The plane landed at Ft. Myers/Naples airport 15 minutes early. I caught the remote parking shuttle to the green lot . The green lot is designated as the truck lot. ARGO was the only large vehicle parked in it. The rest were over sized pickup trucks shattered around.
An odd feeling came over me as the shuttle drove up to ARGO. I had parked it there just before Easter only intending to fly home for a few days. Now, 33 days later, here I am, returning and realizing that I may not have. The reality struck me … the near death miss from the blood clot passing up from my leg through the right side of my heart, lodging in my right lung resulting in a pulmonary embolism.
According to the Center for Disease Control statistics about one-quarter of people who experience this die immediately. 10 to 30% of people die within one month of diagnosis. It can happen at any age. So take note if you are going on a long drive or flight soon. Although I exercise regularly, the long driving, sitting while writing and editing the documentary film I'm working on, put me in the high risk category.
I know it was my imagination, but ARGO seemed as glad to see me as I was to be standing at her door with luggage in hand. It took only a few minutes to reorient myself. ARGO cranked right up on the first turn of the key.
I drove toward the water. Toward nearby Pine Island. Driving across the bridge from the mainland, seeing the sun shinning across the water, the boats going in each direction, I couldn't contain the big smile that broke out across my face. I was on the road again !
Along Pine Island Road around Matlacha I came upon a short string of low slung shanty huts set on each side just a car length off the paved way. Rambling wooden structures, some dating back to the twenties, that had survived the Florida sunshine and hurricanes. These shacks had morphed into restaurants, shops, B&B’s and homes.
An old fishing village of sorts. Elvis Presley had made a movie in 1962 called FOLLOW THAT DREAM based on the book PIONEER GO HOME about the area around Matlacha by Richard Powell. During WWII, soldiers from nearby Page Field army base would spend weekends fishing and hanging out at the local places. The bridge spanning Matlacha Pass would later be nicknamed “the fishingest bridge in the worlds.”
Driving through, the most cars seemed to be parked a Bert’s Bar and Grill. I found the back deck and ended up sitting at a table barely big enough to fit two plates on. It was just me so it was big enough.
The sun is going down, but the sunset watching was on the other side of the road. Still even with out the sunset, this view was peaceful as I looked out past the well cared for docks with two pleasure boats tied up. One was a customer’s small party barge boat. Looked like it just pulled in. The other was build for speed; proudly perched on it’s boat lift above the water.
I had just ordered and settled into my chair taking in the scene when the wind began stirring, cooled and sprinkled tiny water droplets over me and the paper menus. All from a cloud that I swear was not there a minute before. A tall waitress in tiny jean shorts rushed out to fold up the umbrellas that were out over some of the tables.
“You might want to go inside,” she said reaching her hand up high inside the a blue canvas umbrella on a heavy base next to a table near me.
“Probably a good idea, uh?” I said.
“Yea, when it comes,” she said, “It comes fast ‘round here.”
She was right. Seemed like it was less than a minute. The rain poured down as the few people on the outside deck fled into the music inside. Scotty Brian, who I took to be a popular regular local entertainment feature, was strumming his electric guitar to recorded beats on his iPad. He was was belting with high energy into the mic an inch from his mouth one oldie but goodie after another. The packed bar was his crowd. The ear ringing decibels helped the beer flow.
At a side table just off the main bar I nodded my head to the beat of Neil Diamond’s 70’ hit CRACKLIN’ ROSIE as I nibbled on fried spiral potato chips and lightly fried fish. Fish freshly caught that day. All piled high in a paper basket which included a plastic cup of coleslaw. With the lemon wedges, malt vinegar, local brew and Scotty’s tunes … I was good.
Back on the road again, where ever it leads. Back for the next chapter of life, whatever it brings.
