This weekend we piled everyone in the car, including the dog, and drove south to Sarasota, to see Grandma, Pepaw, and the gulf. Seth and I snuck away for a date to the Selby Botanical Gardens, which were excellent and merit a second visit. The kids spent most of the time at the pool, where any trace of Foos’ paternal wasp roots were overcome by a conspiracy between the sun and her mother’s caribbean melanin. I loved it. We took a backwoods way back home, which made me nervous. For reasons I cannot explain, I feel ill at ease in America’s open spaces. The barns and depressed towns don’t conjure up any feeling of nostalgia or even beauty, only of mild panic and fear. Seeing a Trump sign for the first time displayed proudly on somebody’s lawn, didn’t make it any better. It may as well have said “I hate gays, women, and people of color.” But we made it back to our nest safely, and I’m sure the only memories which will remain of the visit are of family and love.