Home base this week is Vero Beach (dubbed Velcro Beach by wags of a certain age because once you get here you never want to leave--which is definitely true if you're a golf-club-totin', Lilly-Pulitzer-lovin', lemonade-suckin' Republican, and probably also true if you're the sort that likes postcard-pretty Florida beach towns). Bert frets endlessly about whether we should park our minivan back-end in so that none of those golf-club-totin' Republicans can see our Kerry/Edwards sticker.
We're staying at the weirdly wonderful Driftwood Inn, built in the 1930s by an eccentric entrepreneur named Waldo Sexton. Legend has it that the place was constructed without the benefit of an architect or plans--just good old Waldo, standing on the beach, shouting instructions to his carpenters. The result is a very cool hodgepodge of crooked buildings made out of rough-hewn lumber and--like the name says--driftwood; all adorned with odd scraps of metal, stained-glass windows, bells, tiles, and various other beachcomber tchotchkes. Our room is tiny, but it has an amazing ocean view... it's kind of like living on a boat, except there's linen service. And there's good eating in these parts too: grits with breakfast, grilled mahi sandwiches at lunch and dreamy-creamy frozen custard across the street at Abbotts.
The boat--still in Fort Pierce at Cracker Boy--is progressing nicely. Yesterday, the keel and rudder were installed with relative ease, and tomorrow the mast goes in. Then we can give her a good scrub inside and out and start loading her up with all our stuff, which will go a long way toward making us feel less homeless. She should be in the water by the middle of next week. (Well, maybe not, today was a day of myriad minor setbacks. With any luck we'll be back on track in a day or two and nothing will prove too serious...Bert)
Let's see, what else did I want to tell you about...Oh, yes, while we were in Fort Lauderdale (dubbed Fort Liquordale by certain wags because...well, I don't really need to explain that one, do I?) we took a road trip up to Lantana to have dinner at Riggins Crab House. We weren't really going for the food, it was more about visiting with the guy that owns the place, an old family friend named Danny Callaro whom I hadn't seen in 25 years. (He also happens to be my high-school boyfriend's brother, which may explain why I felt compelled to make Bert pull over at a CVS right before we got to the restaurant so I could buy mascara and lip gloss and perform a minor makeover in the ladies' room.) Anyway, it was great seeing Danny, but the real reason I'm even mentioning this outing is that the crabs at Riggins Crab House are AMAZING. The place is all about Maryland-style blue crabs, complete with Old Bay seasoning, mallets and picks (but no bib for me, thank you). Danny served us up a dozen of the fattest crabs in the house, and we were in crab-smacking heaven. They were every bit as good as the crabs at Cantlers, in Annapolis, and I am not lying.
We also made a Disney World run and had a great visit, thanks to my sister Joann and my brother-in-law Michael Rooney. He's a mucky-muck at ESPN, and he treated us to a VIP viewing of the weigh-in at ESPN's BASS Master Classic. Not being familiar with the world of high-stakes fishing (sadly,I'm a girl), I was dumbfounded by the scale of the spectacle, not to mention the spectacle of the scale. The dazzling lights! The screaming fans! The flopping fish! Dean Kessel, BASS V.P., told me the event was the Superbowl of fishing competitions, and all I can say is...who knew!? It was a piscine-a-palooza, and my only disappointment was that there was no half-time performance by the Rolling Stones. We also had fun at the Magic Kingdom. Wait! No! Scratch that! We didn't have any fun at all. And Rosie, if you're reading this, we didn't want to go there without you--Joann made us go! Even Nora had a terrible time. She was practically crying throughout the entire ordeal.
Finally, speaking of Rosie, she has made it safely from the Vivarillos Cays to Providencia, Colombia, with no unpleasant pirate run-ins and only a few minor bouts of seasickness. I'll end again with a recent e-mail from her:
February 26, the Vivarillos
Dear Ma and Da,
This morning when we woke up I had half an apple covered in peanut butter (the last piece of fresh fruit). Then we went to booby and frigate island with weird boaters including a man that never smiles or laughs, a woman who figured out that if you mix hot water with cold water you get warm water, and a woman who never keeps flour on her boat. It is quite amusing listening to them gossip on the radio.When we were done looking at boobies acting like "bobos" or stupids, we walked back to the dingy. B found two helmet shells and we found three spotted sea hairs, big slug like creatures that squirt purple ink at you. When we got back to the boat B and I did school for a bit, whilst Grey and Sarah went spear fishing (Grey caught four fish including a giant hogfish!). Then we went to the cursed island and then back to the boat. Then we had quovaltine (or ovaltine as you weirdos call it) and wrote the outline for a report on boobies. For dinner we had fish that Grey caught. We are now listening to totally '70s.
love,
Rosie N.
This is Sparrow, standing by.
