December on the Bench

Here is a lost posting, I found in my files.  It was written on December 19th.

December on the Bench

The Pondit is alive!  It is almost noon on a sunny but brisk December afternoon.  The breeze is coming in from the west –- unfortunately that means it is blowing into my face – and the keyboard of my MacBook Pro is more than a tad chilly.  The sound of The Doors singing “LA Woma”n is the only thing besides my fleece jacket that is keeping me warm.  Tomorrow the Christmas tree is purchased, erected and decorated with the help of family and friends. Although it might appear that The Pondit is hunkering down for a frigid New York winter; that is far from his reality.  On January 9^th The Pondit and his beautiful bride board the AutoTrain outside of our nation’s capitol and head on down to warm and sunny Naples, Florida to spend four months on the Gulf of Mexico making sand castles instead of snowmen.  Although I am a firm believer in global warming and even the controversial and yet to be proven theory of evolution, waiting for tropical winters in Westchester New York is out of my frame of reference.  I will finish The Briefcase drinking rum and cokes and gazing northward toward Sanibel Island on our lanai in Naples.  How appropriate, The Doors have morphed into Sailing sung by my brother, Russell, on my iPhone.

I have to confess that I always thought escaping to Florida was for the weak of heart and that real New Yorkers enjoyed the challenges of winter weather.  Well I was living a delusion!  How did I equate ice fishing with surf casting, snowshoeing with winter golf, sidewalk dining with soup and hot chocolate aimed at warming my insides. Wearing silk underwear instead of Tommy Bahama shirts and flip flops?  What was I thinking!  I will attempt to maintain my dignity this winter.  I will avoid the temptation of the early bird special and refrain from joining a game of Florida “lob” tennis.  There will be no pink flamingos on the lanai.  I will drive at or over the speed limit and limit Kmart visits to no more than once a week.  I will not purchase and wear wrap around sun glasses and will continue doing the NYT daily crossword puzzle instead of the daily word search game in the local Naples paper. If available, I will support the Occupy Naples Movement when and if it ever comes to be.

It is too cold to write more.

Alive and Kicking (Paddling)

I have taken quite a hiatus from my blogging responsibilities.  Apparently, I am a cold weather blogger.  Barbara and I just returned from a week on the sunny Gulf Coast of Florida.  We stayed in Bonita Springs but visited Naples, Boca Raton and Coral Springs.  We got to play two enjoyable rounds of golf in 80 degrees weather and took the resort launch out to a private beach area to catch some refreshing gulf breezes, lounge in the sand and swim in the medicinal salt water.  We visited with both Barbara’s brother’s family and my brother’s family.  The family visits were the highlight of the trip.  We actually spent an afternoon looking at condo open houses in the Park Shore region of northern Naples.  There is nothing like the first chill of New York air to spark the interest in finding a warm refuge from old man winter.

A cool and windy afternoon a few days prior to leaving for Florida, The Pondit grabbed his fishing gear and headed off to take a rowboat our on choppy Dickerson Pond.  The pond had seen several days of morning frost and I judged this might be the last chance to fish this year.  Rains earlier in the week had filled our fleet of wide bottomed aluminum rows boats with about twenty gallons of water.  I had nothing with me to bail out our reliable behemoths.  I did spot our Grumman aluminum canoe that was also inundated.  It however could be lifted up on the dock and tipped over to separate the canoe from it unwanted cargo of rainwater.  I accomplished this in minutes.  I snatched a paddle and one floatation cushion and headed out to troll the pond.  Handling the canoe solo sitting in the rear seat on a windy day while watching your fishing line was a challenge.  Every time I hooked a perch and needed to reel him (her) in and dislodge the hook, the canoe would be somewhere I didn’t want it to be – usually tangled in beaver fallen tree limbs on the shore of the pond.  As I reached the far end of the pond – the far end of any pond or lake is the place you are mysteriously attracted to, but is as far away from where you eventually need to be as humanly or nautically possible.

Here as the sun was beginning to set, the forty-two degree temperature winds began to stiffen.  I was having trouble keeping the bow of the canoe pointed into the wind.  As I tried once again to swiftly paddle the boat to turn windward a gust of wind raised the bow and within seconds the canoe’s only passenger was adrift in Dickerson Pond.  I quickly assessed my fate.  I was sopping wet but uninjured.  The canoe was totally awash with only the tips of each end out of the water and I hanging onto one edge of the vessel.  The paddle was still in my one hand but the seat cushion floatation devise was now about ten feet away and moving southward in the wind.  My fishing pole was gone, but the vinyl tackle box was floating within the confines of the canoe frame.  My fishing net was drifting nearby between the seat cushion and me.  Did I mention that the water was damn cold!

