Key Lime Cove Chronicles: Part Three

I’m taking you with me.

Toukey’s Big Deluge: The Reckoning Prelude: Paradise Lost Propers

Sundown.  Expressway.  The sky is a murky post-pink peach.  Indigo clouds smear up from the western horizon, appearing very much like the monsters that awaited us at the edge of a world we once considered flat,  bringing nighttime in the hems of their gowns.  In the darkness below, snaking chains of alternating red and white lights coil around the I-94/134 cloverleaf .  They slither  this way and that across an unseen landscape.  From the lower deck of a preposterous aquatic amusement contraption, a bottom-heavy Eve regards this rush hour serpent and the darkness outside the cathedral-sized water park windows through her water-speckled Buddy Holly glasses.  

Getaway 2010!

And the Lord said unto Kate, “Go forth into the world as a badass amongst squares.”

“How hard to realize that every camp of men or beast has this glorious starry firmament for a roof!  In such places standing alone on the mountain-top it is easy to realize that whatever special nests we make – leaves and moss like the marmots and birds, or tents or piled stone – we all dwell in a house of one room – the world with the firmament for its roof – and are sailing the celestial spaces without leaving any track.” ~John Muir  

John Muir, the renowned naturalist and founding father of America’s National Parks never had to worry about his three-year-old offspring licking an electrical outlet post on the outskirts of his campsite. 

Life Is But A Dream

A pigsty made of garbage: a masterpiece of unintentional irony.

Earlier this week, Kate and I attended our local County Fair with the aim of seeing the No-Shit-Legendary Los Lobos , eating meat on a stick, and maybe yucking it up a bit along the way.  The County Fair is yet another one of those vestiges of Redneck Culture that I still can’t seem to stay away from, no matter how many degrees I accumulate, how many books I read, or how deeply I ensconce myself in the Middle Class Pretensia known as Suburbia, USA.  My struggle to reconcile my roots with my tips, so to speak, is lifelong and I will stop at nothing, no matter how far-fetched or absolutely stupid, to make sense of it all.