lwood: (Raven)
With one thing and another, especially my cell phone's trusty alarm clock, I was up at 9:30 and out of the house by 10:15. Not bad, considering that I'd allowed a half-hour each to find the airport, return the car, and take the jitney to the terminal from the off-site rental car place before my two-hours-prior airport arrival.

Then the coinidences started piling higher and deeper. )
lwood: (Troth wreath)
Florida 6: Osprey Bay Hospitality

Mark "Demarus" Donegan lives in a three-bedroom, two-bath house with his wife Tracy, cat Loki, and dogs Griffin and Rig—he swears the god-named animals were so named before he started doing heaten things and as such are Not His Fault, Dammit.

I pulled up in the late afternoon, much refreshed from having visited the sea and diven, fast and far, up and down central Florida.

Rig, half-wolf and half-mutt, sprang to meet me when we left him in from the back porch. )
lwood: (Default)
[Written 13 Nov 2003, on the airplane home. Events occurred 12 November, 2003.]

[livejournal.com profile] purplevenus really, really likes mermaids. I mean, as in, "wants to be one when she grows up," and never mind that she's already over 20, dammit. [livejournal.com profile] cadhla is merely obsessed with them, but unfortunately she rarely reads my journal, so may not see this.

When I was much younger, during one of those previously-mentioned Florida trips, we visited a place called Weeki Wachee. It's a roadside attraction at the corner of US 19 and SR 50. They have an official site and an interesting review about—latter link courtesy of Neil Gaiman.

Most of you have read American Gods, right? The ones who haven't definitely should. Weeki Wachee is one of those sort of roadside attractions. More—including pictures—inside!

It even gets mentioned by ol'Mister Wednesday in passing... )
lwood: (otter)
[Written 13 November, on my Palm, at the cafe mentioned herein.]

I left them at something like 10:15, with a slice of Key lime pie for breakfast. My stepgrandfather was much better behaved this morning, but as far as I care the damage has already been done: the next time Florida will have a chance at me may well be my grandmother's funeral.

I left Sarasota slowly, driving west into the heart of the city, then turning north on the Tamiami Trail, US 41, a road that extends, as the name says, from Tampa to Miami. Just south of the Bradenton city limits, Florida State Route 464 cuts west to the Keys.

People who have never been to Florida may only think of the Keys as a trailing dribble of islands leading to Key West, the proud Conch Republic. This isn't actually so: in reality, a "Key" is any of a number of sandspit islands that encircle Florida. To get to them, one must cross the Intracoastal Waterway, a trench once dredged by the Army Core of Engineers, but beyond them is the Gulf of Mexico—the Sea!

Bradenton Beach is a small town of itself, where 464 meets 789, the Gulf Coast Road -- you Californians can count it kin to the Paciic Coast Highway, California State Route 1 as it threads a way along a rocky coastline. The Sea bounds them both, albeit with different names, but the largest difference is that Florida is quite a bit flatter!

When I reached the Sea, I turned right, north, along the coast. Less than half a mile up the road was beach access and a couple tourist traps—it's from one of these that I write this entry, but not until I visited the Sea.

It's warm, here, the Gulf a proteted cove of the warm side of the ocean, itself warmed by the sun which is only now getting tolerable here in mid-November. The sand is soft and white, ground shells against the shore, and liberally sprinkled with larger specimens. You can extract the shells from the sand like panning for gold: take a handful in your hand, swish it in the sea, and the sand wafts away, leaving shells behind. The water is a study in blue-greens: pale by the shore, shading through emerald to a deep teal at the horizon, all contrasted by the brilliant white sand.

I've taken a handful of small shells and put them in my pocket to decorate some altar-like object at home, memory of this warm sea, and of the fact that Florida can be kind.. I'm writing this from a small cafe, where my Palm and its keyboard really impress the locals.

The Gulf Drive Cafe is a busy litttle eatery. I've just had a splendid Greek-style salad with anchovies (mmm, anchovies) and grilled chicken on top, and I'm sure there's an actual Greek person involved with the restaurant; not only is this salad on the menu, not only are gyros on the menu, but the olives are black, whole, and still have pits!

Dessert is another slice of Key Lime Pie. How could I resists having Key Lime Pie on an actual Key? The pie is named for Key limes, which are smaller and sweeter than the sort you usually find in the store. Avoid pies that purport to be Key Lime and are green; real Key lime pie is golden yellow with the faintest hint of chartreuse.

I do believe this slice is better than the one from Sugar 'n' Spice (an Amish restaurant) that I had for breakfast.

All right, now... nobody be surprised, but a huge crow just lit on a sign in the parking lot and flew away north.

Time to go.

-- Lorrie
lwood: (Default)
I'm back!

I wrote lots of stuff on the plane. Once I got away from Sarasota and the family, my writing style settled into the good travelogue that I had so much practice in during my trainabout two years ago.

[That's not horn-blowing, links like that are a "for those of you who are just joining us" sort of thing.]

And then, after writing nice long entries with diversions that'd make Garrison Keillor proud, I was about to work on Ye Novel when I realised I didn't have the old Chapter One.

Which in turn made me realised that where I was starting Chapter One was a boring place anyway, so I rewrote it.

Amazing what happens when you're locked in close quarters with few distractions for nine hours, which of course I know, it's just bloodydamn hard to get the nine hours...

Anyway, I'm debating whether to post all the bitses at once, or one a day so as not to give [livejournal.com profile] bellacrow-style machine gun service.

Definitely more to follow at any rate. 8-)

-- Lorrie
lwood: (Default)
[Edited: I typoed a link and the cut. Fixed, with apologies!]

I've flip-flopped yet again on whether to friends-lock stuff. Not gonna unlock old stuff, but may as well make this'un public, it's just me ruminatin'.

Why Florida Is Really Mars )
lwood: (Raven)
See? I meant it!

Oh! A Eastern bluejay! In the birdbath! Now that's something I haven't seen in years. Yay little blue corvids on Wednesdays... er. *ahem* Anyway...
Another opening, another post... )


lwood: (Default)

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