On February 5, I wrote about my father’s silver dollars. He, along with three best friends, received them from one of the fathers for good luck before leaving for Europe in WWII. The father who gave them the coins gave each a second one upon their safe return. My father carried those coins until his death in 1979. I guarded them for a short while until someone broke into my car and stole them. I replaced them with a Liberty half and a Kennedy half. Like my dad’s silver dollars, the Liberty half wore flat, showing virtually no signs of being currency. The Kennedy half never wore at all and still clearly showed the mint date, 1967. I carried those coins with me every day … until Thursday, March 14, when they mysteriously and inexplicably disappeared.

I have no explanation for their disappearance. I put my pants on in the morning, reached into my front pocket, and they were gone. My folding money and car keys were there, only the coins vanished.

The theft of my father’s coins decades ago brought me to can’t-catch-my-breath tears. This disappearance didn’t. Instead, it feels cosmic and karmic, like the completion of some sort of circle. Thursday, March 14, would have been my father’s 108th birthday. I was in New Orleans –– by far my favorite city in the world –– with Rebecca, my brother Joe, and his partner, Marsharee, who has been a good friend for 53 years and who adored my father. Joe and Marsharee left that morning; it was the end of our time together. My father loved New Orleans too: he never stopped grinning when we sat together in gritty NOLA clubs listening to traditional jazz; he downed oysters on the half shell with the best of them; he visited me as an undergraduate every chance he got. At every JazzFest, his spirit visits me when I sit and listen to jazz at the Economy Hall stage and I get in a good, very loving cry.

I took my pants off before going to bed and put them back on in the morning. Somehow, in that span, the coins bolted, headed for some new home in New Orleans. Maybe I should be sad. Instead, I feel liberated. At 75, I have now shed another thing I don’t truly need. Instead of feeling a sense of loss, I feel a sense of completion. I did my job with those coins and my father’s memory. Now, something inexplicable has taken responsibility for them. I’ll think of them every time I put my hand in my pocket for the rest of my life, but I won’t miss them.

A Side Note
Domilise’s is a funky, hole-in-the-wall sandwich shop in Uptown New Orleans one block from the river. (At Annunciation and Bellecastle, in case you are visiting and want the best po-boy ever.) For years, one of my favorite sandwiches there was their hot pepper wiener … a spicy sausage of some unidentifiable origin. Upon returning one year, yearning for a hot pepper wiener po-boy, I learned that they, in the vernacular of New Orleans, “ain’t dere no more.” Domilise’s supplier stopped carrying them, and in their quest for quality, they could not find a replacement.

Domilise’s dealt with the loss in true New Orleans fashion: instead of removing the sandwich from the menu, they taped over “pepper weiner” and replaced it with this thought: “Rest in peace Pepper Weiner.” I reckon that sentiment has been on the menu in that form for 40 years or more. (And disregard all spelling discrepancies; it is New Orleans and it really doesn’t matter!)

I feel the same way about my half dollars: Rest in Peace!

As an old Tulane friend said to me the other day, “We are now closer to 80 than 70.”  That is a sobering thought, even if I do still have one day to go before it is 100% true.  The idea of a BirthDAY is way too fleeting. BirthMONTH has a much nicer feel. The party prep began when we left home. 

The party officially began last week. Initially, we were going to spend a month in New Orleans and the fam would join us for the boys’ school vacation week. Allie –– Mommy of Ronan, 7 and Elliott, 6 –– nixed that idea. In her perfect “Why-is-she right-so much-of-the-time?” way, she said, “Dad, you know it’d be a lot more fun to be in Florida with the boys. Keeping them entertained in New Orleans would be work. They’ll stay entertained in Florida.” So we canceled the NOLA AirB&B with plenty of time to spare and booked one in Kissimmee instead, nestled between Universal (Harry Potter), Cape Canaveral (Disneyland for daddies), Gainesville (where Joanna learned to be an acupuncturist), and the amazing limestone springs of north Florida. It was ideal.

