Of course I’m referring to New York. We all know the famous lyrics after all. For the past 10 years (gasp) my sister has been working in nearby New Jersey, so when we talked about driving home via the I-95 she insisted that we stop in. And why not catch a hockey game at the same time! Everything sounds well and good over a few drinks in Florida!

So we left our Florida home on March 31 and decided to stay away from I-95 as long as possible. We start out on Hwy 27 and head north. Our first pit stop is in Yalaha where we take in the renowned German bakery. I get a couple of treats and we continue on to Hwy 17. This road takes us to our next pit stop in St Simons Island.

This quaint beach community just outside of Brunswick Georgia is a delightful boho area that is super pet friendly and buzzing (it was Sunday so I’m sure locals and tourists alike were out to enjoy the sunny 26C weather!!). We stopped in at the information centre (pups welcome too!) and spoke to a helpful man who provided us with insights and tips. We just might have a prolonged stay here in 2020. Then we chatted with another snowbird couple from Ohio; they are dogless for the first time in 35 years so they were more interested in petting and talking to Molly. A beautiful stop.

We had reservations for a place in Brunswick, but since our timing was so good and weather so great we decide to carry on. We plug the next town into the gps. Hardeeville here we come. It turned out to be a weird stop that was short lived. I booked a room at the pet friendly Super 8. When we pulled in we thought it was dodgy. But I went inside the lobby. There, behind the gray painted plywood front desk, was a plain young lady with badly bitten off nails. I told her we had reserved a room and we have a dog. No problem. She started the paperwork and meanwhile I read the notices posted on the counter. Weekly renters had to prepay each week. You have 15 min from check in to cancel your room for a refund. And so on. Very odd. There was also a huge pile of toilet paper rolls on the desk. In any event. I got the key and tried not to be too judgemental. I head back to the car to find Rudy and Molly talking to a man in a wheelchair; he has no legs. He’s in a tank top and looks scruffy. But he’s friendly and likes the dog. We excuse ourselves and drive around to the room. As we pull around the side of the building our view is to the property next door which is burnt to the ground. Gulp. We park in front of our room and Rudy goes to check; I wait in the locked car as there are other guests milling around the doorways in the adjacent room. They are smoking and drinking beer (again in tank tops) and they look rough. Rudy comes back to the car. We can’t stay here he says; the room smells and you’ll be up all night. We’d be better off sleeping in the car, he says. Okay. The 15 minute time frame to cancel now makes sense. I head back to the office. My cancellation is processed (plain girl didn’t even flinch as though she knew I’d be back). I get back to the car and feel like I need to wash my hands or take a shower. Yuck.

We drive on to Walterboro. There’s a few motels to choose from and we book into the Best Western. Cheap and cheerful. Whew. We don’t have to sleep in the car.

Next day we head through the Carolinas and make our way to Virginia. We find a Holiday Inn that’s ideal (and 5 miles from the death shrine of Stonewall Jackson). A peaceful night and full hot breakfast to boot. New York is on the radar.

We plug in the address for my sisters place. She’s in a small town on the Hudson near Piermont. In order to get there we have to hit I-95 hard: first Washington DC (traffic!), then Baltimore MD (traffic and construction!), then Trenton and Newark (more of the same). As we pass Manhattan exits the traffic is wild with horns honking and drivers swerving in and out. Rudy can’t wait to arrive.

My sister lives in the cutest loft and her hubby Frank was there to meet us (she was at work). We take Molly for a short walk and return to the apartment where Rudy has schlepped the bags. My sister arrives and we nosh on excellent cheese trays she picked up at Wegmans (would love that selection in Blue Mountains!) we decide to order from a local Italian eatery for dinner. Pizza for the group and a mixed salad for me (the road trip food is messing with my digestion). The food is excellent! I tried the pizza because it looked so good … it was. My salad was tasty too! An early bedtime since we are beat.

Next day we do a walking tour of the area for a couple of hours. It was warm and sunny. Molly was ready for a drink. Rudy suggested we let her drink at the creek near the dock. That was a great idea, but Molly thought of something even better! She decided that laying in the creek while drinking would be perfectly refreshing. Wet dog. Wet ditch dog. Oh man.

