Life in Turmoil

     I am heartbroken and my life is in turmoil. Gail received a letter today from Levy County; the hateful neighbor turned me in. I have 30 days to get my RV off her property. The Goose is not operational, and the man who is fixing it is side-lined after major surgery. Even if I could get a tow to the park, I can’t take six cats with me. After everything I have sacrificed for my fur babies, I may end up taking them to Levy County shelter if I can’t find homes for them. The shelter has an 80% kill rate, closer to 100% for cats. Again, I have to ask why the universe is punishing me for caring for these animals. Mercury went retrograde and took me with it.    

A New Chapter

     I left the park in September 2015. After exhausting attempts to find a no-kill shelter or adoptive homes for the cats (I even offered free litter, litter box, scoop and food), I was at the end of my rope when my friends Gail and her partner Glen offered to allow me to move my rig to outside their home in Rosewood, about six miles from the park. Nothing, of course, ever goes easily for me.

     First, I couldn’t catch Simon. Sylvia and the three kittens were in the RV, but Simon bolted every time I approached. I had to leave him behind for the moment.
     Then the Goose ran so well on the way out, even after being parked for three years, I was lulled into a false sense of security. I reached my destination, lined up to back up to the house, and the Goose would not run in reverse. Then, once I turned it off, it wouldn’t start. Two weeks and almost a thousand dollars later, the determination was made I needed a new transmission. Cost, with towing to the facility, $4,000 for a rebuilt transmission. I don’t have that kind of money, so I got a tow back into place.
     Simon was so happy to see me the next day he almost jumped into the carrier. I was told he sat on our site and squeaked in dismay all night. Once here, he disappeared for two days. I found him living under some brush near the edge of the property where he had been watching me searching for him. He came home and now lives under the RV and has adjusted well. He comes in and eats, and even stayed in all night a couple nights when it was really cold. He lets me rub his head and even purrs.  
     I had the gut feeling that something didn’t add up about the Goose. How could it run so well, shift seamlessly through all the gears up to the speed limit of 60, and then blow the transmission when I tried to back up? I asked the mechanical genius work camper Gene to take a look at it, just to determine if the transmission was really the problem. To my relief, it isn’t. It’s a fried cable and rusted emergency brake. Gene is currently in the process of repairing it, although he has had to take a hiatus while recovering from surgery.
     As I prepared to leave, Roberta offered me my job back for pay. Well, ten hours a week of it, anyway.
     The first of December I had stopped by the cafe to pick up salad I had ordered for a party. A group of people was gathered outside my friend John Martin’s RV. John had adopted one of the cats in the park, a male marked like a Holstein, which he named Cow. John had taught Cow to come when called, sit, stay, and shake hands. John had just been found dead in his RV. Cow came home with me, and four months later is still recovering. So now there are six cats.
     In February I was repairing a spot in the chain link fence where my cats had tunneled under (and Gail’s yorkie Bart had followed) with Cow by my side when I was approached by a neighbor brandishing a firearm.
     “That cat comes twenty feet closer and there will be one less cat in the neighborhood,” he said. I grabbed Cow and raced him to the RV, then attempted to go talk to the neighbor. He stopped me at the edge of his property.
     “There’s nothing to talk about,” he growled. Four days later I saw him stop on the road and take pictures of my RV. A search of the county statutes reveals I am not supposed to be living in the RV beyond 14 days. Gulp!  
     After consulting with my friend Dan Bates, I built a catio of pvc and deer netting, 8’ by 10’, with an opening from the front window of my RV via a dog door, down an enclosed ramp. Pvc is hard to work with, especially by myself. It flexed when I tried to measure it, so the structure is not exactly square, but it’s not a bad attempt. It’s not in use yet; I ran out of money for furnishing it. The neighbor seems to have settled down (I heard gun blasts several times after our initial confrontation), and the cats seem content hanging close to home most of the time. I would like to get it done and get the cats confined. I worry about their safety and I hold my breath every time I call them in. Besides, Glen doesn’t like my cats. It might help ease some of my queasiness about intruding here.        
