Around Here

Cathy and I kayaked to Jeaux Point on my “private” island last weekend, accessible only by boat, off the Lee County coast. We embarked from the Compass Beach launch. Cathy stops to photograph a tree. She’s a wonderful artist, a painter, with a show currently at the Daas Gallery in Fort Myers. We met when we were both working on the Obama campaign. Tides are controlled by the moon, and the prevailing lunar phase left a low tide at midday. We had to drag our kayaks through the shallows southwest of the island. After landing, exhausted, I teased Cathy that we would probably be stranded on the island once the tide was all the way out. “Think of it as one big adventure!” I said. She said that she was going to dial 911 and order a helicopter rescue. I thought that was a great idea. “Some cute rescue team can rappel down and save us.” She said she was going to shake me loose once we were halfway up to the helicopter. “Wouldn’t want to spoil your adventure.” After stashing the kayaks in the ...

M y fashionista phase which, though diminished, has never really ended, began in second grade with a helpless stab of admiration for Jimmy Hopkins’ saddle oxfords. They may have been hand-me-downs; they were retro even back then, and unusual for boys. But they were cool shoes anyway, heightened by the panache of their owner, a third grader, the kind of little leader whom girls want to marry and boys want on their team, and on whom I had a crush. No, I didn't throw words like panache around in second grade. That didn't start til fifth. I must have made inquiries about the Jimmy Hopkins phenomenon, shoes and owner, among my friends, because he came up to me one day on the playground, accompanied by his ubiquitous little entourage. “I heard you think I’m cool...” said Jimmy. “Yeah, I do,” I said, with the candor of a second grader. “Your shoes are really cool, too.” “Well,” said Jimmy feigning modesty, but frankly trolling for affirmation, “I’m not that cool.” “Yes you are,” I s...