I’m starting this blog as a way to express myself in a fun and creative way. To get back to something I enjoy doing…writing, in its most basic format. Simply writing what I see and observe, hopefully this will be humorous and enjoyable for readers. A sometimes quirky look at the world we live in without being too serious.
Thanks for stopping by and enjoy….
Yesterday morning I was in the kitchen making coffee and putting away the dishes from the dishwasher. The TV was on mainly for the sound, the business channel was on. The 2 talking heads were discussing the latest government report. I can’t remember if it was the jobs report, the inflation report, the CPI, the PPI, the happiness index or the report of if people think billionaires are douchebags…..not surprising to find out that the answer to the last one is YES, people do think billionaires are douchebags.
The 2 talking heads appeared slightly bored as they tried to interpret the numbers of this latest report. Finally one of them, I can’t remember which one, the man with the rolled up sleeves and lots of hair gel or the always tired looking lady who’s face says “I can’t believe I’m still on the morning shift,” remarked that this report was a nothingburger. I looked up from the coffee making and putting away the dishes and I thought what a curious word…..nothingburger.
I became so curious about it, where it came from, who used it first and under what circumstance, that I decided to do something I rarely do when contemplating a blog post….I did some research. I mean if my 85 year old mother is mixing in the word nothingburger into conversations about current events then this definitely deserves some research.
In a case of everything that’s old is new again, the word first appeared back in 1953 in a Hollywood gossip column using it to describe an unaccomplished person. The word appeared occasionally in political or journalistic contexts in the 1980’s & 1990’s but saw a massive resurgence in 2017 during political conversations. Today it’s used frequently to describe any news story or controversy that generates lots of hype but turns out to be insignificant. And I suppose that’s why the 2 talking heads on the business channel morning show threw the term out there to describe the latest government report.
I remember when I was a kid my dad used to occasionally take my sister and me to McDonald’s for lunch on a Saturday afternoon. He never seemed that enthusiastic about it and later when I became an adult and parent I realized this was definitely a tactic used by mom’s to get a few hours of peace and quiet away from the kids with the excuse of the dad getting to spend quality time with the kids that never happened during the work week. The hamburgers at McDonald’s in the 70’s were probably not much different from how they are today, although to be honest I can’t remember the last time I had a McDonald’s hamburger of any kind. A thin burger patty with a pickle, ketchup and some chopped onions. The cost was less than a dollar, in fact I think it was a quarter and if you got a cheeseburger it was 35 cents. We always got a hamburger, not that we didn’t like cheeseburgers although I don’t think I actually had one until I was a teenager, but my Dad was not going to spend an extra 20 cents to get his kids a cheeseburger.
As a kid I didn’t know if McDonald’s hamburgers were any good or if a cheeseburger was worth an extra 10 cents, I was just happy to be going out to lunch and getting something we never got any other time, french fries and a milkshake even if my Dad was unenthusiastic about the whole experience.
Now I make my own burgers and nothingburger would definitely not be an apt description of it. I pile on the extras, the beef topped with lettuce, tomato, pickles, onion, mayo and ketchup sometimes even barbecue sauce for an extra kick. The burger almost becomes inconsequential mainly used as a platform for the toppings all held together with the bun.
My burger is deliciously messy the mayo squirting out the sides, the tomato slipping away from the bun. It’s a glorious eating experience requiring multiple napkins and preferably no interruptions and yes there’s cheese on it melted and dripping off the burger. My burger has become a sort of food testing ground as I sometimes add some coleslaw or avocado to see what they might add to the taste.
So go ahead all you talking heads bored with the latest government report or still half asleep on the morning show, keep describing all those controversies and latest consumer happiness numbers as nothingburgers. I’ll be over here with condiments dripping off my burger and a handful of napkins. I’m not sure how I would describe my burger, it does need it’s own name, but I’ll be gloriously stuffing my face burger, cheese and toppings. If nothingburger means the absence of something of importance then my burger would be the opposite…just how I like it.