When we get back to the loft, Frank and I decide to go on a drive to see the area. We agree to take damp ditch dog so she can dry off a bit more. On the drive we (mostly me since Frank is polite) noticed that Molly smelled like sewer. It seems the ditch was foul. I can’t take overpowering smells. I google for a groomer. I find one that’s nearby and has sympathy on my plight. It turns out they knew exactly where Molly decided to soak. Great. 2 hours and $70 dollars later, Molly has had 3 shampoos and s blow dry. And a new bandanna. Just in time to get home and meet the dog sitter my sister has arranged so we can go to the hockey game.

As soon as she’s inside the loft, Molly heads got bed. Her shenanigans have left her exhausted. The dog sitter, Rebecca, arrives and we show her sleeping Molly in the bed. Have fun! See you soon!

We are off to Madison Square Garden to see the NY Rangers. It’s a quick (hair-raising) 40 min drive and we park and walk to the arena. Our seats are great and the game begins. It’s nice to hear the Canadian anthem. They are playing Ottawa; we can cheer for the “home” team. Neither team is in the playoffs (the fans were chanting “we both suck ” which was hilarious) do the game was lame (definitely not playoff caliber) but the atmosphere is electric. Frank gets us beers and smoked meat sandwiches (Carnegie Deli) … did I mention Frank was tops! The food was awesome!! During the period breaks they were cannonballing T-shirts into the stands; my lucky sister caught the one that bounced off my head. She’s thrilled. More bling! What a fun night!!

When we arrive back st the loft we find out that Molly stayed in bed. Boring.

The next day we hit the road and make tracks for home. I get a speeding ticket which adds some thrill to an otherwise uneventful drive. Although the drive was super scenic and hilly.

We arrive home at around 7 pm. Home sweet home. -2C and snow on the hills. Molly loves it. That’s all that matters.

Well Florida, it’s been a blast. Can’t believe that 3 months have flown by. I thoroughly enjoyed the experience.

Looking back at the things I was afraid of (more cautiously hesitant rather than all out fear), most of the dread was for naught.

Crossing the border with Molly- a non issue thanks to the indifferent border dude who didn’t care about much except if we had weapons. I know you shouldn’t joke around with these guys, but a witty comment about Rudy’s manhood did come to mind. I maintained my composure and was silent.

Running out of Molly’s kibble- a mostly non issue except for a 2day changeover tummy thing. Not horrible.

Being bored – nope; definitely not. Did all the usual summer activities plus added a few new ones to the roster. Definitely no boredom.

Eating American fare – there’s an overall lack of availability of fresh local produce and I’m stunned that there isn’t more fresh seafood around. We realized that people mostly eat out here. The restaurant trade is booming; places are packed. And since we are in the mobile home capital of the universe people are lacking space and want to get out of their tin homes. I get it. We did find a few markets and suppliers that have excellent products.

Sharing a car – well, that did suck. But we are ready for next time – easy solution: drive 2 cars. Done!

All in all a great break from snow, sleet and hail. A for sure do-over.

Tomorrow we are hitting the road. Wheels up at 10 am. Destination: St Simons Island GA. Friends told us this was a super cool and dog friendly destination. Stay tuned.

For now, I’m going to leave my sunny perch on the back patio (78F in the waning sunshine) and take my Caesar cocktail inside to prepare our last supper. Garlicky pesto penne with local hot sausage and a mixed green salad.

Ciao!

It’s no secret I love dogs. We’ve had a dog since 1992. That’s when we moved out of Toronto and into the countryside.

My pal from high school suggested we start with an older dog due to our commuter schedule. Her family bred dogs: Rottweilers and Bouviers and her brother had a show dog (Bouv) that was too old for the circuit. We agreed to take the dog, but fate intervened and the dog went to the US.

So we went to the pound looking for a suitable match. Spike was waiting for us. He had been dropped off by a family earlier that day. He was approximately 1.5 years old Husky/Shepard mix. A beautiful wolf-like beast that would be our loyal companion for 17 years.