The nearest shore point was about 100 yards to the west and although Dickerson Pond is not a deep body of water, I was not able to reach the pond bottom with my sneakered feet.  I was wearing jeans and a fleece jacket at the time.  My first morbid thoughts were of hypothermia.  I did mention that the water was damn cold!  My next thought was that nobody knew I was out fishing and there would be no people who would notice or hear me in this corner of the pond.  I decided that the seat cushion would be more important to me than the swamped canoe.  I let go of the canoe in order to swim the relatively short distance to the drifting seat cushion.  As I let go of the canoe and tried to raise my feet to get into a swimming posture, all I did was start to sink below the surface of the pond.  With my jeans, fleece jacket and sneakers, I was basically a lead sinker.  I reattached myself to the rim of the canoe and tried to use the paddle to reach the seat cushion.  There is probably a physics law – Heinrich’s Arm Stretch Law - to explain this, but the four-foot long paddle and my five-foot reach did not allow me to snag the cushion that was now at least twelve feet from the canoe.  My next brilliant Idea was to try and kneel inside the swamped canoe.  Again turning to the laws of physics, there must be a theoretical place you can place your knees in a swamped canoe and not actually tip the canoe over in the water.  If you find that exact swamp you must remain totally motionless.  Two realizations became evident:  first, I was not going to find that magical spot and, second, if I did, then remaining motionless forever was not going to help my situation.  I quickly abandoned this tactic and tried to lay semi-diagonally across the beam of the submerged edges of the canoe.  I was able to do this and keep the swamped canoe steady.  I looked over my right shoulder and watched as my vinyl tackle box drifted slowly away from the canoe.  I wondered how long it would stay floating? 

About five to eight minutes had passed and I had accomplished very little.  I lost my seat cushion and my tackle box.  I was getting colder by the minute and the sun was continuing to set.  Although my seat cushion, net and tackle box were being blown to the wind to the shore at the south end of the cove, the heavy swamped canoe and its soggy passenger were merely inching along. My ETA for windblown landfall was about twelve hours.  I needed a plan, even a bad plan.  If I moved further across the rims of the canoe with one side across my mid thighs and the other at my chest, I could actually move my arms a bit.  Choking up on the paddle handle, I could gently, ever so gently, make a small, shallow padding action using only my wrists.  Whenever I tried to increase my stroke, my upper body tilted into the water and I feared the canoe would tip over.  I did not want to try to use an upside down canoe to use as a floatation device!  Did I mention the water was damn cold?

After about twenty-five to thirty minutes of mini-paddle stokes my craft and I were reaching the shoreline.  Of course, I came to shoe amid another tangle of beaver induced fallen tree branches.  After two failed attempts to sidle off the top to the canoe and stand in the water (even ten feet from the shore I could not reach the bottom of the pond – perhaps my legs had shrunk), I was standing in the primal ooze of the pond bottom.  Crawling onto the shore, I took stock of my situation.  First I was not injured or shivering.  Those were good signs.  I removed my fleece jacket.  This was something I should have done about three minutes after falling into the water.  I checked my brand new iPhone to see if it was operational – NOOO.  I realized that my dickersonpondit.com baseball cap and my glasses were still on my head.  In fact I had on my sunglasses and soon realized it was not nearly as dark as I thought it was!  The canoe was not going anywhere.  I started walking toward the trail that encircles the lake carrying my fleece jacket in my hands.  I now realized that not only was the water pretty damn cold, but walking in the woods sopping wet in the wind was also on the cool side.

I walked briskly hoping the pace would warm my up.  In another twenty minutes I was opening the front door to my condo.  Stripping out of my wet clothing, I headed straight to the bathroom to run a hot bath.  It was a good bath!  I did notice that the clear water was turning slightly green as I lay soaking.  I was sporting a couple of black and blue marks from where I was laying of the rimes of the canoe, but all-in-all, I was feeling OK.  I put on warm, dry clothes and hung my fishing wardrobe to dry in the laundry room.  Tomorrow I would head out to rescue the canoe and try and recover my tackle box.  Some people never learn.