Peace and Love,
John
What’s the one thing in life you wish you would have started earlier?
This….this writing, this blogging thing I occasionally do. Now to be fair blogging didn’t exist all my life. I did some research and discovered that a college student started blogging in 1994, and the term weblog was coined in 1997 which was then shortened to blog in April of 1999. This very website, WordPress, was launched in 2003.
I didn’t start this blog until 2017 which I’m sure meant that I had missed the heyday of blogging. In fact I’m sure by the time I started blogging it was probably considered an ancient form of communication much like drawings on cave walls. If so it is certainly not the first time I wildly mistimed a trend. Today people make videos posting their entire life on Tiktok, Instagram and Facebook. People who I’ve told that I write a blog look at me quizzically as if asking… “is that still a thing, how quaint, ok boomer you go ahead and keep blogging.”
Even my wife, who by the way never reads my blog, will occasionally ask if anybody reads this. I reply that I have a few loyal readers and anyhow it’s not really for a mass audience but it’s more for me to write and express.
I always enjoyed writing, perhaps it started in school where I much preferred to write than to stand in front of a class and deliver some type of speech. Every time I was required to do any form of public speaking it was a terrifying experience involving heavy sweating, butterflies, tightening of the throat and a general feeling of I wish there was anywhere else I could be. But writing, ah that was different. I could write and most importantly edit and rewrite sometimes to my detriment, until I was satisfied with the outcome.
I just wished I had done some more writing in my younger days. Sure I wrote in high school but I never wrote for the school paper or yearbook, and in college I did a lot of writing but that’s different from creative writing, although I did take a creative writing class in college and enjoyed the process of being given a topic and then writing about it. I remember the teacher remarking to me that it seemed easy to me this writing thing. She was a grad assistant so perhaps I didn’t take her seriously or perhaps I saw no future in writing, it was the 80’s and everyone was in business school.
I often wonder if I should have pursed writing as a career as a reporter but I generally think I ended up right where I should be and anyhow the demise of newspapers and magazines has certainly ended or upended a lot of careers of journalist.
I’m grateful for this platform that allows me to blog anytime about anything, and I’m even more grateful for the few people that encouraged me when I first started and actually read my blog after all these years.
I may always be years behind the latest trend but I certainly have found something I enjoy. Still sometimes I think maybe I should start a Podcast….the world could certainly use another one of those…amiright?
Peace and love,
John
What’s the longest book you have read?
I actually don’t know the length of the longest book I’ve ever read. Although I keep track of each book I read I don’t track pages read. It doesn’t really seem that relevant.
There have been times when I’ll get half way through a book and I’ll look to the last pages to see how far I still have to go. This can even happen with a good book. I was just reading an autobiography which was very interesting and illuminating, but it was starting to drag a bit in the middle and I started looking at page numbers as if silently clicking them off with each turn of the page.
I wonder if this is also because of always being attached to our phones and mindlessly scrolling and consuming short form video. Has it become more difficult to sit down and read for an extended length of time. While reading I’ll find myself glancing to my phone, wondering what’s new, who’s doing what and why. Are we becoming a culture of observing, watching as others do things instead of reading and thinking.
I was at my Mom’s last week and I happened to be glancing through her bookcase absentmindedly looking for a new book to read. She had an old worn copy of War and Peace. I asked her if she had ever read it and to my surprise she said she had. My Mom reads but I never suspected she had read a lengthy novel of Russian history. My Dad I could picture him reading it and probably enjoying it. She encouraged me to take it but I declined saying I was looking for something a little more lighthearted than that. I also remarked that it seemed like a good book to read during the winter holed up in front of a fireplace as the wind whips around outside.
I’m currently reading what I would describe as a drugstore paperback. It’s an old timey murder mystery set in the 1920’s. It has that mystery noir feeling to it of backrooms, cigar smoke, treachery, double crosses, baseball and an old girlfriend who shows up unexpectedly. I’m only halfway through it but I’m betting the dame is mixed up in it somehow. I was hoping the old girlfriend might be variously described as a broad, skirt, doll or even a gal, but alas those terms haven’t been used and in that respect the book is a slight disappointment.
