Autumn Memories--Then and Now

 Autumn.

It really is different here in Florida.  While I think of cooler temperatures and crisp air, in Florida we are still in the upper eighties and even the low nineties.  Humidity levels are still very high.  And there is green all around us.  

Yes, there are some subtle differences as we move into this new season.  And in time the temperatures will drop--a bit.  Humidity will let up.  And it will be wonderful.  (I call the weather in January "Why I Moved to Florida" weather.)  But still . . . it's not a New England style autumn.  When September rolled around the kids here had already been back in school for three weeks!  And the beaches were just as crowded as ever on the weekend.

I'm not complaining.  (OK, maybe a little!)  But I am realizing yet again, in this my twelfth autumn here in Florida, that the one thing I miss the most is--well, autumn!  The whole idea of a crisp new beginning.  The digging out sweatshirts and blue jeans.  The best apples in the world, right off the tree. In some ways, though, its more a feeling than a set of details.  There is a certain nostalgia about autumn.  

But autumn as I remember it, is of my experience here and now.  And while I could wallow in nostalgia and a touch of sadness, I am far better served expressing my gratitude for beautiful memories, and my appreciation of the fact that every day I get to make new ones.  Here. Now.  In Florida! 

Bicycles, Wheelchairs and Dad

 

Eight years ago, this summer, the year I turned sixty, I decided to mark the occasion by going on an extended bike ride.  Through my Rotary Club I had learned about the Wheelchair Foundation, and its amazing work providing wheelchairs for individuals around the world in need of such a basic tool.  Through Rotary, wheelchairs could be purchased for one hundred dollars apiece.  So, I decided to take a three-day ride, of roughly sixty miles each day, and raise money for wheelchairs.  So was born Wheels for Wheels.  That first effort raised $22,000.  Enough to buy 220 wheelchairs.  And it was my pleasure to help distribute them in Trinidad later that year.

At the onset I determined to dedicate the ride to the memory of my dad, Howard S. Danner Jr.  As some of you who read this blog know, Dad was confined to a wheelchair for seventeen years after being struck by a drunk driver.  Without that wheelchair his life would have been much poorer!

Five years later, as I approached sixty-five, I decided it was time to mount my bike once again, and this time ride for one sixty-five-mile day.  I also decided to invite the Rotary Club to join me in the effort—and many folks did!  Together we raised another $25,000.   As we planned for the ride, my two co-planners asked if we could name the ride for Dad.  I was delighted, and so it became the Howard S. Danner Jr. Wheels for Wheels Cycling Challenge.

Last year, despite the pandemic, we were able to hold the ride again.  And again, raised some $25,000.  Which brings us to this year, when we will be holding the ride on October 30, and I plan on matching my age and riding sixty-eight miles on that day

If you would like to contribute to the effort feel free to make a check payable to the Sanibel-Captiva Rotary Trust Fund, and mark Wheels in the memo.  Send it to my attention at Sanibel Congregational UCC, 2050 Periwinkle Way, Sanibel, FL 33957.

Thank you!

Back Seat Observations

My father was a rather frugal man.  True to his Scottish heritage, you might say.  Thrifty, careful.  OK--cheap.  In his prime he loved to save a buck.  IU don't think he ever bought a stitch of clothing that wasn't on a clearance rack, so he often had things that were rather strange colors, or slightly out of style.  And, in a day long before calling plans and cell phones with hundreds of minutes, a long distance call at our house required filling out a three-part requisition form.

OK--I exaggerate, but not by much.  The truth is, he did watch his pennies.

When it came to buying a new car, something I remember happening only twice in my eighteen years living at home, he would shop and compare and dicker until he got the lowest possible price.  Car salesmen (they were all men back then) would cave just to get rid of him!  And the car he got was always the cheapest model, stripped down to the bare essentials.

One of the cars I especially remember was the 1950-something baby-blue, pushbutton Rambler.  (If you can remember American Motors, you've been an adult for a few decades at least!  If you remember Ramblers, your hair is probably the same color as mine.  And if you call them Nash Ramblers--well, let's just say I probably refer to you as  "sir" or "madam"!)

Anyway, we had that old Rambler, with its big fins and copious chrome trim, for years. And every week or so we'd all pile in--Mom and Dad in the front, and my two brothers, my sister and me jammed in the back.  And off we'd go.

There was always a lot of pushing and kicking.  You know, "Mom!  Bob punched me!"  "Dad!  John breathed on me!"  That would go on until one of the adults would say "Quiet!  All of you!"  And then we'd settle down for at least a few minutes.

Usually we didn't know exactly where we were going.  I'm not sure Mom or Dad did either.  But knowing our father we suspected it would probably involve ice cream.  And unless the pushing and kicking and breathing had gotten completely out of hand, we often ended up with sugar cones--never cake, the Danners were sugar cone people to the core--sugar cones topped with vanilla or chocolate chip, or, in my case, peppermint stick.  You know the kind? With the little pink and green bits of candy and a minty taste to clean your breath for month?

I wish I could say we enjoyed those rides.  I wish I could say we enjoyed the time together or appreciated the scenery, but the truth is, until we got to the ice cream stand, we were mighty restless.

Today, I've come to a new appreciation of the car trip itself.  Today, I've come to realize that as much fun as it is to eat an ice cream cone, it is really all about the journey.  Not just on the highway, but more importantly, on the road called life.

I wonder what it would be like to go for ice cream today with my siblings, all of us in the backseat?

A Truly New Year

Today is Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year,  It is a time of of year for reflection.  The name for this holiday in Hebrew means "head of the year."  It is said that on this day the Holy One determines what names are written in the Book of Life.

For many, many school children this is also the week marked by the first day of the new year.  The new school year.  And while schooling always has an impact on the direction ones life is headed, this year, perhaps more than any other, is a time when the fate of many children hangs in the balance.  For in the midst of the ongoing pandemic, life and death decisions are being made by governors and legislators, school boards and administrators, parents and teachers, about whether or not children should wear masks in school.

In truth, the Covid battle is far from over.  Yet scientists are working diligently to help us defeat this virus.  But we must all do our part in the effort.  Unfortunately, for many, questions about vaccinations and masks are being looked at as poetical questions.  Perhaps in this new year we can find the courage and the willingness to set aside partisan divides and agree to do what is best for the health of our children,

To my Jewish readers, L'shanah tova!  And for all of us, may it be a truly new year!