit should I wear today”.

Most of my friends and family know that I can’t seem to find my way out of a window envelope, so I’ve acquired some idiot proof directions to find my way around this new little world we are creating for ourselves.  While my husband drives, though, I find my eyes wandering out the side window views when I should be paying attention …. the downfall of “going for a ride”.

I remember the very first time I saw this  stuff hanging from the trees and wondered what it was.  I was in Charleston, SC, at the time — visiting a friend of a friend.  I was totally fascinated with these ZZ-Tops kinda wispy thingys and thought that they were so pretty — so gentile — so southern.  I was told that it is called “Spanish Moss”, a flowering plant that grows on large trees like the Southern Live Oak.  We have tons of these trees in front of our condo — and some of them do bear equally tons of this beard lichen.  The plant is closely associated with southern gothic imagery and is prolific in our southern states since it just loves the humid environment.  In the late 19th century, the moss was even introduced to Hawaii, where it quickly became a product used in lei weaving.  As an ornamental flowering plant, it is also referred to as Peli’s Hair, after the ancient volcano goddess, Peli (if you ever go to Hawaii, leave all of the lava rocks there … Peli doesn’t like it to be removed from her realm).

While Spanish Moss rarely kills the host trees, it does slow the growth and also increases wind resistance (not a good thing during hurricane season, right?).  The moss also plays hosts to some critters — who woulda’ thought that?? — like a jumping spider, red chiggers, and even small bat thingys — eeewwwww!!!  Spanish Moss is used in many ways other than to dazzle the eye as it sways in the warm tropical breezes.  It has been used as building insulation, mulch, and packing material.  It is collected today for use in various arts and crafts projects and bedding for flower gardens.  It has also been used as stuffing for voodoo dolls — like the bugs and spiders aren’t enough eewwww-iness — :).  In the 1900’s, it was used as padding for car seats and way back in 1939, over 10,000 tons of it was processed for use in as stuffing for mattresses.

Another really cool — but sometimes dangerous thing — that I’ve seen in the area are waterspouts.  These are pretty awesome to watch, unless of course, you are parasailing and one happens to chase you and the boat into shore.  I have actually seen that happen at Sheppard’s on the beach in Clearwater.  We were having a birthday celebration a few years back for Luscious Leo when all of a sudden I heard a bunch of people shouting, “Look at that!”  At first, I didn’t see what they were talking about.  The day was overcast and the sky was full of heavy, low-hanging clouds.  But then there was a slight that just made my blood run cold.  Here was a boat going hell-bent for election across the water as the crew was frantically reeling in a para-sailer — with the water-spout right on their tail!!  I was so caught up in the drama and excitement of the moment, I don’t remember if I snapped a photo or not. But I did manage to see a photo of a rather huge spout over the Baybridge last spring — and it is pretty impressive.

During our travels here — and with the directional assistance of David and Marlene — I discovered a sweet little place that I’ve visited on many occasions.  It’s the Tarpon Springs sponge docks .. an avenue that is filled on both sides of the street with little shops and restaurants.  It is actually a Greek village and they specialized in sponge fishing.  When our youngest son and his family spent vacation time with us, we went to Tarpon Springs for a day of shopping, sight-seeing, and eating.  We went on a little cruise and were rewarded with sights of amazing boats along with sea birds and — my favorite — dolphins frolicking in our wake.  Just recently, we went back to the village with friends who were visiting to escape the frozen tundra of New Jersey. Lynn and Greg so enjoyed the day that they couldn’t stop talking about it — the boats, the shopping, the totally fun atmosphere of the place.  It sounds like this will be a repeat on their next visit — 🙂

I’ve learned over the years that Tarpon Springs is not just a pretty face.  The village has the highest population of Greek Americans in the entire United States — as if evidenced by the numerous restaurants along the way.  My very favorite is Hellas — and their oh, so yummy lemon/chicken soup — 🙂  The area began as a summer vacation spot — and the first visitors spotted tarpon jumping out of the waters, hence the name of Tarpon Springs.

The first Greek immigrants began arriving in the 1800’s in response to a growing sponge fishing industry.  Many worked as divers to harvest the sponges for sale.  By 1905, newer techniques for diving were introduced and many divers from Greece were actively recruited.  By the 1930’s, the industry was generating millions of dollars a year.  In 1953, a movie which depicted sponge divers was made in Tarpon Springs called “Beneath the 12-mile Reef” and starred a very young Robert Wagner (who we now affectionately know as Mr. Dinozza).

In 1947, a red tide wiped out the sponge beds.  The village turned to shrimp fishing — and fishing for dollars as well by turning the main street in a new tourist attraction. Today, the sponge docks themselves are loaded with shops.  Most of the sponges there are imported, but you can still get “fresh caught” sponges in certain areas of the docks.  I bought a couple home as gifts one year to a few of my girlfriends and they couldn’t love them enough!  This past Christmas, I gave Lynn not only sponges — but sponges with fragrant bar soaps attached (LOVE Lori’s!)

Tarpon Springs is known for its very elaborate religious celebrations.  These are hosted by St. Nicholas Greek Orthodox Church.  As part of the January 6th Epiphany, the celebrations include the blessing of the boats, the waters, and also youth who dive in search of a cross.  In 2006, the 100th anniversary of the Tarpon Springs celebrations, Bartholomew, the Patriarch of Constantinople (considered “first among equals”) presided over the ceremonies that day.  It was one of the very few visits to the United States by an Ecumenical Patriarch.

After spending the day in Tarpon Springs, we headed back home to our little southern palace.  Off came the shoes, out came the frozen cocktails, and we settled in to just chill for a few hours.  We had made plans to go to Columbia — and most awesome eatery on Sand Key right near Clearwater Beach for dinner.  This great restaurant is famous for its 1905 salad.  What??? A salad???  Well, you’ve gotta taste this to believe it!  The secret is in the dressing — and there are so many layers of flavors: garlic, lemon, worcestershire sauce, olives!! — your taste buds truly do the happy dance while eating this great salad — 🙂

I’ve spent a lot of time just soaking up our new area .. the baseball, the weather, the flora and fauna and sharing it with good friends and family — and you know what? Life IS good — 🙂

Lynn and Greg — 1st game of Spring Training — Phillies

Our wonderful waiter at Columbia, creating our 1905 salad — yum!

In memory of the sponge divers of Tarpon Springs