I once tried reading Moby Dick one summer. It was when I was in college and I figured I should read one of the classics on summer break. I have no idea how I came to choose Moby Dick besides knowing it was considered a classic and had all these existential themes of man’s journey, his perseverance and commitment. I don’t actually know if those themes are relevant to Moby Dick or not because I never even made it through one chapter. I remember reading the first couple of pages….there’s a guy named Ishmael, he wants to get on a whaling vessel and then I fell asleep. Odd I remember thinking, I never fall asleep reading especially back then when I was young and could stay up all night. A few nights later I tried again….there’s a guy who wants to be called Ishmael, he wants to get on a whaling vessel and then I fell asleep.
Obviously I never made it through Moby Dick that summer. It sat on my desk for weeks untouched after those first few attempts and finally I returned it to the library before I was charged a late fee. I do remember thinking thank god I didn’t buy the damned thing.
Perhaps I’ll attempt to read Moby Dick again or War and Peace or some other great Russian novel. I do love the movie Dr. Zhivago so the book must also be good. Dr. Zhivago is another book that seems appropriate to read during the darkest, coldest months of the year.
Until then I’ll continue with my mystery noir wondering how the broad, the dame, the skirt is going to double cross the main character. Perhaps that’s what Moby Dick is really missing, a skirt that comes back to torment Ishmael or maybe a broad is the real reason Captain Ahab chases the whale….. nothing beats a broad who’s been scorned and has trust issues.
Peace and Love,
John
If your pet could talk what would be the first thing it says?
Ironically my wife and I just adopted a cat from a rescue agency. This actually came as quite a surprise…well a surprise to me. You see I thought we were done with pets. We had a cat and dog, they didn’t like each other and never became friends like you see in those cute videos of dogs and cats napping together. The dog would chase the cat if he saw her so the basement became her safe space and after the dog would go to bed she would creep up the stairs and sit in front of the wood stove luxuriating in the heat and stillness. When they both passed away within a couple of years of each other we got new carpet and re-painted everything and I thought for sure my wife was through with pet ownership.
So in yet another example of a husband never really knowing what his wife is thinking, my wife suddenly announced a couple of weeks ago that we should adopt a cat from a rescue agency. Surprise was my reaction or more likely shocked as my wife is a self described “dog person.” She came to love our first cat but getting a cat wasn’t her first choice, so getting a cat now was yes definitely a surprise.
Like most rescue pets this cat has had a difficult past. Despite being 4 years old its very small and scrawny barely weighing 7 pounds. It’s also very skittish, it doesn’t like to be picked up or held, it doesn’t purr and it rarely meows. We hope it settles into our home and becomes comfortable as it realizes that we plan to keep her.
She’s still exploring the house and finding favorite places to sit. She fits easily into window sills so as long as the weather remains warm she seems to like to lounge there. Her cat tower is a favorite napping place but she also just flops down on the floor and lays peacefully.
Previous pets we’ve had loved treats and would sit by the pantry door silently, or sometimes not so silently, demanding immediate attention to their obvious lack of treats. So far this cat doesn’t seem to be interested in treats, perhaps she will as she grows more comfortable or perhaps her disregard for our treats is an indictment of the treat itself. Cats are notoriously picky and maybe are treats are too sub-standard for her. We may have to up our treat game.
She seems to eat well and we think her scrawny condition might have been because she was one of many cats in her previous house and perhaps by the time she got to the bowl of food there was hardly any left.
We’ve yet to name her but she seems unbothered by this. She was called both Winnie and Potato Chip by previous owners. Since she’s many shades of dark brown I was thinking Coco would be appropriate but my wife is lukewarm to that.
She sleeps, she eats, she plays….she’s well on her way to living a normal cat life and if she could talk I would think perhaps she simply might say “Thanks” for finding me and giving me some normalcy and a home.