Pepper arrived on the scene a few years after Spike and they were great companions. Pepper was a rambunctious lab cross who was too feisty for her family with young kids. Someone on my baseball team decided Spike needed a buddy. Pepper was full of beans and would fetch a stick for hours on end. Spike thought fetch was a dumb game and preferred to hunt. If it moved it was fair game.

Then a friend had a colleague who’s dog had pups and the runt was left. They were desperate to find a home. So we acquired Duke. He was a true mutt. Not even the vet could say for sure what the dominant breeds were. And he lived up to his name. He would take on anyone or anything. Stubborn and grouchy.

Once Spike crosses the rainbow bridge, Duke and Pepper became inseparable. They were a truly bonded pair. And as Pepper slowed down, so did Duke. Pepper’s departure was devastating for Duke and he mourned for months. He became sullen and even more grouchy (if that was possible).

But we had decided that our dog rearing days were over. Duke would be our last canine. More freedom to travel and such. But fate (aka Marilyn Rootham) intervened.

We had known Marilyn’s dog Lucy for years. A lumbering good natured Bouvier that ran the house and the shop. Lucy was bred at 5 years of age. Her litter was 10 pups. But after she delivered 5 pups she ran out of energy. Lucy was rushed to the vets where the doc and Stoney (Lucy’s dad) set about delivering the others by emergency c-section on August 28 2011. Only 3 more lived. 8 amazing fur balls and Lucy with major surgery. It was a labour of love for the family who rotated on 24 hour shifts to help Lucy nurse her babies. Once the time was right the entire fuzz ball family was settled into an outdoor shelter (a yurt style set up that we dubbed “occupy Aberfoyle”).

Marilyn was ready to start selling the pups. Pure breed Bouviers – Lucy the mom black and her stud the dad white produced several black a couple of brindle and one white pups. But she couldn’t sell them. She was so attached to the pups that she wanted to place them in homes she knew.

But we had decided we were on our last dog!? Marilyn knew the key (weak link) was Rudy. She invited us to her kennel to “see the pups”. Right. Good plan.

We load Duke into the van and head over to Aberfoyle (about 20 min). We pull into the back area and see the kennel. Stoney heads over to unlatch the gate and 8 fuzzies come dashing and tumbling out to check out Duke. Poor Duke has never been more gobsmacked. He just stood there in shock as he was swarmed. All but one of the pups lost interest in Duke (to chase their mom Lucy around the yard hoping for one last suckle – which Lucy was having NO part of!).

One little fuzzer stayed behind and she and Duke had an introductory sniff.

Next thing I know it is declared that “Duke has chosen” and I’m in the van with a new puppy on my lap. Hello Molly. How did that happen? We were resolute. Or so I thought.

Miss Molly engaged us from the first second. She was (and continues to be) pure joy. A living teddy bear. And Duke couldn’t have agreed more. He sprang back to life and a new youthful energetic dog replaced the sad old dude that we’d worried about for months.

Molly is truly a remarkable girl. We often say she’s the best qualities of all our figs tolled into one. Smart and agile like Spike; playful and cuddly like Pepper; fierce and ruthless like Duke. I can’t imagine our life without her. Even though she had an insatiable appetite for chewing shoes and pillows (mercifully that has passed …. mostly).

She enjoyed Dukes companionship for about 5 years. Now she’s an only. (Not counting her buddy Otto the cat) Molly adapted wonderfully to being the centre of attention. She is our traveller and roadie. Wherever we go, so does she. She eats and sleeps with us.

Molly enjoys attention wherever we take her. It is not uncommon for us to have to explain her breed as it’s relatively unknown to most. Those familiar with Bouviers are always making the same comments: they’re so smart and loyal; great personalities; super guard dogs! We of course couldn’t agree more. Molly is a super lovely girl.

She will be 8 this year and we look forward to enjoying her for many more. A house is not a home without a dog. Even so, this will be our last one.

Seriously.

One of the neat things we’ve enjoyed doing in Central Florida is exploring interesting dog friendly places. Today we ventured to Bok Tower Gardens; a national historic site near Lake Wales (about 30 minutes from our place in Davenport)

As you enter the park grounds you are immediately in awe of the landscaping and lush greenery. At the gatehouse you stop to pay your entry fee (there is a $5 charge for dogs) and then drive about a mile to the parking area. It’s a mile with a panoramic view of the rolling countryside and citrus groves. Breathtaking.