The Girl from Marine Park and the Boy from Highbridge on the Riviera

The Village of Eze

The Pondit has been preoccupied these past few weeks.  Getting to the computer to turn his thoughts into computerized words has not been a priority.  This morning I find my self twixt the Mediterranean and Adriatic Seas.  Looking up from my laptop I see only sea – waves and a few white caps and eventually the endless line of horizon between the deep blue water and the azure sky.  The waves are rising up the hull of the ship as the Silver Wind spends a day at see traveling between her last port of call in Taormina, Sicily onto the island of Korcula, Croatia.

Barbara and I are on our honeymoon.  It started with two glorious days in Eze, France.  We stayed in the Château de la Chèvré D’Or in old Eze village.  This hotel is in a part of the city where there are no cars or trucks.  The village is situated on a mountaintop high above the French Rivera coast between Nice and Monaco.  We spent every minute of these two days within the village.  We did walk around the town, or better put, up and down the town.  




Our room, like most of the hotel room was remote to the common service areas of the hotel.  Room 34 was up some steps, always steps, and around the corner from the reception and the restaurant area.  Our balcony overlooked the bar and fountain area and had a breathtaking view of the Rivera coast a good 1,200 feet below us.  Breakfast on the balcony was a treat both days we spent in Eze.  The meals at the hotel were some of the best we have ever eaten.  Those French know how to throw some grub together.

Unfortunately we did need to leave this fairytale setting to head to Monaco to meet our cruise ship.  That trip was only six kilometers.  Arriving at the port, we easily got settled in our room on the Silver Wind.  We caught a taxi to head into the city to do some emergency shopping.  Due to a poor choice of electrical converters, Barbara’s usually tame hair curler transformed into an inferno powered hair burner (Her hair was actually fused to the curling iron!).  Although both her head and the device seemed to recover from the incident, the curling iron was no longer to be trusted. It is now locked inside our room safe on the Silver Wind. An attempt to find a curling iron in Eze was like trying to find a glass of water in an Irish pub.  The taxi dropped us off several blocks from the very upscale Metropole Shopping Plaza near the casino in Monaco.  By the way, everything is upscale in Monaco.  We did find a device that was a distant cousin to a curling iron that was very accustomed to using 220 volts of power.  This ten dollar hand held electrical device found in most Duane Reade drug stores in Manhattan cost seventy-eight Euros in Monaco.

Well Monaco is a very crowded city that is build straight up a mountain.  The narrow roads wind back and forth with no apparent plan as to their location, width or direction. We waited at two cabstands where empty cabs just drove on by.  We called the number our portside taxi driver gave us to use to request a return trip.  The number did connect us to a recording announcing there were no cabs available.  The late afternoon sun bounced off the heat saturated pavement and buildings while Barbara and I trekked back the two miles to the dock and our ship.  Apparently the only reliable transport in Monaco is a chauffer driven Bentley or Mercedes coupe.

But one bad incident does not ruin a wonderful start of our cruise around Italy.  I will try to find some time to chronicle each of our stops and include some photographs of the voyage. The Internet connection on the ship is quite slow and adding photos to the posting is beyond tedious.

The Briefcase, Chapter 89

May I be thunderstruck!  Almost two years ago the Pondit added a post to this blog on the subject of his frustration with a fickle aberration of nature, the trumpet vine.  In that post (http://dickersonpondit.blogspot.com/2008/08/strumpet-vines.html ) I lamented that it had been five years since I planted two of the vines near my patio area and was still waiting for the first flower to appear on these rapidly growing plants.  I vowed to burn the vines in the fall of 2008 if they did not yield a flower that summer.  Alas, it was just a paper threat.  I waited all summer of 2009 and now have given up hope for 2010 since I have seen other trumpet vines in the area with flowers from the end of June.  What do I do?  I feel as badly as Patty Finnegan:  see chapter 89 below.

Lo and behold!

Here is a link to the first chapter of The Briefcase posted on my blog:

[ http://dickersonpondit.blogspot.com/2009/08/author-author.html ]

Chapter 89

Patty Finnegan was devastated.  It was now an hour and a half after his call with Janet Grissom and Bob Walsh.  Patty was sitting in a darkened bar about six blocks from the DEA office.  He was staring into a shot of Jameson trying to unravel the events of the past several months.  What was most baffling in this case were the number of leads the DEA had and the fact that almost all of them lead to nowhere.  In fact, following what ended up as blind leads, consumed most to the energy expended on the case.  Patty was not in all his faculties and he realized this.  But in the back of his mind he wished he could take large model of the tracking transmitter and shove it where the sun doesn’t shine in the anatomy of the entire DEA technical team.  How many hours did he and his team spend tracking that transmitter just to have it stop its signal just when it was most needed?  It was like the devil himself was turning it on and off.