Being the wonderful grandparents we are … and Joanna being the wonderful aunt she is … we left Allie and Mike on their own on Tuesday for Universal and Harry Potter. We wanted nothing to do with it! 

The boys loved it, starting with having a magic wand select them at Diagon Alley (or, as the week’s feeble family humor had it, was that actually Diagon Allie?  Or perhaps just diagonally?) Regardless, they were in heaven despite their exhaustion, as were we, thanks to a complete absence of exhaustion.

Joanna had planned to arrive on Wednesday, but high winds and travel advisories in Boston gave her an excuse to get in a day early. Great for cooking, swimming, and the obligatory round of Florida miniature golf, where Mike and Ronan both aced the infamous Butt Hole. Elliott managed a few aces too, but he wiped out on the Butt Hole.

The now-infamous “Butt Hole.” Hit the crack at a moderate speed: automatic hole-in-one. BRILLIANT!

Miniature golf in a town as vanilla as Kissimmee seems essential.

Canaveral and NASA

Thursday was Daddy heaven: a full day at Cape Canaveral starting with a Space X launch minutes after we arrived, a first for all seven of us. The cloud cover was thick, but NASA offered an assist by virtue of a very large split-screen TV. The viewing crowd of only a few hundred roared the countdown. The blast-off was blindingly bright even if, in our case, it only lasted a few seconds because of the cloud cover. Moments after the blast-off, a cloud of smoke rose from the launch pad. Then the sound enveloped us: a growing roar that has no equivalent I can think of. It just keeps getting louder until it peaks, and then it slowly disappears. Man, that is a lot of energy!

Launch Viewing

A few minutes into the flight, the rocket jettisoned its launch stage, which fell back to earth. On the right screen, we watched the payload of 23 Starlink satellites make its way to space. On the left screen, we watched the launch stage return home, complete with all of the telemetry. (Thanks, NASA!)

The launch stage fell freely for a while, picking up more and more speed. Then its rockets fired and it began to slow. Then its parachutes deployed, and it lost more speed. Then its rockets fired again as it landed perfectly on the target painted on the barge anchored near Puerto Rico. “Now that is some real rocket science,” said Allie. “Aw, no big deal,” said the guy next to me, “it looked like they were off by a meter or so.”  I am still in a state of awe!

Thanks again for the split screen and telemetry, NASA!!!!

By then, we had been at Canaveral for maybe 45 minutes. It felt like a glorious lifetime. 

From the launch, we went to the new Space Shuttle Atlantis exhibit. I’ve been to the Canaveral Visitor Center twice before. There is no limit to the number of times I could go and not tire of it. The Space Shuttle Simulator is like one of the coolest things ever. The first time I went, decades ago, I fell in love with the simulator.  The second time, 7 or 8 years ago, the simulator was everything that I remembered it to be … plus NASA had moved the Shuttle Atlantis … the first shuttle ever to fly … to Canaveral. We saw it standing next to the building that would become the Atlantis Exhibit Hall, but we couldn’t get close to it.

This time, the layout of the whole place had changed thanks to the new hall.  The curation of the Shuttle Program is un-freaking-believable. (Sorry, that is as articulate as I can get.) First, there is a short video of the daring birth of the shuttle program: a re-usable rocket that would take humans to space and return them to earth, where it would glide in for a landing. No way!!!!

Then a second room and second video, this one showing the failures and successes that finally led to the successful launch of Atlantis. Then the room goes dark. The projection screen scrim opens, and OMG!!!! Right there!!!! Feet from you!!!! The Space Shuttle Atlantis!!!!

Not a model. The real deal. Inches from your face. What a moment!!!!!