     In March I saw guys surveying and appraising the park. The park had always been for sale, and there had been several tentative inquiries over the years, but nothing ever panned out. This time it did. The Wilsons sold the park to a corporation. The best news is, the new managers are my awesome neighbors and rescuers Gail and Glen. I applied for the job of working in the office 20 hours a week, which will begin when we move the reservation desk back into the old office. This is the area I had renovated into a living room for Roberta four years ago (see the August 31, 2012 post), and is now turning back into a reception area. In the interim, I am doing some of the renovation (ripping out carpet and flooring, removing thresholds) and all the painting, plus still maintaining the gardens. I worked 35 hours the first full week after the sale, and will likely work the same this week. Gail is running the office 53 hours a week, and Glen is overseeing the renovation and move, while managing his accelerated treatment for breast cancer.
    March 19^th Gail and Glen had a commitment ceremony. They can’t marry or Glen will lose the benefits that enable him to obtain cancer treatment. They had planned the ceremony in the park, which was where they met, but looming bad weather made it more practical to have it here It was so beautiful! The rain ended, the air smelled sweet and clean, there were 50 friends here, Gail and Glen recited heartfelt vows beneath the arch Glen had built, and there was music long into the night. Robinsons provided a low-country boil (clams, sausage, potatoes, corn in a mesh bag for us Yankees). Glen’s favorite cake, red velvet, was excellent.
     April was a month of friendships gained and lost. My childhood friend, Russ Gibson (see my last post), came to stay in the park in his RV for a few days. We have known each other our entire lives—he was my best friend’s “little” brother (four years younger than me). We hadn’t seen each other in 30 years. We talked about our parents and families, shared memories and laughed about growing up in Fairless Hills in a simpler time. We ate chowder at Tony’s, toured the clamming operation at Southern Cross, listened to live music at the Tiki Bar, and enjoyed the easy friendship of people who share the same background. I really enjoyed his company, and I hope we can stay in touch.
    Dan and Roxi left the park. They have been such special friends for the past three years I still can’t believe they are gone. Roxi is the kindest and most thoughtful person I know. She always had little gifts of food, books, or other fun stuff for me. She never went anywhere that she didn’t text and ask if I needed anything. Dan has been my mentor, advisor, and work buddy. I relied on him to help me figure out problems and bail me out when I got in over my head on a project. He encouraged me to keep playing guitar, and even gave me his mandolin when he bought a new one. We text and email every day, but their destination is Silver City, New Mexico, and I can’t picture me going back to the desert.
     My cousin asked for an update on my health. In a word, terrific. I lost the 20 pounds I had gained since leaving Weight Watchers and am back at goal weight. I do yoga every morning. I limp when I’m tired (a result of getting run over by a car, read my first post) and I get leg cramps when I overdo it, but I’m 66 and I guess old parts just wear out.
     Gracie now uses steps to get up on the bed, and a stool to get into the car. Every four days I brown a pound of ground turkey and add cooked rice and mixed vegetables and divide it into four portions. Before I serve her I add ½ cup cottage cheese. Anything else throws her into bouts of horrible diarrhea. Her right ear requires cleaning every day, and now her left eye is weeping. She has a lipoma on her shoulder, and the lump where her leg was broken bothers her at times. Her eyes have the bluish hue of an old dog, and her face is nearly white. She’s really showing her age. I harbor no resentment taking care of her—she’s a wonderful dog and I am privileged to be her owner. .  
      I am grateful to have a place to live, but I hate living in fear of the neighbor hurting my cats or calling the authorities on me living here. I love and respect Glen, which is why I hate that he hates my cats. I miss my water view. The yard here is beautiful, but there’s no tide and no Gulf. The Goose is disabled until Gene recovers and can repair the brake line, which makes me feel trapped. I can’t go anywhere anyway; where would a woman with an old RV, six cats and a dog go? I made the really bad decision to have my teeth pulled and partials made, and I’m struggling to adjust to them. Eating is an adventure and I can’t speak clearly. The $4,000 plus dental bill drained the last of my reserve funds, so now I have to work to support myself. Every night I tell sweet Sylvia that she’s a good kitty and I wish I had never met her.
     Is the universe punishing me for taking care of these animals? But then again, the new park owners aren’t keen on workcampers, so even if I didn’t have six cats I might have to leave the park. So life is no longer the ideal amazing journey I was enjoying, but I’m employed, healthy, safe, and doing okay.

