“What’s that beeping?” said Bob.

It’s Alicia’s blender telling her the smoothies are ready. This morning we have the Electric Blue Beeping Smoothies, I said.

“Beeping is our new normal,” said Don.

That’s right.

Everything beeps at you. It’s a common occurrence. Everyone expects it. Remember the last time you were in a crowded place, like an airport boarding area. Something starts a little beep and everybody begins looking around to make sure it’s not them. They begin looking at their watch, their phone, rummaging through their purses and backpacks and bags.

Bob interjected, “Speaking of airports, that little cart that they drive invalids to their gates in. Why does it beep? It’s like, “I belong here, get out of my way.” Couldn’t they just instruct the drivers to be a little more courteous and careful of the pedestrians who are supposed to be walking there? What if we all had a little beeper, “Oh yeah, I’m walking here. Beep beep.”

Being beeped at in public is one thing. I don’t like being beeped at while I’m home, either.

My alarm clock doesn’t sound like an alarm clock any more. And it doesn’t play music, either. It beeps. Get up. Then my coffee pot beeps. Get up! Coffee’s ready!

My kitchen is full of beeps. The dishwasher wants me, the microwave, the oven. They all want my attention. I’m ready, they say. I’m waiting. You’re supposed to do something.

Don said, “that reminds me, the blender beeped. I’m going to get our smoothies.”

The washer does not beep at me but the dryer does. If I ironed any more, I’m sure the iron would beep at me too.

About once every six months (or whenever the power goes out) my smoke alarm beeps. Get up! Something’s wrong! You’re power is out. Thank you, I could have just as well slept though it.

Beep beep. My smoke alarm battery is low (or is it my carbon dioxide alarm?) You’re a bad citizen. You let your battery run low. Have you no community responsibility, man?

“Kids are effected by it, from an early age. They expect it,” added Don, returning with our smoothies.

Yes. The sound effects for children’s toys used to come out of their mouths. Now every toy has a battery embedded in it and emits a beep. Gone are the wooden blocks and stone rocks of past generations. Those silent playthings are gone; replaced by beeps.

“Kids used to have imagination. Now they have beeps,” added Bob.

My basement contains a plethora of beeping devices. My humidifier beeps at me if it is low on water. My dehumidifier beeps at me if it has too much water. My sump pump beeps at me if the cellar is flooding. Isn’t it supposed to handle that by itself? The water purification system beeps when the filter needs changing. The central vac beeps when it’s nearly full. The cat’s potty box beeps at me when it detects too much ammonia.

I used to have a window air conditioner – it beeped at me. Now I’m more sophisticated and my environmental control system beeps at me. My security alarm beeps at me when I walk around or when I open my window.

My refrigerator beeps at me when the door is ajar. My AeroGarden beeps at me when the plants need more water. My appliances demand my attention and my plants demand my attention.

The other day the radio was on and started beeping. It was either a test of the emergency broadcast system or Lady Gaga.

Is it my laptop, my phone, my entertainment system, my garbage compactor, or my lighting system?

My car beeps at me when I lock the door. Or is the door ajar? Is my seat belt not on? Did I put some heavy box in the passenger seat without a seat belt? Are my lights on or off inappropriately? Or am I backing up?

“Maybe we need to get out in nature more,” said Bob.

I went for a walk in the woods the other day. My phone beeped at me, then my GPS, and then my pedometer.

I left all my electronic gear at home and went for a walk on the beach. Just me as far as I could see in both directions; and the sea gulls and the waves. I heard this faint beeping. Below the high tide line I saw a watch sticking out of the sand. I heard it’s plaintive final cries for attention: “I’m lost. Save me.”

I kicked sand on it.

Electric Blue Beeping Smoothie (serves two): 1 cup blueberries, ½ cup strawberries, some blueberry yogurt, 1 cup crushed ice, fill with cranberry/blueberry juice.

The smoothie was a shade of camouflage green and was half gone already when I noticed. I don’t know what’s in this thing this morning, I said to Gizmo, the cat. The cat was the only one sitting at the table alongside the pool.

(That was strange. Where were my neighbors?)

Alicia put some warmed herbs in the smoothie. She had never done that before. She said I was getting on her nerves and this would mellow me out. She called it a calm-me-down smoothie.

Maybe she’s right (did Gizmo say that?)

You’re the only one to show up for smoothies this morning.

No neighbors. Might be getting on their nerves, too.

She says that to me sometimes, too. That I get on her nerves.

You know, sometimes I think she treats us alike.

How do you mean?

Well, does she ever tell you that your whiskers tickle?

She does!

Me too.

What else?

She says I slurp when I drink. I don’t slurp. Not that much.

Maybe you lap. You should try not lapping.

I don’t lap. Not much. You lap.

Lapping. Slurping. It’s all noise to Alicia.

Yes, and I don’t think I make too much noise.

Yeah, like a little burping is a big deal. But hey, I never barfed in the bathroom for twenty minutes like after the New Year’s party.