Patty ordered another shot of Irish whiskey and then let his mind drift off to Connecticut.  What in the world did Anthony Costanzo and the Mafia have to do with this case?  Sure there were marked bills found in Mystic and at the Foxwoods but did that trail actually lead back to Miguel Rivera?  And he was totally perplexed by Ernesto and Pablo; all that time in the tomato fields of Immokalee and not a “marked” dollar to show for it?  Why were they hiding from Miguel, if they did not have the money? 

These were baffling events but not nearly as eerie as what happened in Santa Anita – one million dollars of DEA money winding up at the race track during the Breeder’s Cup.  How did the money get there?  Who brought the money there?  And what was the purpose of wagering that money at the racetrack?  Although still convinced that there was some inside hanky-panky going on at the track that day, the chances of uncovering that connection was getting slimmer and slimmer.  What seems so obvious and neatly packaged had completely unraveled for Patty and his team.  Life wasn’t fair and the Jameson was helping him confirm that observation.

Patty ordered another Jameson with a Smithwick’s chaser.  He now had to make a career decision.  He knew he could not let this case just drop.  In fact, he could not even imagine how easily Janet Grissom was letting this go.  That woman did not have a heart.  No wonder she had earned the nickname, the Ice Queen.  But Patty was very aware that Janet would be watching him.  She knew as well as anyone that this case was under Patty’s skin.  He had to be careful if he wanted to continue on the case.  He did want to do that.  He had no choice. He had to continue.  He decided to dedicate his Saturday mornings to the case.  He would not involve anyone else at the agency.  He pushed away the last half of his ale.  He realized he had only the rest of the day to work on the case in an official manner and knew he had to make some requests for information that would be consuming his next several Saturday mornings.

Turning to the bartender, Patty asked, “Sean, can you get me a cheese sandwich and a large mug of black coffee?”

Sean turned toward Patty, “It is about time.  I thought you were going to drown in your whiskey.  I guess I do not have to ask how things are going at work.”  Sean chucked and walked off toward the kitchen area.  In the morning, He was both bartender and cook.

Reaching inside his jacket pocket for his notebook and pen, Patty started yet another list:

•       Copy of betting records at Santa Anita
•       Copies of video of counting area in the betting pit
•       Copies of videos of at least two of the betting windows at the track
•       Log of all times the briefcase transmitter was active
•       Copies of the videos with Anthony Costanzo at Foxwoods

If he could get these copies today, he will be able to review this evidence outside the prying eyes of Janet Grissom.  They had to have missed something that was in these pieces of evidence.  Patty was also considering some field trips he might take.  One would be to the Grand Caymans to check out those private banks.  Another trip might be to confront Miguel Rivera in Cali.  Obviously this last idea was either desperation or the Jameson doing the talking.  Visiting Cali would be a suicide mission and not a side trip!  Whatever, but Patty knew that Miguel Rivera would know his name before long.  No one kills one of Patty’s agents, steals his money and gets away with it.

Patty ate his sandwich and had two mugs of coffee.  One long visit to the men’s room and he was headed back to his office with his list in his pocket. 

Where the Hell is Nevis?

I am somewhere east of Puerto Rico and west of Casablanca. The island of Nevis is only a short boat ride from the southern point of St. Kitts and is a fairly round dot in the middle of the Caribbean. The center of the island is dominated by a dormant volcano that is over 3,200 feet high. I am staying at the rather comfortable Montpelier Plantation Inn on the low hills south of the volcano. This has been a dry February for Nevis. The cold air up in the United States is keeping warm tropical air trapped to the south. This posting is emanating from poolside – a rather inactive poolside where my fingers typing away seem to be the only human activity except for some occasional breathing by several other guests. Most of the guests are from the United Kingdom. Nevis/St. Kitts is still a Commonwealth country loyal to Queen Elizabeth (but I am not certain they know that this is Queen Elizabeth the second!).