Treat you pets with love and kindness,
John
I stood on my back deck gazing at the early evening sky. To the north a large dark cloud was moving overhead. My phone had just made that alarming infrequent blaring sound that causes a sudden jolt and everyone to look at each other and say “what the hell was that?” You quickly realize it’s either an Amber alert or a weather alert and one look at the sky confirmed the information on my phone.
Although the alert suggested taking cover immediately in a basement I went outside, not in some act of bravery or defiance but to simply see for myself the possible impending storm. It was quiet, eerily so, the very definition of the calm before the storm but I took great comfort that the deer were still grazing in the bean field next to us heads down munching away. A bolt of lightening flashed in the distance and then another and soon the deer were bounding for the relative safety of the woods. The tops of the trees rustled and the dark cloud moved faster.
The storm passed us without harm or even a drop of rain but soon after we lost power. It’s funny when you lose something you always just take for granted. Routines get disrupted immediately. The TV goes out, dinner plans might get changed and the usual evening activities are altered. Suddenly a search for flashlights and water becomes the most important activity.
You quickly discover what flashlights are working and which need new batteries. My wife and I look at each other each without saying anything accusing the other of not checking the batteries beforehand. Married couples tend to do this, a silent look expressing the words they don’t say.
My wife checks the website to determine how great the area is without power, as if we’re the only ones suffering. It is funny when you don’t have power how quickly you feel inconvenienced. But after the initial hope of a quick restoration comes the resignation.
Modern conveniences disappear and I briefly ponder how life was before we all had electricity. People rose with the sun and went to bed at dark….does this mean those people got more sleep. They probably did as they weren’t doom scrolling in bed or watching the latest Netflix true crime doc and then pondering if that could really happen to them. Did they read more, talk to each more, tell stories and play more? Did they spend whatever waking hours outside when they weren’t working? Without the convenience of electricity were they less sedentary and more active?
My thoughts were interrupted by my wife sighing loudly while proclaiming that the latest update said a possible restoration time of the next morning. Thankfully the power returned within the hour as if my wife’s sighing had somehow been the catalyst to its recovery.
This morning while looking over news headlines I saw a story that sounded fake or at least a story that could not be happening here but in another country somewhere far away and less developed but the people of Gary Indiana have been without power for almost a month. A combination of summer storms and an aging power grid along with expanding demand due to data centers had somehow prevented full restoration. Having just experienced a few hours without power, a month without power seemed inconceivable.
It was then that I checked my phone for the daily weather and noticed that another round of afternoon storms was possible. Better get out the flashlights and check the batteries…no excuses this time.
Peace and Love,
John
I stood on my deck looking out over the field behind our house. The fog hung low obscuring the deer from view. I knew they were out there. Every morning and every evening there out there, heads hung low feeding on the beans planted in the field. I often think the farmer down the road isn’t going to have a very good fall harvest. A dozen or more deer munching away twice a day throughout the field, fattening up on his harvest.
As I stood on my deck I noticed a couple of things…..first, I was wearing pants…pants for gods sake! Except for a wedding back in June I don’t think I’ve worn pants all summer. And I was wearing a sweatshirt…a sweatshirt for god sake!
As Hemingway once said about bankruptcy, the changing of the seasons happens slowly then suddenly. No, no, no, I’m not giving up on summer, there’s still too much of it left to declare it over but there are signs. Pants and sweatshirts in the morning just being two of them.
As stood there I noticed other subtle signals that summer was slipping away too soon. The coffee cup I was holding being the most obvious. I cupped it with both hands feeling the warmth of the ceramic cup, it warmed my hands and I thought of how just last week I was drinking iced mocha latte’s and enjoying their icy coldness.
I walk around my deck and kick the leaves off it. Yes, leaves on my deck is another sign. No there not tumbling off the trees and filling the gutters but it is odd to wake up each morning and find leaves scattered about the deck.
The apple and pear trees out front are both beginning to drop their fruit, the branches becoming heavy as the weather cools. I know if I arise early enough I can also catch a few deer munching on the fallen apples.
