Wrinkly Bits
A Blog by Gail Cushman
We woke up late and the rain had already started, albeit a slow drizzle. We are near Key West, Florida, the end of the road for some, not me, though. Forget that idea. We had planned to go on a leisurely boat ride, catch a few fish and some rays, you know, to give my dermatologist something to talk to me about. I took my favorite puppy (he’s six, but thinks he’s six months), outside and thirty seconds later he was soaked, as the drizzle had turned into a downpour, and I looked like I had stuck my head in a rain barrel, if they still make such a thing. Change of plans, and off we went to a lunch and to visit the Ernest Hemingway Museum. Three miles to go, and the damp road was now a river, I mean a real river, about six to twelve inches deep and we slowly drove through the streets, in line with hundreds of others doing the same thing.
Big Red, our Ford pickup, kept going, but some other vehicles did not. The streets were built for horses and buggies, very narrow, and a little unnerving, but Cowboy plowed (or paddled) ahead, a smile on his face, “Look at old Big Red go. I love this,” he said more than once. My son Cole and his wife Pam from Alaska were with us, rolling their eyes and baring their teeth, asking for Kleenex to wipe the sweat from their brows.
“Let’s eat. There,” he pointed at cute little restaurant called Duffy’s Lobster House with water covering the walkway. “It looks great, get out here and I’ll find a parking place.”
“There’s no parking and the water is nearly up my knees,” I whined.
“What’s the big deal, you’ve got shorts on?” Oh, boy. Pam and I figured it was useless to argue and obeyed and exited Big Red and waded to the restaurant. Cole and Cowboy went in search of a parking spot.
He was right, we had a great lunch and enjoyed our rainy respite…and an hour later we were off to see about Ernest Hemingway. The rain had subsided and we stayed dry, just a few puddles to remind us of the importance of water.
The Museum was delightful. We learned about Hemingway’s cats, currently numbering 59, many have six or seven toes, and they are protected by law. They have weekly, yes weekly, veterinary services, and five cat-loving caretakers to answer every meow of the 59.
A guide told us of Hemingway’s four wives in his tumultuous life and we viewed tropical grounds now known for wedding settings. Cowboy whispered “Seems only right, Old Ernie, with his four wives, had this wedding thing figured out.”
Then we saw his writing office. “Hmmm,” I told Cowboy, “if I had a writing space like that, I, too, would be a bestselling author.” He nodded, but I don’t think he agreed. Dang.
The rain had completely stopped and we headed back to our temporary abode, thankful the rain had not done us in.
BTW, I forgot, we stopped for ice cream. You probably don’t know this, but I have found ice cream shops on all the continents, except Antarctica. And today I found one in Key West. What a great day this has been.
All my books are on Amazon, and I have two more in the works. Stay tuned!
