Well, the so-recently-tanglible, now-taking-on-mythical-qualities Poirot notebook, in which I had planned my journal notes, is still missing. Without it, I plough on with my Floridian journal, with the disclaimer that everything is going to be a bit shorter than it might have been. Once I find it, I will update, but now that I have a backlog of notebooks waiting to be transcribed, and a trip to Riga in a month, I think it best that I continue with something! To this end, I have abandoned my strict chronology in favour of wherever the mood takes me. I’ll keep things roughly in order, but I will digress.
Here is a picture of the distinctive foliage I mentioned at the end of the last journal entry. I would put this picture there, but it was dark at the time:
I think that, if I am to do justice to the trip and to the community we were in, I must mention Hurricane Ivan. I don’t want to pretend that I understand the magnitude of the event, or that I can really conceptualise what happened, but I could feel how major an occurrence it was for the community, and the ongoing effects. Obviously it was a traumatic and unpleasant time – the Webbs tragically lost their house, and I heard of many who had suffered this and the insurance problems that followed – but I was also left with an impression of the positive energy that is going into rebuilding and moving on. There was a sense of shared experience, along with the hospitality and solidarity I remember associating with the South on a previous trip, and the family atmosphere. It was this feeling of community that encourages me to look forward to my next visit to Gulf Breeze – and, indeed, to be certain that there will be a next visit.
On the themes both of family and rebuilding, we were privileged to witness this gorgeous house in the making (pictured here with three generations of my American family):
Doug and Mary were building their property – which I hope is going well – with a view to using it to help ministry. I found it so encouraging that at a time when I’m sure anyone would excuse a little self-focus, they were thinking of the project as an opportunity to think about how they could serve others.
With Whitney’s brother Todd already living down there for the summer, doing sterling work in construction – and quite taken with the quality of life, attested by frequent threats to drop out of college and stay in Florida (“No, his lease is up on August 4th”) – there was something of an overflow at 4086, and Whitney and I therefore had the delight and pleasure (see, the superlatives are piling up) of taking up residence a little way down the street, staying with Cherry, the principal of the local school. Apart from her lovely house, full of fascinating souvenirs from all over the world, we had the opportunity to sit and chat with our hostess for a while on a couple of evenings, and I can assure any and all readers that Cherry’s coca cola cake is the one to beat.
A quiet moment:
Family was a big part of the experience. With Whitney the second of thirteen grandchildren (did I get that right? The details are all in my notebook!), there was no shortage of relatives to be met. Meals were seldom restricted to those actually staying in the house (or along the street, past the crocodiles as I thought, which is a funnier story that I will include in my next instalment). People dropped in throughout the day. I was left feeling that (a) this was exactly how I wanted my house to be, a welcoming place for constant fellowship, and (b) since I am an only child in a small family, I might have to adopt some other people’s families. Thankfully, by the end of the week, I was assured that I now was part of the family, so if I move to Gulf Breeze at any time, I may just achieve my dream.
Family (some of the thirteen grandchildren):
Conversation was invariably fascinating, and I’m afraid I can’t possibly do justice to it here. But I can summarise – there were lots of stories (family and community alike) being shared, and discussions on travel (our Italian trip was born in Florida), politics (one of which started with Whitney clattering her spoon down next to her peach cobbler and exclaiming “she’s a socialist!” while waggling her finger at me in the manner I like to use if looking for a diversion – I don’t remember if Whitney was trying to distract us from a conversation embarrassing to her, but if she was, it worked – I don’t remember!), food (which is how we came to have chicken and dumplings on Monday night – a quintessentially Southern dish that I will forever associate with hospitality and which now has fond memories for me from both Alabama and Florida), literature (everybody remind me I have to read the Kite Runner!), gardening (Whitney’s aunt and uncle, Chris and John, had a beautiful tropical garden, and I can now add to my collection of agricultural facts (call me sad, but I find them interesting) that bananas don’t grow so well in the north of Florida, as it is not hot and wet enough), poetry (mostly Robert Burns, and Whitney’s recital of To A Haggis is a fond memory), theatre (a couple of interesting avant garde pieces were playing in Pensacola, and my obsession with getting tickets to Sweeney Todd also started here) and history (I, as usual, ended up talking about Scotland’s experience in the wars (i.e. the decimation an generation of men and the Blitz, respectively), which I always forget is one of the few aspects of the conflicts that the British and Americans don’t share). Above all, there was discussion of Whitney from all angles, and I hope she doesn’t think I embarrassed her! Hopefully, that will give you an impression of the week, if you add in a few pauses for “Oh, doesn’t she have such a wonderful accent?” and “We really must have her read something”!
Lots of memories of sitting round this table:
As I do when I’m having too much fun, I didn’t take many photos of family and friends. Don’t be offended, those who were left out – it’s because I was just enjoying being with you!
