Month: December 2018

Next time we’re at a dinner party and someone throws out an inquiry about The Sponge Capitol of The World, we confidently can provide the answer.  Because in addition to working on our condo, we found time to do at least a little touristy stuff.  Like visit Tarpon Springs.

Incidentally, if the blog looks a bit different it’s because WordPress up and changed everything about creating a post.   Made it much more complicated.  Without bothering to ask our permission.

Cult fascination also took us—several times—past the Scientology motherplanetvoodooshipofmumbojumbo or whatever it’s called.

We didn’t go in.  Frankly we were kind of scared just looking at it, knowing that the bodies of Shelly Miscavige and everyone who ever has been friends with Shelly Miscavige probably are buried in a lime-filled pit beneath the marble floor.  Once when we were in Hemet, California, we drove past the so-called “Gold Base,”  our every move followed by a zillion obvious CCTV cameras.  These are weird and spooky places haunted by weird and spooky people.  (For a good time, Google “Tom Cruise Scientology videos” and watch some of them.)

Salvador Dali also was a weird dude.  Not Scientology-weird, of course.  More like bad-LSD-trip weird.   We went to the Dali Museum in St. Pete.

Wonder if Sal’s buddies teased him with Dalai Lama jokes when they sat around the old easels.  “Big hitter, the Lama.”  Probably not.

Before the girls arrived for the Holidays we were able to wrap up The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel season 2, which means another long wait.  Will Midge go on the tour?  Marry Ben?  Or take Joel back despite the whole Penny Pan thing?  Has Abe finally lost his mind?  We hate season-ending cliffhangers.

A couple more things.  First, we got to wait for the same bascule bridge on water and on land.  That’s a first.  When sitting in a car while the arms are up, it seems like trawler speed is even slower than it feels when actually traveling at trawler speed.

Second, we got to watch our nephew Grant play in a soccer tournament.  He’s quite the stud.  While at the team hotel, Dana snuck up on a big awkward bird.  A four-foot tall Sandhill crane.  We later started seeing them all over the place.

Know what we don’t want to see all over the place?  Alligators.  Shannon first spotted this dude just off the parking lot where we were walking her alligator-snack-size brothers.

Of course, Shannon immediately pulled up news stories about dogs, kids, and alligators, none of which made us want to swim in small dark Florida ponds.

Mallory retrieved a few more light strands from our D.C. storage unit, so we finished up the decorations after she arrived.

Anyway, St. Petersburg is to the apostle Peter what St. Johnsville is to the apostle John.  Which really is meaningless.  So we’re ready to get moving again.  Tomorrow, Sarasota.

It’s great to have the entire family along, even if just for a couple of weeks.

Up and at ‘em this morning.  Mission: Faro Blanco by Christmas Eve, although more rain and such is on the way.

The first proof of progress was passing under the Sunshine Skyway bridge.

A few days ago we were stopped for emergency traffic on the bridge after someone jumped from the high point.  Shannon says that happens with some regularity, which is really sad.

On the other side of the bridge sat a sheriff’s boat.  With a drone in the air.  So we called by radio to ask if we could fly ours.  They said yes.  Dana lost the family vote 5 to 1, so we did.

Okay its another gray day and the video isn’t overly exciting, but Mallory gamely was willing to catch the drone with her bare hand and then the propellers cut her finger and then she couldn’t hold the railing and so she fell down the stairs in front of Shannon who started laughing, which at least spiced things up for those aboard.

Once we got out of Tampa Bay the sun came out for a bit, allowing us to take actual color photos of river banks and the Sarasota skyline.

As near as we can tell, every highrise in Sarasota is a condo complex, probably full of old people like us.  However, we walked around town enough to tell that this wouldn’t be a bad place to live, at least for old people like us.

As an aside, it’s great to have access to more family-member votes except when the issue is how much time to spend in yet another store that’s all blue and ivory and seafoam and smells like soap and candles and is full of stuff we couldn’t possibly use on a boat.  Then the extra votes suck.

Today was an absolutely perfect day on Misty Pearl.  It started with blue skies as we left Marina Jack at 8:30.

Hardly a cloud all day.  The water was as smooth as a cue ball.  The wind was as calm as yoga.  Namaste.

We made every bridge opening, almost without slowing down.

The girls and dogs basked on the bow.  A pod of dolphins played along.

After arriving at Aquamarina in Lemon Bay, we found the hot tub hot and the neighbors friendly and the diesel fuel priced quite reasonably.  It all was kind of like a boat-through Disney movie.