After the shock wears off, there is endless brilliantly created interpretive material … and then the Shuttle Simulator! My third time. I’m ready to go back tomorrow. Shuttle astronauts talk you through the experience. (They say it is a realistic simulation of a shuttle launch.) You strap into a seat in a pod in the Shuttle’s cargo bay. The pod tilts 90˚ so you are on your back. The engines start shortly after the countdown clock passes 10 seconds. At zero, the shuttle lifts off. The roar is deafening; the vibration could loosen fillings; I have no clue how they make it feel like G-forces are stronger, but they do. Then the first stage jettisons. The vibrations and roar diminish. The final stage jettisons. The vibrations and noise turn into total peaceful silence. The shuttle bay doors open to the infinite sky of bright stars broken up only by earth as Florida passes by. I dare anyone to experience that and not cry. It can’t be done!

There are all sorts of other little things to fill the day, like a Lego Mars Rover, the VAB –– Vehicle Assembly Building –– that was, when built, the largest building by volume in the world. (Each star in the flag is 6’ across; each stripe is a highway lane.) And the Apollo/moon landing exhibit, complete with moon rock to touch, and an up-close encounter with a Saturn 5 rocket that just makes you feel very, very small!

The VAB – Vehicle Assembly Building

The exhilaration of the day more than made up for the exhaustion.

OMG!!!! What a wonderful day!

Friday, we piddled. Saturday, Mike flew home and the rest of us drove to Gainesville with a long stop at Silver Springs. We’d hoped to see manatees (especially one of their two new babies), but nature didn’t behave. In fact, we couldn’t even take one of their famous glass-bottom boat tours because of a lightning storm. (At least I saved a little dough.)

Too bad we missed the boat tour and the manatees. Silver Springs … and all of the north Florida limestone springs … is gorgeous!

Joanna gave us the cook’s tour of Gainesville, including endless alligators, birds, and turtles at Sweetwater Wetlands Park (my favorite!) and Depot Park. By the time we left, Allie no longer freaked out at the sight of a wild alligator.  (For those of you who know her, you know that it is a major accomplishment!)

Alligators and soft shell turtles in Gainesville.

From Gainesville, Rebecca and I headed west toward New Orleans. The kids headed home. School vacation week and Part 1 of the Celebration of 75 had gone off as hoped!

Stay tuned.  There’s more to come: Part 2: New Orleans. Part 3: Atlanta. Part 4: The Fireworks (aka total solar eclipse).

Our time with NASA began at Wallop’s Island near Chincoteague, Virginia, home of the famous wild ponies. Yes. That is an original Mercury capsule on the left. It was tested at Wallops. I can’t get enough of that stuff!

Our “lagniappe” (special extra) in Florida was a meal with Katie and Mary Jo. Katie had been Allie’s boss at Ozone House in Ann Arbor. Mary Jo was Joanna’s boss when she worked as a food coordinator for Washtenaw County Michigan. Mary Jo and Katie became mentors, real friends, and family. They just happened to be in the Orlando area when we were. I cooked up a pot of shrimp etouffee (can’t get enough local shrimp!), and we spent a spectacular evening together. It’s hard to get your fill of really good people and really good friends!

Yes. It is an armpit. Yes. It is in the armpit. But don’t be fooled: I love Perry, Florida! It may be a little stinky, but it is always full of surprises.

Perry is one of those places where we just happen to find ourselves every few years. It is at the crossroad of US 98 (east-west through the Florida panhandle) and US 19 (north-south to Atlanta). It is also due east of Apalachicola, one of those magical panhandle bergs that tickles both the environmentalist and the sociologist in me. It is an armpit of a town in the armpit of Florida.

The first time we drove through Perry, 8 or 9 years ago, we arrived after dark, a rarity in our travel world. We checked out a locally owned motel, saw that it was run by a Mister Patel from Gujarat India.

For those of you not in the know, “Patel” is the most common surname in Gujarat. The Patels have spread far and wide in the hospitality business, often running small, locally owned motels in off-the-beaten path destinations. We’ve stayed with Mr. Patel in Perry, Florida; West Point, Virginia; Aurora, Nebraska; Big Stone Gap, Virginia, Arnprior, Ontario; and countless other places. We have come to feel confident that if Mr. Patel owns a motel, it will be clean, relatively comfortable, and safe. If we are not certain about a place and Mr. or Mrs, Patel is behind the desk, we generally say yes.