The parking lot is a treed oasis that abuts the welcome centre. There is a host of enthusiastic volunteers ready to greet newcomers and share the passion about the park. Unbeknownst to us it was the 90th year celebration and the park was filled with patrons on hand to hear the various workshops and lectures. And of course the musicians playing the carillon in the singing tower.

There’s a vibrant history to the park and the story, while interesting and colourful, ends with the founder being buried behind his beloved tower. It’s a magical place with views, plants, groomed trails and informative placards.

We took a break under the live oaks and shadow of the tower. A guest musician was playing a variety of pieces. An eclectic blend of 15th century arrangements and also Beauty and the Beast by Alan Menkin. So entertaining… in a medieval way. We thoroughly enjoyed our visit.

Of course, as usual, Molly was the scene stealer. She is so lovely.

A few years ago I attended a marketing seminar about engaging your potential clients on social media. The notion expressed was that people generally have their social media of choice. Their go to network. Now that I’m not trying to engage clients I’m wondering how social networking works (or not) for me.

Linked In (or as Rudy called it “Linkened In”) is the platform for professionals. I’ve never been a huge fan or user. I always found it odd that people “endorsed” each other. Clicking for gold stars. How weird. Even more so is the “premium” level (isn’t it amazing what ingenious ways these companies have to separate you from your money) where you can pay to find out who’s been checking you out. Creepy at best. No thanks. My wake up call was getting a text from someone who said I hadn’t replied to their message on Linked In.

Facebook is for old people so they say. That’s probably rather true. The younger generations prefer to communicate in sound bites; is reading going out the window with writing? Facebook is filled with memes and propaganda. I usually get a kick out of reading comments on the political posts. I think this is called “click bait”. Getting lured in to a conversation by being provoked. It’s hilarious to watch the mud slinging ping pong which inevitably ends in a personal jab about someone’s mother or the “admin” removing the thread with a long explanation of why. It’s fascinating on so many levels. However, if I’m looking for a good or service Facebook is my second go to. Right behind Google.

Instagram is simple. One picture or collage and a few words. Benign time waster.

Twitter. No can do. Donald Trump (and others) have cured me of that habit. How to make a ridiculous statement in 124 characters. Or have they upped it now? And include pictures and videos, too? No thanks.

Pinterest had me going for a while. After all, it did parlay nicely into my pseudo career as food paparazzi. I even had a full board called “back burner” where I pinned recipes and other ideas for a rainy day. It’s been some kind of drought since I can’t remember my password. So much for making those great appetizers at our next soirée.

You Tube is Rudy’s choice platform. I go there occasionally. Rudy likes to research anything. How to play pickleball. How to K-Tape his sore joints. How to add an auto-response to his phone. How to install a battery. You name it. Instant answers to any question without reading a single word. Pretty handy.

Snap Chat, FourSquare, What’s App ….no clue. Seriously, how many ways do we needs to communicate? Are phone, text and email not enough?

Since retiring I have considered closing my various accounts. It’s harder than you think. Once you’re in that’s it. Now that I’m taking the time to actually be aware of the messages I am understanding that “cookies” aren’t just a snack; they are the cyber trail you leave behind. Look at a shoe sale on one site and then watch how many related ads pop up every time you log in to anything. Very interesting and disturbing.

Like anything there are pros and cons.

See you online somewhere. Thank you WordPress!

What’s your vision? Hindsight?

Tomorrow I’m reminded by a 20 year olds birthday that vision is in the eyes of the beholder. Pass the rose coloured glasses please. As Zach reaches a milestone age I am catapulted back to a time when life was a wild ride. Prime time. Hold my beer.

And I think about a 20 year old life and how much highway there is left on the speedway. Funny at 55 how that vision is altered. Is it the hindsight factor?

I wonder (as “the Locomotion” blasts from the Bluetooth followed by “Wild Thing” ….) how much of the past I would alter or caution another traveller? Likely not much on either count. Let the chips fall where they may. Buckle up. It’s going to be a hell of a ride.

