Half a continent

I am back in the North. An uneventful flight into a very snowy Minnesota ended on time with a fairly smooth landing. The last sunset in Florida is a stunning contrast to what awaited me in my beloved home state.


Herb picked me up and we drove home on unplowed Saintly City streets. The van in front of us on the Lexington hill fishtailed incessantly and nearly failed the climb. Herb's green machine was easily equal to the task, however. We stopped on Linwood because a young lady in a Mazda was stuck in the middle of the street. We pushed her out to get her home a block away as she cursed the day she bought that car. It had no traction in the snow.

Then we came home and shoveled the several inches (WCCO says 7.2 inches of snowy loveliness in St Paul) of new snow off the apron behind the garage and the sidewalks around the house - in the dark. I enclose a photo as contrast to the Florida scene a day earlier.



Home at last.

The Yogi is me

It was 35 degrees this morning in southwest Florida, a record low for the day in Port Charlotte, but by this evening we had warmed to 75 degrees. It was a nice enough day to picnic in the park, engage in raucous singing, and to take a short bike ride around the waterways. Santini is pictured below in front of her hacienda just prior to the ride, wearing appropriate riding apparel. The gale force winds of previous rides had abated and it was a pleasant seven and a half miles.


We've been dining at a small Greek restaurant, Olympia, not far from here. I've been feasting on their assortment of local fish dishes - grouper and tilapia. The food is good and their Greek salad with feta cheese never fails to please. John and Santini seems to have become regulars there and I am happy to join them for the vittles.

Tomorrow, I'm off to play some clay court tennis in Spring Hill with Paul Bouchard, my high school tennis coach. The geezers we beat last year want a rematch. To be fair, the tennis was very good, the matches close, and the guys were warm and friendly, at least after we left the courts. I look forward to smacking some forehands and some friendly competition.

Another beautiful day in southwest Florida.

Ninety-nine Today

A ninety-ninth birthday story.

He drove me to St Paul one day in the early fall of 1961. We were alone for one of the few times in our lives. We stopped and had a hamburger in that small town, I think it was Kettle River, that had what we thought were the greatest burgers in Minnesota. We didn't talk very much, but I'm sure he gave me some advice that I have since forgotten. It was my first trip to St Paul and to Hamline, where I was to spend the next four years - a place that changed my life. I think that he knew that I was gone for good - that I'd never really live at home again. He helped me to carry my few belongings to the dorm room that I was to share with a complete stranger. He stayed a few minutes to say goodbye and then, with a long drive home in front of him, left me to begin my new existence. I guess that he knew that I would be okay, and that he had other responsibilities at home. He had to "hold the nozzle agin the bank" for a while yet.

You can't ever forget your father. It is all right to forgive him.

"Another gorgeous day here in southwest Florida." - WINK news reader.