Why the Chapter Has to End

     To make sense of the rest of my story, you must know about all the cats. Brown Balls was a beautiful seal-point Siamese mix with amazing blue eyes. I don’t know where he came from or when he came into the park, but he gradually bonded with workcampers Tom and Debbie. It was Tom who named him for the area of his anatomy with the most prominent brown markings. Then Tom and Debbie left, and Brown Balls remained behind. He took up with workcampers Matt and Teri next, and palled around with Pete, their cat. Then Matt and Teri left, taking Pete, and Brown Balls was left behind again. I, of course, started feeding him. Gradually he trusted me, spending most nights inside my RV. I took him to the vet, and he became Brownie. I regularly looked into those amazing, slightly crossed blue eyes and promised I would never abandon him. He followed me everywhere. Then one day in January another workcamper came to tell me “There’s something wrong with Brownie.” I don’t know if he was hit by a car, fell off the motel roof, or fought with a dog, but he died in my arms that night. He finally found his forever home, and all too soon he was gone. I still miss him.

     Last summer there was a little tuxedo kitten living under the café, rummaging for food in the dumpster, dashing across the road, often just missing car tires. The kitten’s bravery convinced us it was a male, and Dan said he looked like Sylvester, and so he was named. Gradually he started showing up regularly to eat cat food, ever wary. Then one day he came across the road with four kittens (Brown Ball’s?), and Sylvester became Sylvia. One kitten was soon killed on the road. Of the remaining kittens, the male kitten, who looks like his mother, is Ditto. The tiniest kitten, all black, is Spooky. And the other, who is black except for a little white under her chin, is Star, They eventually joined their mother for feeding and began following me around the park, climbing trees and chasing butterflies. Spooky and Star have the high cheekbones and angular elegance of their Siamese father, but the tiny stature of their mother. Spooky is especially tiny for nearly a year old, just barely six pounds. I call them my ninja kitties. Ditto, the tamest and most loving, is on the other hand, a hefty 12 pounds.

     Simon still lives beneath my RV. He has mellowed to be a social old boy, walking up to anyone who coaxes him and enjoying neck rubs. He sleeps on a heating pad in the winter.

     Those are my cats, and they are an integral part of my story.

     I hesitated to write about the past few months of my life, because my blog has been totally honest to date, but this is a journey, and I can’t just leave miles out. My overall happiness has been compromised. There was a dark energy in the park this winter season. I was bombarded by ambush attacks I never anticipated and from which there was no protection.

      The first attack was minor; my appearance. I was alerted to a complaint that the clothing I was wearing to work in the café was covered with dog and cat hair (imagine that!). I am the lone soul who opens the café at 6 a.m. six days a week, preparing the beverages (coffee, decaf, hot water for tea, iced tea, stocking soda), setting up the cash drawer, wiping off the tables outside and clearing the porch of leaves, assisting the cook with prep, and waiting on customers as long as I am needed, usually two or three hours. To counter this attack I purchased a hoody at Dollar General specifically for café wear and relegated it to a high hook in my bedroom.

      The next attack was phased. Could I keep the cats off the picnic table closest to the clubhouse, and keep Brownie out of the clubhouse where he sat on a chair and patiently waited for me to work out every morning? I immediately began feeding the cats on my picnic table, and moved my exercise stuff to my RV rather than watch Brownie’s pitiful gaze from outside.

     Then the attack took a new turn—THE CATS HAVE TO GO. The complaints were ridiculous; they defecate in the park (feral cats cover their excrement deeply, instinctively), they smell (there were no intact males except one kitten too young to spray), they get up on “things” (they were afraid of people). So I trapped Sylvia and the kittens one by one, had them neutered or spayed (despite the kittens actually being too young—I lied about their age) and vaccinated at my own expense, and am now keeping four cats inside my RV. The three kittens lounge about on the dash or bed, Sylvia lives behind the couch. I have had brief “escapes”, but managed to corral them quickly. It’s not ideal, but my attempts to find them safe forever homes have been futile, and I will not dump them downtown or let someone take them where they won’t be safe.