Happy birthday Zach. Do it all. No regrets.

Speaking of rides … can a Bouvier fit into a convertible Mustang? The short answer is yes. It’s a ride built for fun and speed. Not comfort. We tried it out. Stay tuned.

My dad has homework assigned. How far is it from Brussels to Flanders Fields. Due date is tomorrow.

Ride on my friends.

Just 25 miles inland from Tampa, this lovely little town (pop. Approx 12,000) has become our go to place. Every Tuesday and Thursday we are at the local community centre (a large pristine space with meeting rooms and a huge auditorium) playing pickle ball on the 8 indoor courts. Auburndale is a gem.

Aside from the community centre there is a quaint historic downtown with a quiet shady park nestled amongst many trees and next to the train station. The old city hall has a prestigious and stately charm. There is a clock tower (with the correct time!) and picturesque boulevard with flower beds that have been tended with care. There’s a special area in the park for kids with an extensive play area and Astro turf.

We are looking forward to spending more time here to try out the neat local food scene.

Best part: everyone is friendly.

Some ancient genius figured out how to ferment grapes into an enjoyable beverage. Like most things, it was likely discovered by mistake when someone left the fruit in a container for too long. I often refer to it as the nectar of the gods. Don’t spill any because it’s precious. Whenever you see a movie depicting days of yore (even such films as Robin Hood) there’s always the element of wine at play. The friar who imbibes to the point of silliness. The royal trying to drown his sorrows. The labourer who washes away his reality. Wine has proven to be a very useful tool throughout the ages.

Flash forward to today and it has become a powerful industry and a chic hobby turned money maker for part time enthusiasts. What should we do with a few million of our extra dollars? Hmmm. I know! Let’s start a boutique winery!

We are all familiar with the famous wine regions around the world. Old world. New world. Ancient vines. So many varietals. Viniculture is truly an art form. (On an aside, I keep telling my friend Cathie, who’s an amazing artist, to create some funky wine labels. I think there’s a market. ) But who ever thought Florida would be a wine producing region??

Yesterday we visited the LakeRidge Winery in Clermont. The venue is set high atop a ridge with a rolling vistas of the vines and the lakes and trees beyond. The building is very Tuscan in appearance with its fountains and stucco gables and patios. When we walk through the thick wooden door the point of entry is a bustling store with, of course, racks of wine as well as all of the accompaniments for a gourmet picnic and wine gadgets. One can never have enough (under utilized and dusty) gadgets!

A cheerful attendant announces that a tour and tasting is starting. Anyone is welcome. So we head up the front stairs into a “chapel” – I say that because it was dim and lined with church pews. Inside another bubbly young winery employee is welcoming us to the tour and tasting. We learn that in the earliest years of Florida, Ponce de Leon has settled the area and subsequently brought grape vines from Europe. The Cox Family (construction owners by trade) has turned a hobby into a thriving family business in addition to construction. The patriarchs have built a legacy and each one improving the business at every level. It is now a fully operational growing, harvesting, fermenting and bottling facility.

The output is very interesting since Florida’s tropical climate is ideal for muscadine grape varieties. They have a red and a couple of whites. Otherwise they import California product to make blends. As you can imagine, grapes enjoying the heat and sun ripen to a point of super sweetness. We sampled a few varieties with some being more favourable than others. We end up buying a case. It’s one of the beauties of wine. Perfectly portable, drinkable and, for collectors, storable. (Another aside… my uncle from Berlin is a connoisseur and buys wines that he predicts will be better with age and more valuable. He told us of creating a gourmet dinner and researching an appropriate wine from his cellar. The wine was aged and worth a considerable amount of dough)

We’ve never been able to store for aging. We drink too much. I think it’s one of life’s great pleasures to enjoy wine with friends and family or as a romantic interlude. We celebrate with wine. We eat with wine. We toast with wine. The possibilities are endless. Wine is a versatile and delicious product.

In Florida it’s a consumers heaven. And that includes wine. The sheer volume and selection is mind boggling. So are the prices. We are definitely enjoying the full range of tasty options.

Cheers!