You heard that, huh.

Whew!

But she has redeeming social value. Like, she snuggles nicely.

Yeah, but you know, sometimes I think she lets me sleep with her only because I keep her warm at night.

Sure, but if you get restless, roll over too much or get up to go potty – she kicks you right off the bed. Makes you sleep in the other room.

She does that to you, too?

She seems to have lots of issues.

She also complains that I’m underfoot all the time. I can’t tell you all the times I’ve heard, “Could you just go settle yourself somewhere.”

We’re lucky she lets us use the blanket on the extra couch.

Yeah.

And, we’re lucky she feeds us first thing in the morning and when she gets home from work.

Yeah, and lets us watch “Days of Our Lives” with her.

We looked at each other.

Maybe she does treat us alike.

Hmmm.

What are you going to do today?

I don’t know, just putter around the yard, watch the bird feeder, take a nap.

Me too.

Well, see you around.

Calm-me-down Smoothie: Alicia wouldn’t tell me what, specifically, was in this mornings smoothie.

“What brought this on?” Erica looked at Ben.

Ben whispered, “His sister asked him to visit. Don’t say anything. This morning he is serving Cape Cod smoothies, they’re pretty good.”

Winter, tourist, and hurricane. Those are the only three seasons.

“No spring?” Ben said.

It’s a scientifically proven fact that there is no spring on Cape Cod. The same ocean temperatures that have kept the Cape from being brutally cold all winter, take until July to warm up. So the winds that blow all through what would normally be spring are so frigid that there is no actual spring. You can look it up.

“So there are only three seasons on Cape Cod?”

Yes. There’s winter, when everybody from Cape Cod goes to Florida. There is tourist season, when everybody who lives on Cape Cod stays home because they can’t get on the crowded roads or beaches. And there is hurricane season.

“What do the natives do during hurricane season?” Ben asked.

They are confused. They can’t go to Florida. I think they drink a lot.

“You sound so negative. What about all the good things I read about the place. I mean, even Thoreau wrote an entire book glowing about it.”

Marketing. All marketing.

“Henry David Thoreau is a product of marketing?” Ben said. “I can’t believe it.”

Yes. They’ve taken him way out of context. Thoreau actually tried to warn us about the three season of Cape Cod. Nobody listened.

“How do you mean?”

Well, take his most famous pronouncement about Cape Cod.

“A man may stand here and put all America behind him.”

He was actually writing about standing in traffic on a Friday afternoon waiting to get over the Sagamore Bridge.

“You don’t say,” Erica rolled her eyes.

Yes. Listen to what else he has to say about tourists and traffic. These quotes are all from “Cape Cod.” Nobody wants you to know about them.

“We decided to go by way of Cohasset. We found many Irish in the cars.”

“…we were told that the Cape roads were very “heavy…”

“…having two or three thousand busses…”

“You sure he was talking about Cape Cod traffic?” Ben said.

Yes. He knew about the traffic getting to the Cape. Listen to this.

“The places which I have described may seem strange and remote to my townsmen, – indeed, from Boston to Provincetown is twice as far as from England to France; yet step into the cars, and in six hours you may…see the Cape.”

Even back then he knew it took six hours to get by car from Boston to the Cape.

“Amazing,” said Ben.

“Who knew?” Erica asked.

Yes, and listen to what he had to say about the crowded beaches.

“…they spent their summers by the sea, for the sake of the sea-breeze,…”

“We found that nearly all the passengers were bound for the beach…and many other persons were flocking in from the neighboring country. There were several hundreds of them streaming off over Cohasset common…”

“…there was hardly room to turn around…”

“But he still loved the place,” Ben said.

Oh, did he? He thought the Pilgrims got it all wrong when they stopped here.

“I cannot but think that we must make some allowance for the greenness of the Pilgrims in these matters, which caused them to see green. We do not believe that the trees were large or the soil was deep here. Their account may be true particularly, but it is generally false. They saw literally, as well as figuratively, but one side of the Cape. They naturally exaggerated the fairness and attractiveness of the land, for they were glad to get to any land at all after that anxious voyage.”

Thoreau actually tells us what he really thought.

“It is a wild, rank place, and there is no flattery in it. “

“So that’s what he thought about tourist season,” Ben said. “What about the other seasons?”

Well, he wrote extensively about the hurricanes and winter winds.

“A storm in the fall or winter is the time to visit.”

“All the while it was not so calm as the reader may suppose, but it was blow, blow, blow, — roar, roar, roar, — tramp, tramp, tramp, — without interruption.”

“Though we have indulged in some placid reflections of late, the reader must not forget that the dash and roar of the waves were incessant. Indeed, it would be well if he were to read with a large conch-shell at his ear.”

“…where in winter the winds howl and the snow blows right merrily in the face of the traveler.”