     The next attack? The greenhouse and the area around my RV were a mess. I don’t know where the complaint about “around my RV” came from, but the complaint about “around the greenhouse” was misunderstood. I talked to the guest who made the complaint, and he was referring to the area behind the greenhouse down to the canal, which has been a dumping area for many years before I arrived. His wife was afraid there might be snakes (probably correctly). Before I could correct the misunderstanding, Dale, a veteran workcamper, “cleaned up” my greenhouse area, throwing away the coffee grounds I use for compost, moving the worm farm into the sun, dumping plants I had started, moving sun-loving plants to shade and shade-loving plants into full sun, and moving my plant stand too far from the greenhouse to reach with the hose. He did nothing about the plastic with which he had covered the outside walls of the greenhouse the year before that had disintegrated in the Florida sun into raggedy strips. So I straightened up around my RV (all things relating to work projects), cut all the plastic off the greenhouse, and screened the front door of the greenhouse. Dale was thanked for cleaning up the area.

      The next attack was the most ridiculous; the condition of my RV. Because water is piped into the park from eight miles away, it is very expensive, so there is no washing of RVs or cars permitted. I’ve been here three years, parked under trees, so the exterior of my RV was dirty. I contacted a professional to clean it, but aside from the $200 cost, he still would use park water, and the chemicals would affect at least five RVs around me. So I used buckets of water and scrubbed down my RV with brush and ladder. My back, arms and legs (from balancing on the ladder) ached for two days. I didn’t do the roof, but the rest of my RV is now reasonably clean. For good measure, I finally located hubcaps (“wheel simulators”) for the front tires, so it’s blinged out.

     I have been living wondering what’s next?

     I know this feeling. This is like my marriage—trying to make everything right, rectifying imaginary wrongs, never knowing what the next attack will be. I am now very guarded, my trust is limited to a very few, and I am seldom completely at ease. I now have a new definition of “friend.”          

Still Stranded on an Island in the Gulf of Mexico

     I cannot believe it has been 15 months since I last posted an update. Somehow one month in Cedar Key has turned into 27 months and I am, in the words of a Dan Bates song, still "stranded on an island in the Gulf of Mexico.".  

     In October a lovely southern gentleman who had been staying here agreed to become a work camper. Dennis had landscaping experience, and he picked up on and supported what I was trying to do. We argued, bounced ideas off each other, bought plants, visited Kanapaha Botannical Gardens (and came home with a truck full of plants!), haunted the nurseries at the flea market in Crystal River, dug and planted and together transformed the park into a wonderland. In November the Garden Club awarded the park Garden of the Month status and did a four-page article in the local paper. I was pushing to get everything cleaned up and ready for the Arts Festival in April. Dennis wanted to change sites, as he felt his site was too sandy. When he pulled his rig out to change sites---he left! He called from the road to say it had been an honor to work with me. He’s in Tennessee now. He never did say why he left. Ask me why I have a hard time trusting men . . . .  I believe everyone and everything has a purpose in my life. The painful things are the most difficult to understand and place in perspective.

     I never had many friends, so I haven’t had much experience losing them. It’s still very hard when I make friends, and then they’re gone. It’s the nature of the lifestyle, I guess.
     My sister Julie coordinated the first vacation I have had as an adult, and helped me scratch an item off my bucket list. Julie, her husband Terry, their granddaughter MacKenzie and I went to Disney World. Three days, three parks. We had a ball. Then Julie had a calendar made of various pictures of us in the park. Wonderful memories captured.  
    My biggest project was the cottage, a small structure on the park property. The cottage has been a beauty salon, produce stand, BBQ joint, pawn shop, and temporary housing for various Wilson children. It started as a small cinder block structure, and gradually the porches was turned into a kitchen and the overhangs became the new walls. It was several different colors, inside and out. The place was an eyesore. I painted the outside bright blue. Dennis found a supply of pickets in a neighbor’s discard pile and changed the plain porch to a picket fence, and added rustic shutters. I painted the porch railings white and the porch terra cotta (Mary Ellen, resident genius artist, picked the colors), Dan replaced and repaired all the light fixtures, Bruce had the tin roof replaced, Dennis and I landscaped the exterior. I painted the inside a pleasant light yellow. It is now a most attractive and charming little residence, and I’m proud of what I accomplished alone and in concert. But it makes me a little sad, as I doubt I will ever have the opportunity to live in a bricks-and-mortar permanent residence again. I miss my house.

