Bad Heir Day

Shawn and I engage in a classic pre-photo gut-suck.

On Father’s Day I reminded myself of that old country song where the guy doesn’t know whether to kill himself or go bowling.

Since I don’t bowl, I decided to go to the Big Cypress Flea Market. I’ve never been, have been wanting to go.

Thankfully, I have a car again! One great thing about a crap economy, you can actually find an honest mechanic on Craigslist - someone who will come out, tell you it’s not nearly as bad as you thought, go buy the necessary parts and come back and fix it for you; all within two hours.

DESTINATION: BIG CYPRESS FLEA MARKET

So yesterday I headed out and the car drove like new. NPR was on the radio, the sun was shining and I was starting to relax as I turned off I75 at exit 101 to Marco Island. Two panther crossing signs on Collier and I was hanging a left on 41 towards the everglades.

It was so hot the blacktop on south Tamiami shimmered like pools of liquid silver. The local weather folks are describing the temps as “soup”. (I have the AC set to 83 degrees; when I return to my condo after a walk, it’s like stepping into a meatlocker.)

Locals are crackers and imports who are proud of their ability to endure jungle heat without bitching too much. Snowbirds are a bunch of pussies.

When I was a snowbird I went to the flea market in downtown Fort Myers once. It’s a hot, dirty maze of crap and not-so-crap. The layout is manic.

Big Cypress in Naples is just the opposite - air conditioned, new and orderly. Shoppers were pretty darned sparse for a Father’s day and I couldn’t help noticing an unsettling desperation among most of the vendors.

I make jewelry; a hand-made Swarovski crystal bracelet that had to cost $30 to make was on sale for … thirty dollars. And the couple that owned the lovely little shop was desperate to sell something. Anything.

In the food court, one happy, talented entertainer was playing to approximately nine people; this area had the capacity to seat hundreds. I’m sure in six months, as new dealers sign on, Big Cypress will offer people enough merchandise and activities to become a great way to spend an afternoon.

It deserves community and snowbird support! http://www.bigcypressmarketplace.com/

Unfortunately, I was MORE depressed after leaving the flea market.

Snowbirds are up north, people who can’t take the heat are staying inside … and almost everyone is worried about spending money.

SUCKS TO BE HEIRS

I thought about Father’s Day … the best father I know is my son. (Photo above.)

I was thinking about that on the drive back … my son … my heir. Before I got Lyme Disease, I would have had plenty to leave him and his family. Now I'll have nothing to leave but photos and memories.

If things don’t turn around soon, the baby boom generation will have produced more descendants than heirs. Think about the difference. I was. I talked myself into a deeper depression.

Part of me said GO HOME AND HIDE; my higher self said WHEN YOU’RE SAD AND LONELY, GO WHERE THE HAPPY PEOPLE ARE.

They’re at the Lighthouse Tiki Bar on Fort Myers Beach.

THE USUAL SUSPECTS AT THE USUAL PLACE

I took exit 116 to Lover’s Key; what an incredible stretch of roads, bridges and islands. I started wishing I had my kayak …. there are so many wonderful beaches and coves, you can pull over and put in almost anywhere.

But I had no kayak, so I kept driving. In 15 minutes I had parked my car under the bridge and was maneuvering the pebbly path to the Lighthouse Tiki Bar.

It feels like home. It’s my neighborhood bar, my Cheers where I recognize other locals and vice versa.

On Sundays the Diane Russel band KICKS ASS. http://www.myspace.com/dianerussellband
It is NOT POSSIBLE to remain glum. Apply beer and tap to the beat ...

Soon tourists were behaving badly. Bimps were strutting around mostly naked, manmeat was walking around shirtless; one was peppering his nipples.

By 7 p.m. half the bar was in the pool - some against their will. A large gentleman proudly rose to the surface with his beer upright. One pretty blonde pattered back to her barstool soaking wet in white (suddenly see-thru) shorts & no undies.

The bathrooms became a Noah’s ark where ladies entered two by two...

I sat in back to watch the happy madness with a married friend who knows everyone and everything. He apologized for transitioning from southern gentleman to redneck in the course of three strong cocktails.

It was a hoot. I met new people and had a really nice time.

Note to self & everyone else … when times get tough, go where the happy people are.