Though my sister Linda and her husband Marion have very kindly and generously kept in touch with us regularly during our winter sojourn on Key Largo for the past six months, it was nonetheless an especial pleasure to reunite with them in the flesh this afternoon at their lovely home on Downing Street in Ottawa. The time flew by! At times there appeared to be a competition to interject the burgeoning intelligence each of us wished to impart to the other. In the end however we abandoned further discourse in order to set up the antique wooden dining table and matching chairs they offered us for our new small apartment. The additions complete the outstanding obstacle to fulfilling our amateur interior decorating schemes.

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Yesterday around 3:00 pm, after having motored for four full days from Key Largo northward, we crossed the US/Canada border. Within minutes we were languidly cruising along the Ivy Lea Parkway adjacent the north side of the St. Lawrence River. We breathed a collective sigh. It felt good to be on home territory.

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Having sailed through and surpassed the Shenandoah Valley today, on the last leg of our journey from Key Largo, we’re soon approaching Upstate New York, about 4 hours from home. As close as we are to familiar territory we have nonetheless chosen to remain at an outer boundary, primarily to avoid a long and tiresome haul to the finish line. We have now the privilege and pleasure to anticipate a short jaunt tomorrow through what has traditionally been tranquil and bucolic countryside.

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It seems appropriate upon the heels of the firing of Republican conservative and paranoid madman Poor Little Tucker that we should have settled this evening in the thick of Confederacy amid the beauty of the Blue Ridge Mountains in the Shenandoah Valley. Highlighting our ephemeral stay here was the fortuitous discovery of a nearby gas station where we filled the tank of our car (in anticipation of another long drive tomorrow to Binghamton, New York) and then arranged a purgative car wash. Upon arrival moments later at the hotel we went for a relaxing swim, followed by an invigorating shower in preparation for our tapas and crudités at the rooftop bar.

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Well! Who didn’t have a guffaw this afternoon upon the news that poor little Tucker has at last something legitimately to make him look like he’d just been kicked in the side of the head with a jackboot!

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Cracker Barrel is a regular haunt of ours along the Interstate 95 when coming to or leaving the United States of America. Judging by its signature twanging cowboy music which surrounds the entrance alleyways, permeates throughout the restaurants, blasts across the adjoining gift shops and infiltrates the restrooms (that is, the men’s room for certain), I’m guessing the predominant commercial affiliation is with the former Confederate states.  And it won’t come as a surprise to learn that the owner fought a losing battle against how  “real men” in his employ ought to behave.

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Long-distance travel by car invokes its own peculiarity. I speak of clothing. The issue has arisen as we propose to set off tomorrow morning on April 23rd from Key Largo to Canada. First and foremost is the predominant feature of comfort, nothing too heavy, nothing too light. As one travels northward the ambient temperature is likely to fall.  That means keeping a sweater on the back seat. And if those sunny skies of the Florida Keys translate to rainy clouds then best to have a shell at hand.

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The sea was becalmed today. The placid water gleamed beneath the burnishing midday sun’s rays. There was no one at the beach.  People have gone. The air was motionless and noiseless. I stationed my tricycle beside the sign prohibiting golf carts. Then with my stick I shuffled across the chalky coral and seashell mixture to the empty picnic table.  Somebody had moved the table. It was now in the shade of the tree.  Perhaps there had been an afternoon luncheon. There I ceremoniously unfolded and stored my belongings in my boat shoes which I then haphazardly wound about with my beach towel and white linen shirt atop the picnic table.

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You must believe in spring
Songwriters: A. Bergman / J. Demy / M. Bergman / M. Legrand

When lonely feelings chill
The meadows of your mind
Just think if Winter comes
Can Spring be far behind

Beneath the deepest snows
The secret of a rose
Is merely that it knows
You must believe in Spring

The frozen mountain dreams
Of April’s melting streams
How crystal clear it seems
You must believe in Spring

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The historical consequence of the Glorious Revolution (1688) in England, Scotland and Wales (but not Ireland) was the elimination of the divine right of kings to rule (replaced by a parliament of public representatives). It was a vote against autocracy; that is, against monarchy, absolutism and dictatorship. It was also a mild mannered acknowledgement of the entitlement of religious freedom specifically for the Church of England (Protestantism and its various factions) and the Church of Rome (Catholicism) though the latter was relegated more to the level of tolerance and restriction only.

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