That was the case the first time we traveled through Perry. The room was inexpensive; the bed was comfortable; the linens were clean and ample. We got just the value we bargained for. Then we woke up in the morning and looked outside. The motel parking lot surrounded a swimming pool. The pool was filled with bricks and construction debris instead of water. We cracked up. What would we have thought if we had arrived in daylight and seen the pool? Maybe we would have stayed there, but it’s doubtful.

It is remarkable how a County Seat at a crossroad in Florida not far from Tallahassee can be so desolate, but Perry has found a way. There are two new motels in Perry, a Hampton Inn and a Holiday Inn Express, but they were both damn near $200. We just hate spending that much for a quick overnight. There was one other possibility: The Royal Inn on Route 27, a privately-owned spot that looked neat and friendly, despite the roof damage from last August’s Hurricane Idalia that damn-near decimated Perry.

Rebecca and I have a few firm and fast rules when we road trip. The one that keeps our marriage intact is this: If one of us wants to stop … for any reason at all … we stop. Period. No questions. No whining. We have found some unbelievably cool places thanks to that one. Another one allows to sleep well at night: We will not accept a motel room until we have examined it, carefully checking the sheets, the mattress, the general cleanliness, the towels, and the condition of the bathroom. Non-negotiable. Period. Just won’t do it.

Until this trip to Perry, that is. We walked into the office of the Royal Inn and encountered an Indian gentleman at the desk. We asked to see a room. “No,” he said flatly and firmly. “What?!?,” we said, incredulously. I kindly explained that we travel a great deal and always inspect the rooms before we rent them. In return, he firmly explained that he owned the motel and maintained it himself. There was no doubt we would be pleased with the room, but we could not inspect it beforehand.

There was something endearing about the guy, but we left anyway. We checked out the EconoLodge and considered spending more than we wanted to for the Hilton or Holiday Inn. Then we looked at the pictures of the Royal Inn on the Internet. The rooms not only looked fine, they had no carpet. No carpet is a major plus for us. Carpets can be filthy and you don’t know it; when an engineered or wood floor is filthy, you know it!

So we drove back to the Royal Inn. As we did, a school bus was letting off a passenger in front of the office. A young special-needs girl disembarked, met her mother, got in their car, and drove off. That scene touched us. We do not know if Mom worked at the motel or if it is just her pick-up location. Regardless, it felt like a little instant of the world being a better place than it might otherwise have been. We decided to take the risk.

I introduced myself to the innkeeper and said we would take him at his word and take a room. He introduced himself: Mr. Vipul Patel. I should have known he was a Mr. Patel. He explained that he decided years ago not to show rooms to random travelers. He needed to know he could trust them. He was firm as a rock.

The room was spacious and comfy, with a good firm mattress, very decent pillows, a sitting table, a sofa, and a clean bathroom with towels that, while not plush, were fine at drying. It was far enough from the highway to be quiet. It had no smell. And it cost less than half of the Hampton Inn or Holiday Inn.

Mr. Patel filled my ear with his thoughts. Imagining that someone might have pulled a gun on him at some point, I asked if he established his room-viewing policy because something bad had happened. “No,” he said. He just knew it was the right thing to do. God only gave us this one life, he explained. It is up to us to do what is right with it. We cannot afford to make stupid mistakes. That is that, and he doesn’t waver. Rebecca and I had a fine stay. Sadly, though, we could not enjoy Deal’s Oyster House or Zodie’s pogo stick. They’re closed on Monday. We did, however, have a very decent Mexican meal at Casa Grande just north of town. All-in-all, a just-as-expected evening in the armpit of the armpit. See you next time, Perry.

The place looked clean enough, so we gave it a shot.

The room was spacious and clean … and every place in Perry showed damage from Hurricane Idalia.

Thank you, Mr. Patel. It’s not every hotel room that provides a Gideon Bible AND a Bhagavad Gita!

Deal’s Oyster House: Zodie playing her pogo stick in 1993 and again 2015. (Check out a Youtube of it. They are hilarious!)