For some reason I suddenly think of my bathing suit sitting on the cedar chest in the closet. I’ve worn it exactly once this summer. Ah, the bathing suit, one of the most powerful examples of summer fun and freedom. Lounging around on the beach, splashing in and out of the water, feeling the warmth of the sand, reading a book and invariably falling asleep to the gentle sound of the crashing waves. A day at the beach is always on the summer checklist of things to do.
Unfortunately, I haven’t made it to the beach this summer and chances are pretty good I won’t and my swimsuit will sit on the cedar chest taunting me of missed opportunities. If I put it away I would be admitting defeat, defeat of all the summer activities I never got around to, never found time for. I rationalize that there’s just never enough time but I know it’s more than that. Admitting that certain activities have become less important and certain activities are more difficult (I’ve long since said goodbye to running as a form of exercise), I realize that the approaching end of summer means something more.
I think of the missed opportunities more than the activities accomplished. Perhaps that’s just being human, we tend to contemplate loss and the negative aspects of loss more than success. So for now I’ll leave the bathing suit sitting on the cedar chest and hope for a few more really hot summer days. I put my sweatshirt next to it in case I need it tomorrow morning as I sip my coffee and watch the deer grazing in the bean field.
Peace and Love,
John
I was wandering around the grocery store the other day. My wife and I have always had the opposites attract dynamic between us and nothing illustrates this more than our different shopping techniques. She’s very task oriented in everything she does. Work, hobbies, chores, shopping….everything is a task that must be completed as quickly as possible so she can start a new task. Armed with her ear buds and list she grabs a cart and zig-zags her way through the grocery store as if on a mission. She’s very much a hunter-gatherer.
Meanwhile I wander and meander about going down aisles just to see if there’s anything new. The spice aisle might have a new chicken spice rub that I just need to try, never-mind the spice rack at home has 2 nearly full bottles of rubs that looked very tempting in the store but now sit unused for months. (note to self….might be time to clean out the spice rack)
The yogurt aisle is always beckoning me with new flavors. I usually just settle for the same ones I get every week but that confetti birthday cake flavor might just get an experimental tasting.
And so it was that I was meandering through the grocery store vaguely searching for something to replace my morning coffee. I enjoy a morning coffee but I must admit I don’t crave it in the summer-time. When I was working full-time quite often I was outside or in a cold warehouse and so coffee served the dual purpose of a hot morning beverage with a little jolt and it was something warm to hold onto. During the summer months I don’t crave hot beverages, in fact I much prefer cold, icy glasses filled with lemonade or tea. But this creates a problem in the morning and so my wandering ways of shopping led me to stop suddenly in the milk section. There before me appeared to be the answer to my morning beverage conundrum. Mocha flavored iced latte made with real milk & cream and get this…..zero added sugar.
The perfect answer to my summer-time morning beverage needs and all packaged neatly in a cardboard box. I know it contained no added sugar because it proclaimed this fact 3….yes you read that correctly….. 3 times on the front of the container. I was thrilled at the prospect of a morning iced mocha latte conveniently consumed in my own home without having to negotiate the line or drive thru at my local coffee shop. And so I purchased the cardboard container with real milk & cream and zero added sugars and felt quite proud of myself for once again my wandering ways had successfully paid off…..just like with the chicken rub in the spice aisle.
The next morning I was immensely enjoying my first iced latte and feeling quite smug that the beverage I was consuming had zero added sugars, when I began to wonder why it might be necessary to state that fact 3 times on the cover……oh container of iced mocha latte me thinks you doth protest too much or in this case you brag too much. And so I did what I rarely do but should do more often, I turned the container around and read the nutritional label.
