It's been a busy summer. No, really. Busy. Stupid busy. So we went on a road trip.
To Florida! First night plan: camping in Georgia, right on the Florida border. Plan scrapped when the skies opened up. Instead, we watched a giant puddle swallow cars from the safety of the Days Inn lobby in Stark, Florida.
Plan for day two: Weeki Watchee!
Success! Followed by a couple of days with my dear friend, Fran, with whom I have numerous wacky college memories involving a fair amount of Brooklyn hijinx and terrorizing Ireland. Sorry about that, Ireland.
After a scoot through the Everglades, we headed south. All the way south.
Camping in the Keys. I enjoyed it, though it would have been better if a) we'd had a spot on the beach side of the little road where there would have been a nice breeze. Cause it was pretty hot. And, b) the people next to us had SHUT UP. It is the danger of car camping, of course, that there are going to be people there. Other people, in the spot next to you, which is only fifteen feet away from where you're trying to sleep. And it is a danger of which I am well aware. And yet, I convince myself it will be better this time. Which, of course, it isn't. In the Keys our neighbor told camping stories well into the night. They all started, "This one time, we went camping...." Really. At one point, Phil rolled over toward me and said, "this one time, we went camping, in the Florida Keys, and the asshat in the spot next to us WOULDN'T SHUT UP." It didn't help.
They Keys are purdy purdy, I must say. Wish we'd been able to stay longer.
Then we drove home. The rest of Florida kind of blends in together. We stopped for a dip briefly at the beach in St. Augustine. We spent a night in Palm Beach. We contemplated camping at the Georgia camp site that had been rained out on the way in, but when we got to the exit for it, it was raining. Again. So instead, we stopped in Savannah. Lots of people have told me how nice Savannah is. And the historic part is awfully pretty. But, it became quickly apparent that everyone had failed to mention that the historic part is surrounded by many blocks of serious urban blight. It was a bit of a shock.
We stopped at a wacky flea market on the way out of town, browsed and browsed. Mr. P picked up a couple of neat things, we saw other neat things we couldn't afford, and then we skidaddled on out and headed home to the Mr. Tibbs welcoming committee.
And then there were so many emails in my box it has taken me a week to get through them. Sigh.