“Over this bare Highland the wind has full sweep. Even in July it blows the wings over the heads of the young turkeys, which do not know enough to head against it; and in gales the doors and windows are blown in, and you must hold on to the light-house to prevent being blown into the Atlantic…If you would feel the full force of a tempest, take up your residence on the top of Mount Washington, or at the Highland Light, in Truro.”

See, the thing is, Thoreau actually liked the cold, bitter wind.

“The clear and bracing air, and the storms of autumn and winter even, are necessary in order that we may get the impression which the sea is calculated to make. In October…especially if you have a storm during your stay, that I am convinced is the best time to visit this shore… Beside, an outward cold and dreariness, which make it necessary to seek shelter at night, lend a spirit of adventure to a walk.”

“Mild as it was on shore this morning, the wind was cold and piercing on the water. Though it be the hottest day in July on land … take your thickest clothes with you, for you are about to float over melted icebergs.”

“So, what, did he go there for? The fishing?” Ben said.

I don’t think so. Here is what he had to say about fishing.

“I confess I was surprised to find that so many men spent their whole day, ay, their whole lives almost, a-fishing. It is remarkable what a serious business men make of getting their dinners, and how universally shiftlessness and a grovelling taste take refuge in a merely ant-like industry. Better go without your dinner, I thought, than be thus everlastingly fishing for it like a cormorant.”

“…when I asked what the fishermen did in the winter, answered that they did nothing but go a-visiting, sit about and tell stories…”

“So he went to meet the people, then?”

Well, he might have gone for the lack of people. Here is a clue.

“Until quite recently there was no regular lawyer below Orleans.”

And he warned us about all the retirees living on Cape Cod.

“The old people appeared remarkably well preserved, as if by the saltness of the atmosphere, and after having once mistaken, we could never be certain whether we were talking to a coeval of our grandparents, or to one of our own age. “

“He went for introspection, then?” Erica asked.

Possibly. Here is some introspection for you.

“Creeping along the endless beach amid the sun-squawl and the foam, it occurs to us that we, too, are the product of sea-slime.”

Anyway, I don’t think Thoreau thought that any but the most hardy souls would ever set foot on Cape Cod.

“At present it is wholly unknown to the fashionable world, and probably it will never be agreeable to them. If it is merely a ten-pin alley, or a circular railway, or an ocean of mint-julep, that the visitor is in search of, if he thinks more of the wine than the brine, as I suspect some do at Newport, I trust that for a long time he will be disappointed here.”

The wine versus the brine. I think that says it all.

Finishing his smoothie and putting the glass on the garden table, Ben said, “So when are you going to visit your sister?”

(sigh) Next week, I guess.

Cape Cod Smoothie: one banana, ½ cup or frozen blueberries, ½ cup frozen raspberries, 1 cup yogurt, and about 2/3 cup of cranberry juice.

Don’t believe all you read on the internet. While all of the above quotes are taken directly from H.D. Thoreau’s “Cape Cod,” (1865), some of them are slightly out of context. And, don’t write in – I know when the Sagamore Bridge was built. And, I know when Thoreau referred to cars he meant railroad cars. So there.

In truth, Thoreau did have some nice things to say about Autumn.

“Notwithstanding the universal barrenness, and the contiguity of the desert, I never saw an autumnal landscape so beautifully painted as this was.”

“Coming from the country as I did, and many autumnal woods as I had seen, this was perhaps the most novel and remarkable sight that I saw on the Cape. Probably the brightness of the tints was enhanced by contrast with the sand which surrounded this track.”

“You’re not ‘elderly’,” my editor said.
What do you mean? I’m old!
“You’re not ‘elderly’.”
What would make me elderly?
“You either have to be 68 or infirm some how,” he said.
Where is that written? I’m elderly!
“You are not. You are not 68 and you are not infirm. You may be disturbed, but you’re not infirm. Thus, you are not ‘elderly’.”
OK.

Disturbed Man Found Frozen in Unheated Home

He continued, “saying you were found frozen implies strongly that you are dead. You’re not. Change it.”
I was frozen.
“Nobody found you frozen.”
OK.

Disturbed Man Shivers in Unheated Home

“Your story says that you turned the heat way down so you would not run out of fuel before the gas delivery. Right?”
Sigh. Yes.
“So your home was not ‘unheated’. Change it.”
I was cold. I was home.
“Change it. Something like, ‘winter’s storm’.”

Disturbed Man Shivers in Winter Chill

He always pays his bill promptly. He calls on Tuesday morning when he notices the tank down to 30%. Enough left for the week. The man is so worried that on Friday, he calls again to assure that he is scheduled. He also turns his heat down to 50 degrees to preserve what is left in the tank, which, by this time, registers zero.

The man calls again on Saturday morning and again on Sunday morning. Each time he calls they assure him that he is on the schedule for delivery that day. They also ask him each time if he is out of gas yet. Does he have to be completely out of gas for them to consider him for delivery?

The propane company delivers Sunday afternoon.

