This Picayune is written with a heavy heart, as America’s far-too-easy access to military-grade weapons has caused yet another unthinkable tragedy. The grief and fear over gun violence is palpable, and to ignore it is inhuman. But I’ll tell my little story and carry on, as the focus here is about books, and smarter and more thoughtful people than me are chiming in (in the post script, I’m sharing articles by writers I respect who have some thoughts worth sharing on the subject).
Anon…
My wife and I honeymooned in Puerto Rico thirty years ago, come October. (Thirty years: yikes!) That destination was a compromise: my wife wanted to visit Aruba or some other exotic place; but I have a nagging fear of the Bermuda Triangle from all those shows in the 1970s about the mysterious sightings and disappearances, and to get to Aruba and all the rest you must fly across the Bermuda Triangle. So we settled on Puerto Rico.
We stayed at a nice hotel on the beach but one thing we didn’t expect was the dire warning from hotel security: don’t leave the property at night. I’m sure part of me thought the Bermuda Triangle was coming to get me, but, really, there was a crime wave in San Juan and we were easy targets.
We did take a sight-seeing tour to old San Juan and the fortress. It was a hoot. There are centuries of history there. Well, there are eons, but we only know the history of when Europeans conquered this hemisphere. The fort sits atop a hill overlooking the sea, and the view from the parapets is delightful. (It’s not unlike the view from Fort Michilimackinac on Mackinac Island, here in Michigan, but warmer.)
Emboldened, we rented a car to explore the rain forest, which was just over an hour drive from San Juan. Once again, we were warned: don’t stay after dark, and don’t stop at the roadside restaurants. Of course, having been driven as a kid to Florida many times by my father, I learned the hard way that the roadside attractions offered nothing but heartbreak. When a billboard on Interstate 75 implores you to see the exotic animal zoo at Uncle Grub’s kitchen, and you’re in the middle of Nowhere, Georgia, you’ll be lucky to find two dead snakes, a family of opossum presented as “mysterious marsupials of the south” and four sad-sack raccoons trained to ride tricycles like bears at the circus. So no, I wasn’t stopping for a burrito.
The rain forest didn’t disappoint: lush, verdant vegetation; geologic formations of massive scale, and a paved road for high-maintenance Americans to follow in an air conditioned car. Some of it is hazy because I have to work entirely off memory. Although we took dozens of pictures, none of them survived. But not for the reason you probably think.
Nope. Didn’t take this picture.
We returned safely to San Juan and drove to the rental agency down the street from our resort. We handed over the keys, a technician drove the car into the garage around back, and my wife and I left. As we walked along the sidewalk, my wife realized she’d left the camera in the car.
We returned to the agency no more than five minutes after dropping off the car, and explained our oversight to the agent. He went back into the garage but returned two minutes later empty handed. “They said there was no camera,” he said. “Sorry.”
We asked him to let us go back and look.
“Sorry,” he said. “I can’t let you do that. Safety concerns.”
Realizing what we were up against, and our tantrum notwithstanding, we returned to our resort without our camera and without any chance for pictures of our trip. In the big scheme of things, it’s not that big of a deal. It still irks us, and we both tell the story of the car rental agency that failed us.
Instead of a camera, think if it had been something important, like the life of your family that was at stake. I can’t imagine.
Meanwhile, at My Writing Desk…
My wife caught COVID two weeks ago, and has recovered. This was our first incident at the house (other family has had it elsewhere) and we were quite lucky. The disruption of routine, running the house while she was isolated, messed with my schedule, and with my head as I worried about catching it myself. But I managed to get my butt in my writing chair and advance stories. In fact, in times of stress, having the stories to think about is a pleasant distraction.
Maybe You’d Like
Speaking of stories for pleasant distraction, I’m in a group promo for post-apocalyptic stories. It’s a bit more timely than I like to consider, given the state of guns, voting rights, and health care. But stories often get to the heart of matters that otherwise seem impossible to explain succinctly. So consider these Post Apocalyptic Stories Never Told:
https://storyoriginapp.com/to/VtdSpxl
Recommended Reading
Next Picayune
Thanks for reading the Mickey Picayune. I enjoying telling these stories and hope with all my heart that you enjoy reading them. Here’s to hoping that the next Picayune can offer optimism despite the tragedy.
All the best,
Mickey
p.s. These four links are to three different newsletters I read, each one considering a particular slice of America from their particular point of view.
Culture Study: a broad discussion about family, work, and societal issues.
This is What Happens When You Live Under Minority Rule
Letters From an American: written by a professor of political history, it connects current political events with their historical origins and influences.
White Pages: a discussion of race in America, which primarily focuses on things white people can do with other white people to make the world a better place for everyone.