  

    After 18 months of hissing and snarling, Simon, who is now an outside cat, let me pet him. He has turned into a love bug, begging for attention from everyone. I even pulled him onto my lap a week ago for the first time. Love conquers all, at least in the animal world.

 

 

     After the last flock of hens went to a local farm, I figured we were done with chickens. I cleaned the hen house and scraped the yard. Boss man Bruce casually mentioned he might like to get more chicks, but I didn’t pay a lot of attention—Bruce always has ideas. The first Sunday in May I received a text that the chicks would be at the post office the next morning. Yep, I’m a chicken farmer. Sixteen baby chicks call me mama. They’re seven weeks now. I have them all named. Wonder how that’s going to work on my resume?

 

Tipper and Thelma just learning to roost

 

                                          Nora likes to be held and petted. Henrietta is behind her.

     Health-wise, things could not be better. Thanks to ObamaCare and the ability to get affordable health insurance, I was able to get the minor hernia surgery I needed and follow up on the ovarian cancer with which I opened this blog almost three years ago. Surgery went fine, and tests show I am cancer free. I work out daily. I kayak often and I’m very active. I’d like to lose ten pounds, but working in a café makes that really difficult.

     There’s a great deal more that has happened in the last year plus, and I will try to update more often. I can honestly say I am the happiest I have ever been, stranded on an island in the Gulf of Mexico.             .  

The Soundtrack of My Life

     Life is good. There’s a line in a John Denver song (Rocky Mountain High, I think) about “coming home to a place I’ve never been before.” I understand. If anyone would have told me the little fishing village of Cedar Key would become home, I would have laughed.
     Somewhere in the last couple years I lost the capable, brave person I used to be. Maybe because everything went wrong and I couldn’t fix any of it, I lost my confidence and nerve. Maybe it’s just a part of finally healing my battered life, but I am happy to be welcoming her back:
     Example 1: The furnace in the Goose stopped working. (I have a space heater and it’s not all that cold, so it was not a crisis.) I suspected the thermostat. I started to call the RV repairman, an expensive proposition, as I would have had to pay his mileage plus service call. For heaven’s sake, I replaced the thermostat in my house in Arizona! I should be able to do this. I pried the face plate off the thermostat. Two AA batteries, whose lives should have ended in 2009, were just under the faceplate. I replaced the batteries and I have heat again.   
     Example 2: We had the first theft in the park in ten years—someone swiped the flat screen out of the clubhouse.  A camper donated an old television, but no remote, which meant there was no way to access a menu to use the DVD and VCR. I bought a universal remote, but two male work campers informed me that none of the codes for ILO, the brand name, worked. I was online and ordering a new television when I decided before I spent the money I would try it. Fifteen minutes later the remote was programmed and working and I could switch the input to DVD and VCR. Watch out world—I am back!
     The nearest movie theater is in Crystal River, 60 miles away, so I started movie night in the park. I pre-order new releases from Amazon for less than $20, and we gather in the clubhouse with a cozy fire going and sip wine and munch popcorn. We watched The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, Argo, The Descendants, We Bought a Zoo, and The Life of Pi. Tonight there were 17 people, the biggest crowd so far. Next week is Hitchcock and hopefully the week after that is Lincoln. Next I want speakers for the television and a popcorn machine.  
     My ankle split open again with another ulcer. The usual treatments were not working, so I went to see a physician’s assistant in Williston, about 45 minutes away. He confirmed my self-diagnosis of venous stasis ulcers, took a picture of the ulcer, prescribed silvedene cream and antibiotics, and scheduled another appointment in two weeks. This is the way medical treatment should be—the cost is $100 for the first visit, $50 every visit after that except for follow-ups at $25, no insurance involved. The pharmacy at Winn-Dixie doesn’t charge for generic antibiotics and the cream was only $8. I have two refills on the cream. These ulcers take a l-o-n-g time to heal, so there’s no real change yet, but I don’t have as much nerve pain (the type that radiates up my leg) at night.        
     I don’t know what to do about Simon. It’s been six months since I "rescued" him downtown and I still cannot touch him. He sleeps on the dash, eats heartily, uses the litter box, and ignores Gracie and me. If I reach towards him he snarls and raises a paw to strike. If I persist he scratches and bites. I add Feral Cat Rehab (thank you Jackson Galaxy) to his food, and infuse the air with Feliway Comfort Zone. I have tried cat toys. He is still hostile. Sometimes I think if I could trap him again I would return him to downtown Cedar Key to fend for himself.