Disturbed Man: I called on Tuesday. How come you didn’t deliver until Sunday afternoon?
Company Executive, Danny Locklear: We were backed up. Caught by surprise, as they say.

Disturbed: You were caught by surprise by cold weather in the middle of the winter?
Danny: We didn’t expect everyone to use so much gas all at once.

Disturbed: It’s 10 degrees out.
Danny: Who knew?

Disturbed: Don’t you have enough trucks and drivers to handle this demand for fuel?
Danny: We were geared up last summer. We thought we handled that pretty well.

Disturbed: Nobody uses gas for heat in the summer. They only use it for cooking.
Danny: Those chefs on TV all saying they cook with gas. They sure caught us by surprise. But I thought we kept up pretty well.

Disturbed: The chefs on TV caused a big demand for gas?
Danny: Who would ‘a thought? Iron Chef says to cook with gas and every trailer park in the county all of a sudden has Lowe’s delivering gas stoves. I tell you we were scramblin’ for a few weeks.

Disturbed: And yet, you didn’t expect winter temperatures in the teens to cause people to use more gas.
Danny: Thought Jimmy and the truck could keep up.

Disturbed: You only have one truck?
Danny: Jimmy can’t drive more than one truck.

Disturbed: How many customers do you have.
Danny: No way in tellin’. They all over the county. Why, Rose, over on the lower road, has 40 or 50 tanks behind her house, all by herself.

Disturbed: They’re not being used. They’re just stored in her field!
Danny: Huh?

Disturbed: Do they all use gas?
Danny: Not much. That’s what we used for a projector.

Disturbed: You used Rose’s 50 tanks to project usage?
Danny: Well, Dad’s got a bunch in his field, too. We sort of averaged them all in.

Disturbed: How did you get into the gas business, anyway.
Danny: I didn’t even want it. I sort of had to step up when Dad passed.

Disturbed: Oh, I’m sorry. When did he pass?
Danny: Last fall. He was lightin’ the pilot light for the Simon’s furnace when he passed. It took out their whole wall. We all said it must have been Mom’s ham and bean casserole, but we’re not sure. He’s over in the regional burn unit and the Simon’s converted to electric. Bummer.

Disturbed: So he’s not dead? I thought you said he passed?
Danny: Gas, man. He passed gas.

Disturbed: So he could still be running the company…giving you advice and such.
Danny: Nah. The beard pretty much is gone and is preventing him from sayin’ anything intelligible. He said somethin’ like “more bucks” right before huntin’ season, but we couldn’t figure out what he was talkin’ about.

Disturbed: ‘More bucks’. He could have been saying, ‘More Trucks.’
Danny: Ya think?

This morning, it was just Ben and I sitting in the garden drinking Alicia’s breakfast smoothies.

“Because the blueberries make it electronic blue?” asked Ben.

Well, it’s actually named after Alicia’s blue cat.

“The one that’s named Tom Swift because he’s not, very?”

Yes.

We sipped our smoothies.

“What’s that humming? It’s not the pool filter.” Ben was listening to some distant sound.

No, that’s supposed to turn on in the middle of the night, but it’s off schedule because of the power failure a few nights ago. I haven’t reset it.

“What is it? The computer back-up?”

No. It’ the electronic potty box.

“What?!” said Ben.

Well you see, Don called me up a few weeks ago – you know he and Marlene have eleven cats now.

“Yeah. I know. Sad.”

And scary. Well, he talked me into needing this electronic potty box they didn’t want any more.

“Why?”

He said it would help.

“With what?” Ben was neglecting his smoothie.

He gave me the specs: floor space, about 2.5 feet by 3 feet; near an electric outlet; and enough head room for the cat to sit in it. They also needed to install ductwork in the floor to drop the globs into the potty sump.

“They needed to install? They?” Ben hesitated.

Yeah. He and his maintenance guy came over.

“His maintenance guy?”

Yes. They needed to plug it in, install the ductwork and the sump, and show me how the liners fit. They showed me how to clean the filters, daily, and how to clean the sump out every two weeks. They also had to show me how to extricate the cat.

“Extricate the cat?”

Yeah. In case the “in use” kitty monitor fails and the unit starts up while Tom is doing his thing.

“That must be painful.”

Not pretty, but Don insists that rarely happens.

“So. Does it work?”

Well since it is always on standby it uses electricity constantly. The plastic liners are not biodegradable. The laser disintegration device tends to clump up. The sump tends to stink if we only change it every two weeks, and the thing usually wakes me up at 4:00 in the morning.

“What does Tom, think?”

He seems a little nervous.

And constipated.

Tom Swift Electronic Smoothie (serves two): 1 cup blueberries, ½ cup strawberries, some blueberry yogurt, 1 cup crushed ice, fill with cranberry/blueberry juice.

As I set the smoothies down in front of Ben and Bob, I said, Great, because this morning we have the red, white, and blue smoothies. Who are the contenders?