Made with real milk and cream, no corn syrup and no carrageenan (whatever the hell that is) some protein, some carbs, some fat and then there it was…..I wish I could say it was in the fine tiny print but no right there in the nutritional table….7 grams sugar. To be fair they never said there was no sugar in their tasty mocha latte and it was quite naive of me to assume there wasn’t any sugar especially since it is quite tasty. In fact in the fine print next to the nutritional table they do say this iced latte contains 7 grams of sugar but no added sugar and their regular iced latte contains a whopping 29 grams of sugar.
A quick internet search revealed that no added sugars means that natural sugars may be present but no extra sugar was added during manufacturing. Which to be fair seems reasonable but again they seemed to be bragging about this fact by loudly proclaiming this 3 (!!!!) times on the front of the container.
I didn’t feel deceived, although I did feel slightly misled with the zero added sugars pronouncement. I’m not sure if I will purchase another container of iced mocha latte or perhaps I’ll wander the store again hoping to find another beverage for my morning summer-time enjoyment….now onto that spice rack.
Like, comment, share and subscribe…
Peace and love,
John
I’ve always liked the movie Casablanca, which is kinda odd since I don’t especially get into old movies especially black & white movies from long ago. But there is something romantic about Casablanca….just saying it conjures up images.
The World War 2 classic tells the story of refugees from war ravaged Europe finding their way to Casablanca in hopes of securing a flight to freedom and eventually the United States. Everyone appears to be trying to leave Casablanca except Rick who seems quite happy running the most popular bar in the city. Everything seems fine with Rick, he let’s the police chief win at roulette, he looks the other way when certain activities happen in his bar and he seems unbothered by the larger world around him….until she walks in.
The stunningly attractive Ilsa and Rick had a past relationship which the memory of comes crashing back to Rick the moment he sees her. Later as he drinks the night away and laments her arrival he utters ruefully…..
“of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, she walks into mine.”
Perfect, absolutely perfect….
Who amongst us hasn’t felt that pain when an old love reemerges with a new companion. Rick had hoped that disappearing to Casablanca would shield him from ever having to see her again, but old loves never really go away.
The heartache, the pain, the feelings of abandonment are always just beneath the surface. Rick eventually handles it admirably and I’m quite sure I’ll never run into an old lover in my small Michigan town but I’ve always wanted to be half into a bottle of booze and mutter the line about gin joints, old lovers and fateful meetings.
Peace and Love,
John
I recently saw the Bob Dylan biopic “A Complete Unknown” Yes, I know it came out a couple of years ago and despite my interest in seeing it at the theater it came and went in my small town before I got there.
And so it was with great delight that I happened to be mindlessly flipping TV channels and somehow stumbled across it. I didn’t catch the very beginning but I certainly didn’t miss much. When I tuned in Bob was in New York in the 60’s playing his guitar and beginning to make a name for himself.
Now I must admit I never grew up as a Dylan fan. As a child of the 70’s & 80’s my musical interests back then was Top 40 pop rock and some limited knowledge of rock and roll in the 60’s like the Beatles or the Rolling Stones. My parents were never into rock music and pretty much considered anyone to be making music in the 60’s & 70’s to be long haired hippies who were probably on drugs.
My Dad listened to Am radio which consisted of news, information and sports events. When he did flip the dial to the FM it was for instrumental music which was also commonly known as elevator music. My Mom’s musical taste was Neil Diamond and Barry Manilow. I still know the words to a lot of Neil Diamond songs and I can definitely sing most of Copacabana from Barry Manilow. Although now it’s quite to humorous to admit my knowledge of Neil Diamond and Barry Manilow songs, back when I was in high school it was definitely not something I was bragging about.
I knew a few Bob Dylan songs but most of his music simply didn’t appeal to me. It wasn’t really played on Top 40 radio and folk music seemed like a genre from a totally different generation, a generation I didn’t come from and didn’t understand.
One of my favorite parts of the movie was him singing at a folk music festival. He strummed his guitar and sang the song….The Times They are A-Changin
I have a little better understanding of what Bob Dylan meant to music and the generation of people coming of age in the 60’s. It was a defining time in our country’s history. An unpopular war was splitting the country, trust in government and other institutions was fraying. Racism and it’s effects still plagued most of the country. So when Dylan strummed his guitar and sang about times a-changin I have to believe alot of people looked forward to that time.