     The winter was mild and the park is still full. I’m sure the bad weather in the rest of the country is  partially responsible—people keep extending their stay in the sunshine. I’m busy planting flowers, aiming for everything to be at peak for the Annual Fine Arts Festival April 13^th and 14^th.    
     There is almost always music in the air . Right now I can hear someone playing piano in the clubhouse; hymns I think, From a site on the canal a harmonica wails. In a tent near the water a fiddler and guitarist are harmonizing, preparing for the Friday and Saturday night bluegrass jams in the clubhouse. This is the soundtrack of my life.       

Welcome to Simon, come back Julie, and the ER

     It soon became evident that Gracie and I alone are not a family. We need a cat. So I began to befriend the feral cats in downtown Cedar Key. After many days of feeding and petting the creatures and observing which ones tolerated Gracie, I introduced the cat carrier. When a male Bengal ducked in to grab the cat food, I zipped it up. Welcome home, Simon.
     Taming a feral is a challenge. Simon spends most of his time under the passenger seat. He comes out to eat and use the litter box, and prowls around at night. He hisses loudly and runs if I even try to approach him. We’re making a little progress; he will eat in my presence, take a nap on the dash with his back to me, make eye contact and relax his eyelids when observing me, and allow me to get between him and his safe spot. He hopped across me last night to get to food I left for him on the kitchen table. Time will tell.
     Thanksgiving was as wonderful as last year was awkward. Bruce and Roberta smoked one turkey, roasted another, and baked a ham. All the campers contributed side dishes, and we ate on the gathered picnic tables (yep, the ones I painted) outside the clubhouse. The weather was perfect, the food was so good, and the company was wonderful.
     I made a squash dish. I couldn’t figure out the stove (stop laughing), but discovered that my microwave is also a convection oven. It’s totally cool. Okay, so it’s been over a year since I actually cooked anything serious, as evidenced by the fact that I didn’t know how to use the oven.
     My sister-in-law Julie came to visit from Ohio for five days, and we had a wonderful time. We packed a lot into five short days. I picked her up at the cute little Gainesville Regional Airport (short-term parking costs $1) and we started with a visit to the Kanapaha Botanical Gardens where we wandered around looking at all the beautiful Florida plants. I took notes, of course, for the park. We went to Homosassa Springs State Park to take a boat ride and stroll the park-like setting that is home to all the Florida wildlife, including the amazing manatees. We took a Cessna ride over the islands that make up the Cedar Keys, then a two-hour boat tour for a closer look. We ate at the beautiful Island Room to look over the Gulf at sunset. We had a drink at the Tiki Bar. We ate way too much good food. Our strangest adventure was the Spirit Walking Tour of Cedar Key by Miss Debbie who was flamboyantly dressed all in black, visiting all the places haunted by the ghosts of Cedar Key. (“There’s something wrong with that woman,” commented one of the local clammers who had seen us on the tour.) We had a wonderful time, and didn’t get to do half the things I wanted to do.
     Last Friday I thought I picked up a touch of food poisoning. I was able to control the effects with Immodium until Monday, when the Immodium no longer worked. By Tuesday afternoon I could not even sip water without starting an unpleasant chain of events. Tuesday evening my neighbors Cathy and Bill persuaded me to go to the emergency room in Crystal River, an hour drive. Six hours, one bag of fluid, two big injections of pain killer and anti-nausea drugs and I was feeling like I might live. I’m still weak, but recovering quickly. Tomorrow I get the results of all the tests they took on all my body fluids. I’m hoping it was just stomach flu. 
     Last week I tore out a large flower bed overgrown with succulents and weeds, dug out the depleted soil, wove a soaker hose through the lattice fence, painted the fence, layered 200 pounds of good soil and replanted it with a dozen new plants from the flea market designed to attract butterflies. I’m loving December in Florida.