“Well, I nominated either the Pacific Coast Highway or the Blue Ridge Parkway,” said Bob, “But Ben likes the long drive to the Keys.”

You’re both wrong.

“How did we guess?” asked Ben. “And your vote?”

Well, the most scenic drive in America has to be Interstate 278 through Staten Island and Brooklyn.

Ben and Bob looked at each other doubtfully.

“Staten Island?”

“Brooklyn?”

I’ll tell you. I had to go out to Long Island on my last trip North and so I got off the New Jersey Turnpike to go over the Outerbridge Crossing Bridge. This dinky little bridge that goes from New Jersey to Staten Island and they charged me $8.00 toll. I knew that next I had to go over the Verrazano Narrows Bridge, the largest bridge in the world, and I thought, ‘If I have to pay $8.00 to get over this thing, how much are they going to charge me to go over the Verrazano Bridge, $120?’

Anyway, after I got on Staten Island…

“That’s one of the counties in New York City, right,” asked Bob.

No. That’s a good trivia question. Ask somebody to name the five counties of New York City and then ask them the borough name.

“They have boroughs and counties?” said Bob

Ben looked at him. “Why are you encouraging him?”

Ignoring Ben, I said, Yes, Staten Island is the borough of Richmond County in New York City.

Anyway after you get onto Staten Island you go through the largest landfill in the world. Fresh Kills Landfill. You can even see it from space. They closed it in 2001, but reopened it to sort through the World Trade Center debris. Now they’re making it into a park. Pretty spectacular.

Then you go over the Verrazano Narrows Bridge, the largest bridge in the world.

“How much WAS the toll?” asked Ben.

Nothing. They only charge a toll one-way: on the way onto Staten Island. How weird is that? You’d think they would charge people to get out.

Anyway, the largest bridge in the world. It’s so high that ocean liners can go under it. It’s 228 feet high and if you are a passenger the view is spectacular – you can see Manhattan, the Statue of Liberty, everything.

But, if you’re the driver – don’t look. Just stare straight ahead and try not to think about it. It’s scary.

Then you get into Brooklyn. Great views. Massive cityscape, constant construction, bumper-to-bumper traffic. If you’re going at sixty miles an hour, it’s scary, but usually it’s bumper-to-bumper stopped traffic and you have plenty of time to look at the view.

“I’m still not sure where you’re going with this,” said Bob.

Wait. And after a while, the view on the left opens up and you can see the Statue of Liberty, Governor’s Island, Ellis Island, the skyline of Manhattan, and then the Brooklyn Bridge, and then the Williamsburg Bridge.

“This is scenic?” asked Ben.

This is America. The Statue of Liberty. The Brooklyn Bridge.

Then, when you turn off of I-278 onto the Long Island Expressway, you are on the largest parking lot in the world. All the way out to Montauk Point.

Ben was almost finished with his smoothie, so he could see his escape. “And this is the Most Scenic Route in America? Why?”

The largest landfill in the world, the largest bridge in the world, the largest traffic jambs in the world, the largest city in the world, the Statue of Liberty? You have to ask why this is the Most Scenic Route in America?

“All this for only an $8.00 toll?” said Bob.

Right. Tolls, trash, traffic, the Statue of Liberty, and New York City. What could be more scenic and more American?

Red, White, and Blue Smoothie: 1/3 cup crushed ice, ½ banana, 3 gobs vanilla yogurt, some blueberries, 2 strawberries, 4 chunks pineapple, fill with cranberry juice.

I’ve been a little loose with the facts. The Verrazano Bridge is the longest bridge span in the Americas but not the world and the Fresh Kills Landfill is probably not the largest landfill (and the largest man made structure) in the world anymore. New York is not the largest city in the world (Tokyo), and as far as the Long Island Expressway being the world’s largest parking lot, well. And if you really want to know about the counties and boroughs that make up New York City, go here. And technically I-278 does not go through the landfill, but the landfill is part of the drive from Outerbridge. And, it is The Most Scenic Drive in America.

That all sounded fine at the time. Except now I had been sitting out here in the hot sun on the side of the highway for a half hour past the designated time and no bus. The sign next to the bus stop said, ‘Key West, 25 miles.’

Too far to walk.

How was I going to get to Key West?

I had just finished lettering on the back of the bus schedule a big “K W” to use for a sign and was ready to stick my thumb out when the bus arrived.

I got on, said to the driver, “Key West?” and he nodded. I said, “Senior citizen fare, $1.50, right?”

He looked at me skeptically and shook his head and with a Jamaican accent said, “Two Dollah,” and started up the bus.

Why do I always just accept everything? I just go along. Why is the bus late? Why is it two dollars? I didn’t object.

I dug out two dollars in quarters, put them in the machine and said, “I understand this bus does not go to the airport and I have to change busses at Sears.”

“No mon, we go de airport.”

I sat down to enjoy the ride and looked around at the other passengers. They got on the bus and got off and I assumed most of them were workers going to a place of employment. They didn’t seem to be upset at the lateness of the bus so I assumed that I had the schedule wrong.

As we got closer to Key West the bus made a detour to the community college and the hospital, stops that were not on my schedule and that nobody else seemed to question. Even more reason to think I had an out of date schedule. A young couple got on the bus and I heard them talking about the fare to the driver and figured they were tourists.

At the advice of another rider, they got off at Sears, and the driver yelled at them. “Where you goin’? Suddern Mos Point? Get back on!”

They did.

At an industrial part of Key West the bus pulled up to a building marked as the headquarters of the transit authority. The driver said something about a twenty minute break and, leaving the bus running and the air conditioning on, he got out of the bus with his little cooler, closing us in.

I thought, “What just happened?” I looked around at the other passengers who were doing the same, looking at each other with stunned expressions. Nobody said anything until the young woman, who had just gotten on, screamed slightly, ran to the bus doors, pounded on them, “We’re trapped.” She couldn’t open the doors, took a deep breath, and sat back down.

A young guy with a camera whom I had assumed was a tourist turned around and started talking to an older woman who had also been taking photos out the window of the bus. Then I realized that the other five people on the bus were all German tourists: three young women, the older woman and the guy. There was also the young couple and a kid playing a guitar in the back of the bus, quite unconcerned about all of this.

The guy looked at me and made motions to the door and I just shrugged. Then he came over to me and asked me something that I didn’t understand. I said, “I don’t know,” and shrugged. I don’t think he understood this. I patted my chest and said, “tourist,” which I also don’t think he understood. “I’ve never been here before,” I tried to explain.

I’m not sure why he was looking to me for advice except that I was clearly an American and I didn’t look worried. Why didn’t I look worried? I was.

I looked at my watch and thought that even if this driver takes a twenty-minute break I will still get to the airport in plenty of time. That is, if he actually goes to the airport.

Even without a map I must be within an hour’s walk of the airport. We must be on Key West. The airport is on Key West. Key West isn’t that big. Is it? If he doesn’t come back in twenty minutes, I’ll try to break out of the door and walk. At least he left the air conditioning on.

After all, I thought, a twenty-five mile trip, an hour and a half of entertainment, and getting to the airport all for less than the cost of a bottle of water, cannot be all bad.

After a while, the German guy got up and pushed on the bus doors, opened them, and trotted out to take some pictures of a nearby motorcycle. The girl made no move to escape. That’s when the driver returned and put the bus in gear. The photographer scrambled aboard.

I summoned up my courage and asked the driver, “You really go to the airport?”

“After downtown, back de airport.”

Downtown Key West. The driver said, “Duval Street,” to the group and pointed to the door. They all piled out and the last I saw of them they were gathered round looking at a map in the middle of the sidewalk.

He made another downtown stop and an older couple (my age) tried to get on and asked, “Does this go to the airport?”

The driver said, “You want de next bus for de airport, Mon.”

When they looked puzzled, he repeated, “De next bus, to de airport,” and put the bus in gear, closed the doors, and the bus moved forward.

I thought, “Should I be worried? Why can he take me to the airport and not them?” But I didn’t say anything. Just go along. After all, we seem to be leaving the downtown area and heading back. If we go over any long bridge, that’s when I’ll start to worry.

The driver let the young couple off a few blocks later: “Walk tree blocks to de Soudern Mos’ Point.” The guy with the guitar got off two stops later at a beach. Now I was the only one on the bus.

Well, a nice view of the beaches. We haven’t gone over any long bridges. I’m fine. Not to worry.

Three miles later, a few more stops, no other passengers, the driver pulled into the airport, stopped at the terminal and announced, “Airport.”

I said to him as I got off, “Thanks. Sorry I doubted you.”

“No problem, Mon.”

“That might be true of most cancers,” said Ben.

Yes. Most of the Health Care Industry effort targets early diagnosis, treatment, and cure.

“The Health Care Industries would not make any money if we prevented the disease, would they?” said Tim.

“Speaking of prevention,” said Ben, “this mornings smoothies taste extremely healthy.”

Just one of Alicia’s standard breakfast smoothies. Why do you think I’ve got such a crowd this morning? Just joining Ben and Tim was our neighbor, Erica.

“Not to listen to your ideas on cancer prevention. That’s for sure,” said Tim.

“I overheard as I was walking through the garden,” said Erica. “We don’t try to prevent breast cancer because men don’t get breast cancer and because men run all the industries; not just those that make money on the treatment, but the companies that give us cancer in the first place.”

It is low incidence, but men do actually get breast cancer, I said.

Erica just shook her head as she picked up her smoothie.

On a roll, I said, What if we, as a society, decided, ‘you know what? There’s no sense in trying to prevent rape. Instead, why don’t we just provide better counseling? That would help women get over it.’ It would be much more effective.

Or, if the city of Miami decided that it just cost too much to try to prevent violent crime. Cut back on the police force. It’s too expensive and not very effective. Instead, they decided to provide urgent care centers on every block, staffed 24 by 7, by well trained trauma teams.  That way, if you are mugged or shot you can be assured of quality, immediate, care.

“And ongoing counseling,” added Ben.

And ongoing counseling.  Trauma therapy, physical therapy, occupational therapy, surgery, drugs, whatever.

“Unless, of course, you are killed during the violent crime,” suggested Erica. “Or die at the urgent care center,”

I can see the ads: “Nobody wants to be injured on the street. But if you are, don’t you want the very best care possible? Come to ViolenCare. Our ambulances are roaming the streets of your town, right now.”

That’s how we deal with cancer. Detect it early; get to the scene of the crime early. Research for better treatments: surgery, chemotherapy, radiation, pills, shots. We are getting better all the time at treating the victim and not doing anything to prevent ourselves from becoming victims.

“As if we were the problem all along,” said Erica.

All the while we pump stuff into the environment, coat our bodies with stuff, eat processed stuff treated with chemicals. All of this stuff gets into our bodies and takes advantage of other stuff going on, like weakened genes.

“But there’s no proof of any of that,” said Tim. “I’m sure of it. I watch TV shows about this all the time.”

Ben put his face in his hands, but didn’t say anything.

That’s because industry spends more money telling us that there is no proof that their products harm us, than we do at finding the proof.

It’s not in our best interest to figure out why we get cancer. It would cause massive disruptions in too many industries: chemical, manufacturing, utilities, cosmetics, food; probably every company except iTunes.

“I feel a lot better, now that we’re buying music electronically and not producing vinyl records any more,” said Tim.

It’s not a frivolous matter: less air and water pollution, not to mention better health for those in record manufacturing – the people making all those 45s and LPs.

“Not making them, you mean. They all lost their jobs,” said Tim.

And now they’re making vinyl siding.

“Really, you sound almost like you are against cancer treatment,” said Ben.

Of course I’m not against treatment.

But tell me this. Would you rather your daughter have the best treatment for breast cancer – chemo, radiation, surgery – or not get cancer in the first place?

Breakfast Smoothie (serves one):  ½ cup crushed ice, ½ banana, gob of vanilla yogurt, 4 strawberries, 2 chunks pineapple, ½ to 1 teaspoon Tang,  fill with cranberry juice.

I was serving breakfast smoothies to my neighbors, Ben and Erica around my pool. They usually cut me some slack when I’m ranting about cancer because they know my wife died of breast cancer some years ago.

“Whoa, these are mighty pink this morning,” said Ben. “And it’s not even October.”

“Don’t tell me you are calling these ‘breast cancer smoothies’,” said Erica. “That’s just too much.”

It’s Alicia’s payback, I said. There has been so much on the news these past couple of days about breast cancer. She’s tired of my tirades on the subject.

“So that’s our morning. Tirades and breast cancer smoothies,” said Erica.

No serious problem has ever been solved by marketing happiness. Happy faces are a great way to sell feel-good services and products.

Happy faces sell hamburgers. Ronald McDonald. Colonel Sanders. The Burger King.

Happy faces sell cars, weight loss programs, college degrees, TV shows.

To address serious issues you need serious solutions and serious marketing programs. Look at the marketing programs that have addressed other serious problems: World War II, smoking, putting a man on the moon, heart disease, and violent crime. All addressed by seriousness.

The happiness advertising surrounding breast cancer is causing us to not take the problem seriously. Those events distract us.

The marketing programs use pink – a happy color. Smiling faces on women. Smiling teams show that we’re all in this together. Happily.

The walking and running programs from Avon, Komen Y-ME, American Cancer Society and all the other organizations show happy women. What are they smiling about?

“But those programs provide hope,” said Ben.

Yes, a false hope. A hope that you can survive breast cancer and its treatments. Not the hope that you will never contract breast cancer.

Can you imagine celebrating other issues with the same cheerfulness?

What if we celebrated heart disease with a cookout? Heart attack survivors smiling and having a good time lounging around a pool cooking steaks and fried chicken.

“Wouldn’t show them running, that’s for sure,” interjected Ben.

How about a March for Rape. You could have rape victims celebrating survival and cheerful about therapy. The happy lives of survivors.

We could have a Walk Against Violence. Imagine victims of muggings and drive-by shootings marching in smiling camaraderie; displaying the happiness of surviving violent crime. Can you see the next-of-kin therapy groups marching and singing songs?

But that’s not what happens, I continued. We deal with violent crime by showing the horror.

News desks show the ugliness: the photo of the bloody body with the gunshot wound, the victims relatives crying on each other shoulders, the body lying on the ground. That horror generates a demand for law enforcement. It is a method of showing concern, distaste, and disgust and how appalled we are with the situation.

Ben said, “You know the old news saying. ‘If it bleeds it leads.’ That’s what gets something done.”