I sit at my laptop each morning and scan the headlines. The problems of the 60’s don’t seem that different from today’s problems. In fact if you didn’t know better you might say we haven’t really solved much since Dylan sang of times a-changin. But at least once a week I click on YouTube and listen to that song.
It’s funny, even though I just recently turned 60, in many ways I feel like the young people of previous generations still waiting for change, hoping for resolutions to problems that nobody really wants to solve.
So…… “gather round people wherever you roam,
the times they are a-changin”……
I hope so Bob, I really do.
Like, comment, share and subscribe
Peace and Love,
John
I’ve always enjoyed reading books and short stories by Ernest Hemingway. He wrote of far away places, of Paris and Spain after World War I, hunting in Africa, short stories of time spent in my own state of Michigan.
Besides traveling around Michigan I’ve yet to travel to any of those exotic places described by Hemingway. In my younger days I wanted to travel to Spain and enjoy the festival he describes in the book The Sun Also Rises. I have no interest in attending a bull fight but I always thought it would be cool to run with the bulls through the streets trying to stay upright while avoiding the horns of a massive angry bull in some kind of wild delusional test of courage.
Now my 60 year old self is less enthused about the idea of running with out of control animals but that’s probably due to my creaky knees and the fact that I would need at least 20 minutes to warm-up to get my body ready to propel myself forward in anything more than a brisk walk.
I recently fell into a YouTube rabbit hole of watching videos of people exploring places in Paris where Hemingway ate and drank. In fact there’s an entire tour that can take Hemingway enthusiast to his favorite watering holes. The idea of wandering around Paris getting a drink at each little cafe or bar would be a wonderful way to spend an afternoon. Sure the Eiffel Tower and the Louvre are must see attractions but close behind for me at least would be a cafe where Hemingway sat and wrote.
I recently discovered that Hemingway’s house in Cuba has been perfectly preserved and is open to tour. He lived there with his third and fourth wives for many years (he had as many houses as wives). He left suddenly after the revolution that led to Castro’s rise to power. When he left he assumed he would be back someday so he left all his personal affects as if leaving for a vacation. His clothes still hang in the closet, his eyeglasses on the nightstand, his toothbrush in the bathroom. A moment in time perfectly preserved.
As it seems highly unlikely I’ll be jetting off to Europe or visiting Cuba anytime soon, I’ve focused my attention on the place Hemingway lived and wrote for many years….Key West. That tropical set of islands at the southern most tip of the country was barely a tourist destination when Hemingway and his second wife settled there. He wrote in the warm mornings, fished in the afternoons and drank in the evenings. His carefully curated image of himself as the best fisherman, best fighter, best drinker and writer was largely forged during this time in Key West.
I remember being quite small perhaps 8 years old when we went on a family vacation to Florida to visit my uncle. I vaguely remember we took a drive to Key West and stayed for a few days. I don’t have many memories of that entire vacation, in fact it was so long ago I think the only evidence of it is some slides my Mom kept for many years. Once a year we would get out the slide projector and have a family night of looking at old vacation slides. Don Draper was right about the slide projector (if your not sure of that reference go to YouTube).
What I do remember is my Dad wanted to go to the bar where Hemingway hung out, I believe it’s called Sloppy Joe’s. Being quite small and not having read any Hemingway I was more curious about all the chickens that ran free throughout the city. Key West might have been at the forefront of the whole cage free, free range chicken craze and that was back in the 70’s.
Key West has become almost a bucket list place for people to visit, a destination all unto itself for the Instagram generation to snap pictures of sunsets and markers that proclaim your as far south as you can be in the country. I dare say most people who visit aren’t likely to care much about an old writer who drank too much, cheated on all his wives and wrote of long ago time and places, but when I visit I’ll seek out his old haunts as my father did and try to avoid the chickens.
Like, comment or subscribe…
Peace and Love,
John