Getting here from New York City last week was a bit of a challenge. Originally we were scheduled on an early morning flight Friday to San Juan and then an afternoon connecting flight to St. Kitts. It is very hard to find flights to Nevis although they do have a small airport. The weather predictions in New York led us to change our outbound San Juan flight to Thursday afternoon. That we did but our three and one-half hour flight took us over seven hours to complete. We spend at much time on the runway at JFK then we did in the friendly skies. We stayed in San Juan and caught our scheduled Friday flight to St. Kitts. The trip after deplaning is more of a logistical challenge. The airport is about ten minutes from the capital of St. Kitts where there is a twice a day ferry to Nevis but it is about thirty mountainous miles to the beach on the south end of St. Kitts where you can arrange for a water taxi to take you to a beach on Nevis. That was our choice. Michael, out cab driver met us outside customs at the airport. With hardly a word he took us over the winding coast road to a dirt path that led to a short dock in the middle of nowhere. In front of us was a dive boat moored at the pier. There were people on the beach enjoying the sunny weather. Looking out we could see Nevis just a short boat ride away. After dragging our five bags through the sand to the dock, we boarded the rather large dive boat. We were handed two Carib beers and were glad to be sitting down with Nevis in sight. We waited about twenty minutes and were into our second bottles of beer when four young day trippers joined us for the ride across the channel.

We docked in Nevis and paid the boat operator $80 and tipped the crew. Our prearranged cab driver was waiting for us as we disembarked. She was anything but quiet, a feisty Brit fro Yorkshire who has been on the island for eighteen years. The ride to our inn was about twenty minutes with each turn off the highway leading to roads of less and less attention. The final two miles were two parallel strips of concrete with a grassy path in the center. Mind you this was still considered a two way road and we did encounter a truck coming at us from the opposite direction. We made it to the hotel; then we settled into our gorgeous room and were able to make cocktail hour -- a Pernod for me and chardonnay for Barbara -- before moving out to the west terrace overlooking Charlestown for a scrumptious dinner.

I have added some pictures and will continue our vacation saga in another posting.

Here is Nevis from the southmost point of St. Kitts.  Those are clouds and not fumes on the top of the volcano!

Living full time in Nevis is a real temptation.  Life is soft and easy.

Nevis has been waitng for years for a visitor of distinction.  Little do they know he is on his way.

This is a great shot of Barbara!  Our taxi is visible in the distant.  If there was a road to the beach, that would also be in the picture.  We arrived on a goat path.

Off on our voyage to paradise.  The background scenery was included in the fare.

This is our water taxi crew.  One of them is supposed to be steering the boat!

A view from the field just west of our room's porch.

Same area looking north toward the volcano.

The reknowned croquet courts at the Montpelier Plantation Inn.  This is the site of the 1824 Commonwealth Croquet tournament.

The Dickersonpondit hard at work creating a literary feast for his followers.

Florida Trip 2010: Naples

At last, civilization: I am now visiting Naples, Florida. Traffic is adequate but not stifling, weather is peaceful and calm, New York Times is available in the 7-11, the beach is almost empty for a morning walk and parking is illegal or costly everywhere. Naples reminds me of midtown Manhattan (the NYT and parking only). I once again am staying with good friends, this time they are from Croton-on-Hudson, NY. I arrived mid-afternoon yesterday, spent an hour and a half on the beach about a mile from downtown Naples and after a wonderful dinner of fresh fish chowder headed off to the Universal Unitarian Church for the initial session of a weekly evening lecture series. The topic this week was the present state of politics in Iran, or the end of the Islamic Revolution given by an Iranian college professor teaching out of an Illinois university. He was interesting and there were over one hundred people in attendance. Bottom line: the current Iranian government is on the way out and almost powerless, religious influence on the state is in flux and decentralized through many minor ayatollahs, the drive toward modernization out trumps nationalism and Iran is not interested in nuclear weapons. These are the speaker's opinions. For me, "To shah or not to shah, that is the question."

I listened to the State of the Union address after the lecture. I had a very big issue or lack of one: I am retired and do not want a job. What is the federal government going to do for me? Perhaps I ought to think about starting a small business? It will be interesting to see if the trickle up economic model is any more successful than the trickle down economy was. As far as trickle down goes, I know Maxwell House coffee is good to the last drop, but I do not think I got any drop of the trickle down spoils.

This morning I was on the North Gulf Shore beach of Naples by seven o'clock. The sun was not quite up and the air was fresh and cool. I walked the beach for an hour and one-half. I collected about a dozen sand dollars and successfully exfoliated the bottoms of my feet. I am now five ounces lighter. After a shower and breakfast, my host and I headed to downtown Naples to walk out the fishing pier. Along the way we stopped at the old Naples train station and visited with an enthusiastic collection of Lionel model train buffs. They had an impressive display of model trains in the old station (see pictures below). This was truly childhood revisited for me.