Awesome.

Yesterday was everything Tuesday wasn’t.  The sky was gray all day.  We had to wait for bridges.  We hit choppy dolphinless water and boat wakes that tossed our decorated Christmas shrub to the floor.  But we forged ahead, since Fort Myers Beach is our port in the storm barreling towards us with predicted forty+ knot winds.

So we did what Dana would do from roughly May through January if given the option: crank up Christmas music.  If dissected, Christmas often is kind of dopey.  For example, likening a star to the tail of a kite makes no sense.  Doug looked up the Guinness World Record kite.  It was just over 10,000 square feet, which is huge for a kite.   We don’t know how big that kite’s tail was, but regardless it’s really really small for a star that’s at least 4.3 light years away and would not be visible to shepherds and drummer boys and such.  Nobody else on the boat, of course, cares much for Doug’s view of things.

Anyway, after an unexpected detour caused by our discovery of a low fixed bridge in the way, we rounded the bend down to Fort Myers.  Dana spotted an eagle on the perch where we usually see sea birds of one sort or another.

We also almost were run over by Big Daddy.  Not the real Big Daddy, of course, since he’s probably still docked at The Yards where he was the last person to see us as we started The Loop, but a fishing boat that stole his nickname.  Captained by some dude who had no courtesy for us as we docked in the wind and tide.

Fortunately we managed to get to Pink Shell anyway.

Mid-afternoon, we started smelling sulfur.  By about 6 it was unbearable.  Then the CO alarm started beeping.  Oh great, an off-gassing forward battery under our bed. (Which actually was a relief because if a crew member had been off-gassing that volume the rest of us would be in for some very long days and nights.)  But we have no car and no way to get another battery.  Fortunately the resort had a room available, so we schlepped dogs and stuff across the street.

The amazing part of the story relates to Diversified Yacht Services.  Doug called them and left a message at 7, well after business hours.  An hour later Eileen called back and promised to get a tech on it first thing.  Scott called back at about 8 this morning.  By 10, Chris had delivered a new battery, all for a cost of about half what West Marine charges for the same battery.  Those guys are our heroes.

Once the new battery was installed and the place aired out, we headed into the wind, which whipped up the sand and surf to the point we all were forced to toss our sandals into the air to see how far the wind would take them.

The start of the storm chased us into Misty Pearl for the day, although we ventured out long enough to enjoy dinner with Jerry and Deena aboard Mahi Mahi.  Our last meal with Mahi Mahi was at Bobby’s Fish Camp.

Tomorrow the brunt of the storm will hit.  Hopefully we’re fendered and tied sufficiently to avoid damage.  Unfortunately no go on the whole Christmas-in-Marathon thing.  Assuming we can get out of here on Monday, Santa will find us either on Marco Island or in the Everglades.  Like Tom Bodett, we’ll leave the lights on for him.

As we anticipated, those big winds hit us full force on Friday.  Forty- to 50-knot gusts.  Contrary to what we anticipated, however, the west winds took a hard right at Bowditch Point and slammed us directly from the north, leaving us pretty much unprotected.  We spent the afternoon hunkered down, narrowly avoiding injury from patting ourselves on the back for shrewdly purchasing oversized docklines.  We ain’t saying we beat the devil, but we drank his beer for nothing.  The biggest problem turned out to be getting the boys to shore without them being blown away like teeny tiny star-sized kite tails.  At least it wasn’t raining or overly cold.

The wind died down overnight, and Saturday was gorgeous.  Which meant drone time for Doug and beach time for everyone else.

The best part of Saturday, however, was dinner and a concert with Jerry and Deena in the Mahi Mahi concert hall.  Jerry was the concert and Deena was the music stand.  Both were wonderful.

No concert, but Sunday was even better from a weather perspective.  We all piddled around and killed the day with nothing really noteworthy.

It’s looking more and more like we’ll be cruising down to Everglades City on Christmas.  Assuming we make it to Marco Island tomorrow.  We’re a bit concerned, however, because there aren’t any Christmas songs about Santa dodging alligators and pythons while delivering presents in the swamps.

Speaking of Holiday music—and related to our last post—we’ve had a bit of debate on the propriety of mocking Christmas songs.  Doug thinks the juxtaposition of Baby Jesus and a talking snowman and such justifies a deeper discussion about the genre.  Everyone else on the boat thinks Doug misses the entire point of the Christmas season and should just shut up and join the off-key family choir.

As a compromise, we offer the REK classic: