We're in Kingman Arizona for the night. One more day and we'll be home but I'm really missing Florida. I miss Alligator Creek, the little house and the pineapple palms and I miss Frida Kahlo the squirrel and her friends. I miss all the critters who sing in the night. I miss the egrets and ibises. I miss the congregations of little plovers scurrying in and out with the waves. I miss watching the squadrons of venerable pelicans pass overhead, wings outstretched, gliding the thermals like ancient gods. I miss the Great Blue Heron who likes to people watch at the beach. I miss the friends we discovered there. I miss the gulf.
I am reading 'Love in the Time of Cholera' by Gabriel García Márque as we drive across the country.
When we were in Dallas the other day we ate dinner at Kalachandji's, the very excellent vegetarian restaurant at the Hare Krishna temple. I lived at that temple many years ago.
Must sleep now. We have to drive through rush hour in Las Vegas tomorrow morning.
Language itself is a barrier.
02/09/2011
29/08/2011
Frida Kahlo the Squirrel RIP
This is a post I did not want to write. I've been putting if off for weeks as though writing it would make it so. But we're leaving Florida in the morning and heading back to Nevada so it's time to wrap things up around here.
I am very sad to report that Frida Kahlo the squirrel is MIA and almost certainly dead. And I'm feeling pretty guilty because I played a part. I've been feeding a lot of squirrels and birds all summer and, of course, the inevitable happened. A hawk noticed and started hanging around. Then Frida vanished.
She's gone. It's been weeks. We both really miss her and feel the great big empty place she left behind. That probably sounds odd. After all, what kind of relationship can you have with a squirrel? But we got really attached to her. Frida had moxie. I'm embarrassed to use that word, it's corny, but it fits her. Every morning, while the other squirrels were busy chasing each other around the yard arguing over who could have a peanut, Frida was busy licking then stashing all the peanuts, one by one, into separate hiding places.
And when I threw peanuts down from the balcony, all the squirrels took off except Frida. She'd look me in the eye, cup her hands and wait for the toss.
Then, once everything was done and tucked away, she'd scamper up into her pineapple palm to savor a peanut in peace. No one dared approach her in her tree. Frida Kahlo the squirrel was like Frida Kahlo the painter... as they say... una perra nacida... born a bitch.
That tree was hers and hers alone, and even though she's gone, it's still empty.
That is except recently one morning. M. Lee call me to come quick to the window, that the ghost of Frida Kahlo had come back to say goodbye. It looked like her. It felt like her. And no, we haven't seen her since but I get the feeling that, wherever she is, Frida Kahlo is doing just fine.
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| Frida stashing a nut |
I am very sad to report that Frida Kahlo the squirrel is MIA and almost certainly dead. And I'm feeling pretty guilty because I played a part. I've been feeding a lot of squirrels and birds all summer and, of course, the inevitable happened. A hawk noticed and started hanging around. Then Frida vanished.
 |
| Frida stashing a nut |
She's gone. It's been weeks. We both really miss her and feel the great big empty place she left behind. That probably sounds odd. After all, what kind of relationship can you have with a squirrel? But we got really attached to her. Frida had moxie. I'm embarrassed to use that word, it's corny, but it fits her. Every morning, while the other squirrels were busy chasing each other around the yard arguing over who could have a peanut, Frida was busy licking then stashing all the peanuts, one by one, into separate hiding places.
 |
| Frida enjoying a morning peanut. |
And when I threw peanuts down from the balcony, all the squirrels took off except Frida. She'd look me in the eye, cup her hands and wait for the toss.
 |
| Frida ascends her pineapple palm. |
Then, once everything was done and tucked away, she'd scamper up into her pineapple palm to savor a peanut in peace. No one dared approach her in her tree. Frida Kahlo the squirrel was like Frida Kahlo the painter... as they say... una perra nacida... born a bitch.
 |
| Frida Kahlo savoring a peanut in her favorite pineapple palm tree |
That tree was hers and hers alone, and even though she's gone, it's still empty.
 |
| Ghost of Frida Kahlo visiting us. |
That is except recently one morning. M. Lee call me to come quick to the window, that the ghost of Frida Kahlo had come back to say goodbye. It looked like her. It felt like her. And no, we haven't seen her since but I get the feeling that, wherever she is, Frida Kahlo is doing just fine.
26/08/2011
Pelican's morning at the jetty
We biked to the south jetty in Venice the other day. It's about 20 miles round-trip from where we're staying.
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| Mother Pelican at the jetty |
Lucky us! A mother pelican and her baby
also decided to spend the morning at the jetty.
also decided to spend the morning at the jetty.
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| Mother Pelican and her baby |
She sunned herself on the rocks as Baby P.
paddled around in the water in front of her.
paddled around in the water in front of her.
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| Pelican Baby |
He still had that fuzzy baby look and was a total darling.
This is first time I've seen a baby pelican up close...
This is first time I've seen a baby pelican up close...
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| Mother Pelican watching her baby |
...and the first time I've ever had a good look at a pelican's feet.
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| Mother Pelican's beautiful toenails |
They are huge and rubbery flippery silvery blue.
And they have toenails, amazing toenails!
I did not know that pelicans had toenails...
...and such very cool toenails at that!
And they have toenails, amazing toenails!
I did not know that pelicans had toenails...
...and such very cool toenails at that!
On second thought.... those "toenails are probably considered claws, bird claws, she says blushing.
19/08/2011
Local News at 20:27 hours
Our time in Florida is running out. Everything feels different. I don't want to go but I am detaching in spite of myself. In fact, with all the travel we have been doing the last few years, detachment itself is becoming the normal mode. It's appropriate at this point in my life. I don't love less but with fewer conditions.
15/08/2011
Between worlds
Time to slap a new post on top of this wobbly pyramid of words.
In two weeks we begin our cross-country drive back to the west coast but I am really going to miss this place..
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| Birds at the jetty |
In two weeks we begin our cross-country drive back to the west coast but I am really going to miss this place..
09/08/2011
Jersey Shore 1904
Atlantic City, circa 1900. Swimsuits were either flannel, serge or Alpaca, went from head to toe, included vest and collar plus skirts for the women topped off with modest caps.
Even though we saw topless women on Miami Beach the other day, and even though no one seemed to mind or, for that matter even notice, the crowd still reminded me of the subdued, modest bathers from more puritanical times. I think it was the general disconnect people seemed to have regarding the environment itself as though being in a crowd offered protection from the power and uncertainties of Nature. Like I said before, creepy.
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| And in case you are wondering.... yes. The women are wearing swimming corsets under their suits. |
Source: Shorpy
Even though we saw topless women on Miami Beach the other day, and even though no one seemed to mind or, for that matter even notice, the crowd still reminded me of the subdued, modest bathers from more puritanical times. I think it was the general disconnect people seemed to have regarding the environment itself as though being in a crowd offered protection from the power and uncertainties of Nature. Like I said before, creepy.
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