I made it back from the Florida Keys salt-soaked, and just self-aware enough to admit I should probably do more than occasional “dad cardio.” I mostly won the sunburn avoidance battle, not sure my son can say the same but he didn’t do too bad.
The weather? Basically perfect. Sunshine and 75+ most days, with humidity that didn’t feel like walking into a wet sponge which is how I would describe all of my previous Florida experiences which were work trips in button down long sleeve shirts and pants. If anything, it could’ve been a few degrees warmer—turns out when you spend hours in the ocean with a steady breeze, you start thinking, “Huh, maybe I do want it a little swampy.” Still, no complaints. Especially when we came home to Minnesota’s finest “is it spring or is this a prank?” weather.
This was a Scout “high adventure,” which is a polite way of saying: you will be sore in places you forgot existed. I ran a steady ibuprofen program all week (vintage me), but honestly, it was worth every creaky step. If anything, it reminded me how much I still love being active—and how much my body would appreciate if I trained for it even a little.
We packed a lot in. And by “a lot,” I mean I voluntarily jumped into the ocean while it was throwing whitecaps around like it had something to prove. Easily one of the wildest things I’ve ever done. We snorkeled and spotted conchs (which I didn’t know existed) and other sea life, camped on an uninhabited island (unless you count inhabitants such as the unusual Key Deer, hermit crabs, birds, bugs, and the occasional snake keeping things interesting).
We caught fish that I usually only encounter neatly sliced next to wasabi. Lots of yellowtail and red snapper.
We also sailed. We helped out with a coral reef restoration project, which was genuinely cool and one of those rare moments where you feel like you’re leaving a place a little better than you found it. And we wandered Key West, where I made a very important cultural stop at Hemingway’s house to see the famous six-toed cats—because obviously.
But honestly, the real stars of Key West? The chickens. Just fully free-range, no-rules, strutting-around-like-they-own-the-place chickens. Apparently, when cockfighting got shut down years ago, everyone just…let them go. There was an attempt to round them up more recently, but locals weren’t having it. So now they run the town. The iguanas, on the other hand, did not enjoy the same public support—those got the “unanimous eviction” treatment—so I didn’t see any, just smaller lizards darting around like caffeinated squirrels.
We learned a ton about the local ecosystem, which couldn’t feel more different from Minnesota if it tried. It’s one thing to read about it—it’s another to be standing in it, surrounded by it, trying not to step on something that looks both beautiful and mildly dangerous.
Most importantly, it was an unforgettable experience with my eldest son. The kind of trip where you’re exhausted, a little beat up, and already nostalgic before it’s even over. And yeah, I came back thinking I should get in better shape—but also thinking: do more of this. Looking to book a Key West trip with the Mrs because I think that tourist trap would be pretty fun with her.
I’ve been reading
Blacktop Wasteland by S.A. Cosby (lots of reading in on airplanes and in passenger seats this past weeks). While I have found myself in a couple moments feeling like the dialog is a bit like watching a poorly written movie where they explain things to the audience a little too much, it’s made up for by being a well told thriller with a main character in very relatable struggles but in risks that seem pretty extraordinary. I’m almost done with it and loving it. I finally finished Red Rising on the plane ride there, about 2/3 through I was getting a little disinterested and things felt a bit stale, but I liked the finish and it makes me indeed intrigued about book #2.
I’ve been listening to
The new Black Label Society album Engines of Demolition. Love the whole album, can’t listen to Ozzy’s Song, can feel the emotion but can’t really get into the song. The rest of the album is definitely solid. Better Days & Wiser Times is a great song that will be in my regular rotation for sure.
I also listened to the new Mumford & Sons album. Didn’t really enjoy it much. Was excited to hear a little banjo back in a couple of the songs but it’s still very much the overpolished Dave Matthews type bullshit they seem to want to do nowadays.
I’ve been watching
Not much, honestly. I was pretty unplugged all week—sun, saltwater, and zero desire to check a screen unless it was telling me the weather was about to ruin my day.
But on Easter Sunday, back in civilization, I landed on Forrest Gump on AMC. And like a migratory bird responding to instinct, I settled in for what has apparently become my annual viewing of one of the greatest movies of all time. I’m not saying it is on the Mount Rushmore of movies—but I am saying if you put it there, I wouldn’t argue.
Now, AMC means you’re getting the “edited for television” version, which unfortunately trims down some of Lt. Dan’s more passionate vocabulary. A loss, artistically. But with kids around, it’s also kind of ideal. I mean, I watched it as a kid with all the language and spicy scenes intact and turned out mostly fine, or maybe not—but I’m not overly worried. My youngest isn’t about to start delivering monologues like a battle-hardened lieutenant anytime soon, I don’t think.
And honestly? I kind of enjoy the commercial breaks. There, I said it. It’s like built-in intermission for the modern brain—just enough time to doomscroll a little, grab a drink, or acknowledge that, yes, at this stage of life, strategic bathroom breaks are no longer optional.
Weather
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