After lunch we went to the Naples Nature Conservatory for a meaningful commune. We took an electric boat ride through the mangrove swamp and then watch the three o'clock feeding of a five month old loggerhead turtle. Talk about excitement! My heart rate was up to 58 beats per minute. Now it is time for pure relaxation at the pool at the edge of the local golf course. My Myers Rum and Coke is tasting mighty fine. By the way, how was the snow in New York this morning?

Here are a few pictures of the latest days of my Florida visit:

 

Home of the Lionel Train Club of Naples. 

Part of the layout of the model trains at the Naples Train Depot.

Notice the motor cycles at the model train layout.

The Naples City Fishing Pier.

Mangrove trees in the swamp behind the Naples Nature Conservatory.

Florida Trip 2010: Minigoldendoodles

I have spent my last couple of days in the city of Longwood which is about two thirds of the way between New Smyrna Beach and Orlando. This is an upscale are and located near several of Florida's fresh water springs. I am visiting a long time fraternity brother (Sigma Alpha Epsilon at Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute) along with another fraternity brother and his wife who live in Orange County, California. You cannot imagine the number of enhanced fraternal memories we have shared. It is amazing all three of us are all still alive and out of prison.

I have played golf two days in this part of central Florida and yesterday visited Blue Spring State Park near Orange City, Florida adjacent to the St. John's River. This fresh water spring pumps about 110,000,000 gallons of 73 degree water into the St. John's River each and every day. With the recent cold weather in Florida lowering the river temperature, manatees have congregated into the stream running from the spring into the river. We saw nearly thirty manatees warming up in the spring yesterday. These immense river slugs do very little. The main activity I saw was warming themselves in the spring waters and sunlight. I stood near the edge of the observation platform for twenty minutes with a wet herring in my mouth waiting for one of the manatees to jump up and grab the stinking fish. One did cruise over and pass gas right beneath me. I do not recommend one of these animals as a pet.

The spring runoff had water as clear as glass. You could see the many fish that took advantage of this stream of fresh water. There were also large turtles and a very large alligator in the waters. Swimming is permitted in the stream running from the spring to the river. There are, of course, signs asking people to leave the manatees alone and that there are alligators in the area that should be avoided. As I observed this signage, I came to realize why the population in Florida is primarily white English speaking Caucasians and Hispanic. The alligator warning signs were prominent and the warnings rather firm. The only two languages on the signs were English and Spanish. Imagine a new immigrant from Greece coming to the park on a warm day and thinking (in Greek), "What a nice day and a nice spot for a swim. Look at those large gray swimming mammals and the large swimming Geico gecko in the water. Let me jump in and frolic with the animals." That guy is alligator lunch in three minutes. I believe Florida alligators are killing off all the non-English or non-Spanish speaking immigrants that come to Florida. This could be an oversight by the Florida government officials or a hideous plot to control voting patterns in upcoming elections. I cannot make that call, but Florida voting results always seem to make national headlines.

Oh yes, minigoldendoodles. My hostess with the help and support of her family raises dogs. These dogs are crosses between golden retrievers and miniature poodles. Artificial insemination comes into play here for genetic reasons. (I believe the physical size limitation of the male minipoodle stud is also a factor – but I am no expert and the stud does have a four foot vertical jumping height.) The outcome of this comingling of breeds is wonderful dogs. Great temperament, reasonable size and above average intelligence combined with fur that actually stays on the dog and not your clothes and furniture is a big plus. Spending two days with five adult dogs in the house with two other mothers and their new liters in a warming bedroom was quite a treat and you could not find more affectionate dogs. Thank goodness all the puppies are spoken for! Check this web site out for more information and pictures:

http://www.springviewminigoldendoodles.com

Here are a few pictures of the latest days of my Florida visit:

Here is my aunt and uncles condo right on the beach at New Smyrna Beach.

 

Florida has this right. They are handling the "clunker" situation with the kind of vision you cannot expect from the federal government. They encourage people to park on the beach at low tide and six hours later at high tide the clunkers are on their way to the coast of Africa. Cost to we taxpayers, nada!

Here we are at Blue Spring State Park waiting to see the manatee tricks.

This is the only manatee that approached the herring I was holding in my mouth. One witness claims he jumped two millimeters toward the fish as he passed me. That would be a new manatee world record.

Here is the largest pod, flock, gaggle, pack, covey, herd assembly of manatees I will ever see. There must be thirty animals in this pod, flock, gaggle, pack, covey, herd assembly of manatees.

This is one of the signs Florida is using to control the number of non-English or non-Spanish speaking immigrants living in the state.

Thank goodness I chose a car and not a motorsycle for this three week trip to Florida.