TastyKakes and The Blessings of Life

     The grief becomes less raw every day. I can think of Dylan and smile now. The night before the accident, he protested coming in at dusk. I picked him up and held him like a baby on his back and rubbed his pumpkin belly and told him what a good boy he was, how much I loved him, and how lucky I was to have him in my life. He nestled in my arms and purred. 
     The most amazing gift arrived Wednesday. Mrs.Gibson is the mother of my best friend growing up, and still lives two houses from my childhood home in Pennsylvania. Betty Jane and I remained connected for 50 years, even living together for a while in Maryland. There are few memories of my childhood that do not include B.J. and her brother Russell. She saw me through marriages and divorce, the birth of my son and the death of both my parents. She was in her early 50s when she underwent gall bladder surgery, a procedure she described as “drive-by surgery.” At home recovering that evening, her mother at her side, she collapsed and died, apparently of a pulmonary embolism. I kept in touch over the years, sending notes and cards to Mrs.Gibson for holidays and birthdays and whenever she or B.J. crossed my mind.. 
     I received a box of goodies from The Pennsylvania General Store: cookies from the Melrose Diner, hard pretzels and sweet mustard, chocolate drops, candy, and, best of all, a box of TastyKakes. There was a simple note that said, “Glad you are keeping in touch. Happy Halloween. Mrs. G and Russell. It was like a long-distance hug of comfort food at a time when I so needed a hug. The timing was uncanny.        
     The little awesome moments in my life are so wonderful that the sweetness has helped soothe my grief. I did get to go scalloping when the season was extended by one day. Wading around in the warm Gulf water at low tide, feeling the soft muck beneath my feet (I was wearing river shoes), looking for the stream of bubbles from the scallops as they tumble was a blast. After about two hours as the tide came in, we had a nice haul of scallops.
     I came home to an outdoors dinner party at Lorie and George’s , clams and shrimp and vegetable skewers cooked over the coals. I brought fresh scallops and brown rice. After a hot shower and some good wine, the food was some of the best I ever had.
     I accompanied Lena to the charming little town of Trenton. While Lena was picking up meds at the veterinarian, I explored the nearby quilting and antique shops. Quilting is a huge pastime here, and the shops are a maze of incredible color and patterns.
     Lena and I split the cost of gas to go shopping in Crystal River. I loaded up on plants at Home Depot and Kmart, found a couple new shirts at a consignment shop, and located a decent health food store.
     One of the few drawbacks of living here is the nearest movie theater is 60 miles away. I ordered The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel and The Descendants DVDs. Lena, Lorie and I had a movie night in Lories new RV with a huge TV and Surround Sound. Lounging on the couch, sipping wine and eating crackers with mullet dip with friends is better than any theater.   
     Weekend before last was The Seafood Festival in downtown Cedar Key. There were 150 vendors with all kinds of craft and art, and seafood vendors in the city park on the beach. Gracie picked out two types of homemade dog treats. I bought earrings, butterflies made from recycled soda bottles, goat milk soap, and a few other goodies. I ate grilled shrimp and clam chowder in the park while a local band played.
     I learned to kayak. Lorie and I borrowed two kayaks and headed out into the open water. It is much easier than I expected, and being in the middle of the water I love so much was amazing. I have begun looking at purchasing a kayak.
     I now have a car. I bought a 1985 Mercedes-Benz in excellent shape at a bargain price. It rides so smoothly and feels right. The maiden trip was to a flea market in Homossassa where I purchased a car load of plants. I appreciate all the blessings of my life, and my precious Dylan was an amazing blessing.  

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