The happiness factor lulls us into a false sense that we are actually accomplishing something. It hides the ugliness of breast cancer.

“Well, once again, you’ve started my day with happiness,” said Ben as he got up. “How about if we walk for smoothies,” he said to Erica.

Breast Cancer Smoothies: 2 chunks of pineapple, ½ cup of pineapple juice, ½ banana, a gob of yogurt, a little cranberry juice, ½ cup crushed ice, fill with pink grapefruit juice.

If god wanted you to shop in air conditioning he would have made malls less boring. Strip malls begin to give you the flavor of a flea market since many of them are abandoned or contain stores that push cell phones. They try to imitate flea markets by moving all their merchandise onto the sidewalks so you have nowhere to walk. But for the true experience you have to get to a real flea market.

When you are driving to the mall in your air-conditioned SUV on the interstate, you look out the window at the flea market parking lots and they are full. What are you missing?

There are things you can buy at a flea market that you can’t get anywhere else. There are things you can do at a flea market that you can’t do anywhere else. Here are a dozen reasons why people shop at flea markets.

1. You can smoke while shopping at a flea market. If you want to kill yourself slowly and irritate others around you, smoke here and no one will say a word. You can smoke anything: cigarettes, cigars, pipes, roll-your-own. Nobody cares.
2. You can drink beer while you mosey around. Really. Many flea markets encourage it. They serve beer at concessions stands and you can carry it out. Has your partner ever complained about your attitude while shopping? Have a beer.
3. Have you ever walked into a Bed and Bath while eating a bar-b-que sandwich dripping sauce on the floor while you try to balance the sandwich and your beer at the same time? Nobody at a flea market is going to think about calling security because of your eating habits. Eat and stroll. Eat and stroll. Finished with the sandwich wrap? Toss it in the handy barrel.
4. Drive up. That’s right. Have you bought something too big to carry? Drive up and have it loaded into your trunk. Have you bought too much? Not possible. What mall lets you ask the merchants to hold your purchases and you will come back later to get the stuff. Of course, don’t forget where your stuff is or it will be sold again tomorrow.
5. Have you ever tried to maneuver your oxygen tank through the isles in the Gap? Not a problem at a flea market. The isles are wide, the roads are paved and there is plenty of room for your oxygen or an IV or whatever you are trailering. Hint: stay away from the smokers.
6. Wheelchairs – same deal. Sure the government says the malls are accessible. But try to get through the aisles of any clothing store. And where is the merchandise at a mall store? How high can you reach? At a flea market the isles are wide. If you are motorized, you have the right of way. And the merchandise? Most of it is on the ground. You can see it and somebody is willing to get it for you. While I’m on the subject of service – have you ever tried to get help at a mall? The teen-aged twirps look condescendingly at you and then turn to go on break. At the flea market there is one merchant for every stall. Usually two. And, unless they are arguing (after all, they’ve been stuck here, in the heat, on a 10 x 12 piece of earth for seven hours already) they want you to buy their stuff.
7. The vendors are willing to deal. They WANT to deal. They don’t want to take this stuff home. They don’t even have a home. Ever try to get a better price at Radio Shak?
8. Bring the pets. Bring one or bring them all. Put them on a leash, let them ride on your cart, on your back, in a sack, or just roam free. Let them drool, whine, shed, or puke. Most other shoppers or vendors will actually think your pet is cute and want to talk about it. Try this at JC Penny.
9. Bring the kids. Bring one or bring them all. Put them on a leash, let them ride on your cart, on your back, in a sack, or just roam free. Let them drool, whine, shed, or puke. Most other shoppers or vendors will actually think your kid is cute and want to talk about it. Try this at JC Penny.
10. Wear what you want. Come as you are.  If you have rips or cut-offs where people don’t think there should be cut-offs – wear it. Haven’t done the laundry in a few weeks? Come on over. Do you think you’re going to stay clean here? You can make a statement with your clothing here (not a fashion statement, you understand, just a statement.) If you want, wear a t-shirt that says, “They’re Real” or “Paradise Islands”. Flea markets actually promote literacy and diverse opinion.
11. Be who you are. Are you ugly? Outside the norm? Tired of those disdainful glances from the well manicured at Victoria’s Secret? Not at a flea market. Acceptance is the norm.
12. Free stuff. At the end of the day at the mall, the clerks go home. But first they lock up the merchandise behind caged walls. At the flea market many vendors just abandon their merchandise. Organized looting breaks out. It’s like Beirut without the gunfire. Be quick or other vendors will get there first. Where do you think they get their merchandise?

Heat, humidity, food, pets, beer, and t-shirts to admire: flea markets have it all. Wander about with your normal glazed expression. Just remember: motorized wheelchairs and rescue squads have the right of way.

And, if you find yourself staring up at a guy and a girl in matching shirts looking very concerned and starting an IV…they came for you.

Bob used to sell junk from his garage irregularly at the Ramona Flea Market in Jacksonville, Florida. He loved rows Q and S.