There’s just something about the sun that elicits joy. I’m not sure what exactly that factor is, or even if it’s a real thing, but everything seems better on a sunny day. All senses become alive when the sun is out. Smells are sweeter, colours more vibrant, sounds more ringing (especially this spring! The birds are chirping like crazy). And I guess the warmth in Florida is an added bonus too. Feeling the grass and cool patio stones on your feet …

Sunshine has always had a positive effect on me. Long lazy summer days. My sister reminded me of our trips to the beach near Grand Bend as teens; taking off in my Chevette to sunbath in the sandy dunes and swim in the lake to cool off. Later on summers meant cottaging in the Muskokas and cruising leisurely on the lakes and bays. And then foregoing the impossible traffic in favour of a boat on Lake Ontario. So many wonderful summer memories.

I think sunny days are a prop on tv, too. You never have a love story start on a dark and stormy night. It’s always a beautiful summer day. Heartache always happens in the rain. Even on my fave show “Love It or List It Vancouver ” the best homes are on sunny days. They always find issues fixing up the homes in the rain. Go figure.

People smile more on sunny days. Lousy weather makes people grouchy. The fall we had was gloomy and nasty; people’s moods were reflective. I saw a post on social media from Ontario yesterday and the sun came out with a bit of warmth in Norfolk County; the poster, Jill, broadly smiling with her baby and doggy walking in the woods. I think her post said something about FINALLY being able to get out. Bliss! Didn’t our PM get elected quoting “sunny ways”?

This past winter we decided to extend summer by coming to Florida. What a great decision. I can count the cloudy/rainy days on my fingers. Otherwise glorious warm sunny days. We rented a convertible Mustang for a few days just to see. One of the things most notable was the ever present aroma of citrus blossoms. There are no words. Just to cruise around with the warm wind on your face is a special kind of awesome.

So I sit here. In the back yard beside the pool and think: Man, is this great. How lucky am I.

As a sun worshiper I can relate to all things summer. And completely agree with F. Scott Fitzgerald that life begins again in summer.

I think a night at the drive-in is on the horizon…

I’ve never thought of myself as a feminist. And it has occurred to me, especially recently, that the distinction of feminism is getting rather fuzzy. Where do you draw the line(s)?

I think I would prefer the label humanist. Follow the “do unto others” path and ignore genders and races and religions. Empathy for me is key to respect. And kindness is key to goodwill. To me humanism is not a religious (or anti religious) state. It’s simply being a mensch.

Empathy allows us to imagine how someone else is feeling in any situation. As the daughter of immigrants, it is easier to empathize, for example, with newcomers. Strange places and culture and language. Lack of empathy lets anger, ignorance and intolerance creep in. It’s not a leap to gather that lack of empathy in that example will garner the same reaction in return. We all have our pre-formed ideals and principles; our moral compass if you will. But given information and knowledge, the will to empathize can also impact on our views and,ultimately, our actions.

I think on a whole that Canadians are empathetic or would like to be. It takes some guts to go against the grain and take a stand for what you think is right. We have been witnessing this on the national political stage recently. It makes me very disappointed to see our elected officials turn a blind eye to the law and forego their scruples to follow suit. What a shame.

It would be so refreshing to see a political trail blazer who has empathy and integrity. A rare combination.

On the other hand, is it fair to expect the elite to really empathize with commoners? Or are their views so entitled and privileged that they can’t even conceive of the notions? The working class and small business people who hustle to make a life are not in the empathy sphere of the elites. Some elites aren’t born that way; they are manufactured out of the power burst that thrusts them into the new zone. Suddenly their allegiance is to keep their new found status at all cost. Not so with our former attorney general; she had her principles firmly grounded and took a stand. Bravo I say. Not easy or palatable with an endless stream of pressure rotating through her offices.

I can’t imagine her daily life over the past months. Having to wake up under a cloud of dirt so thick and face the source of the dirt every single day. I’m in awe of her fortitude and resilience.

I’ve sent the message to a few female MPs in inquire on why they would condone such actions perpetrated on their colleague. Not one has responded. No excuses or rationale. Crickets. Radio silence.

As a humanist I’m trying to see both sides with empathy. Unfortunately, I can’t get a handle on the elitist model.

I think I will go and bake some humble pie.