Tourism and indolence

Since visiting the last Presidential Library, we have been tourists on the Gulf Coast, and true snow birds in Destin, Florida, with a 3-day stop on the way in Corpus Christi, Texas.

We wanted to go to Corpus Christi because many Minnesotans head to Southeast Texas--especially to Padre Island--for a winter break.  We did not, however, drive the three hours from Corpus Cristi to South Padre Island, which is the most popular resort (and spring break) destination.  Instead, we spent a day on the Padre Island National Seashore, which comprises the north part of Padre Island, and which is a very large barrier reef.  It's managed by the U.S. National Park Service.  There's a beach, but it was too cool to play in the water. The best part: BIRDS!!

The area has been designated as "important" by the bird people, and Corpus Christi has the designation as the "birdiest" city in the U.S.  It's important as a travel route for many birds that summer in the Upper Midwest.  I got a new identification on the Laughing Gull--a very noisy fellow indeed--and when we visited the Corpus Christi Botannical Garden on another day, I identified a Northern Shoveler with help from a nice young man who was obviously an accomplished birder.


We visited two other sites in Corpus Christi: the first was the South Texas Art Museum, which had an exhibit of Ansel Adams photos, as well as a number of great art from their permanent exhibit.  And Duluthians (as well as others who have visited) will know why Bill took this picture: their Chihuly seems virtually identical to the showpiece in the UMD Library...except for the color.

Our other non-nature visit was to the USS Lexington, which is a huge aircraft carrier that lies permanently in the harbor at Corpus Christi.  There are many exhibits, and one can tour the living quarters of the ship, and see several of the actual planes that flew during the war in the Pacific.  I particularly enjoyed seeing the crew's quarters below deck, as Bill's father was a cook in the Navy, and was on a ship in the Pacific during the war.  There was one hitch: on the lower level are two rooms filled with 200-300 models of both planes and ships of all kinds-- you know, the type your brother bought at the local hobby shop and built in the 1950s, complete with decals.  Surely you will remember (ha!) my writing about the miniature museum in Tucson in last year's faux blog--dozens of houses, shops and cities all in miniature--and how interesting it was (to me) to learn that miniature hobbyists create on a 1:12 scale. But airplane and ship models cannot be built to a universally standard scale, because, of course, they vary so much in size!  Now, the reason I asked Bill to take a photo of the sign in the museum is that I stood in front of it and tried to follow the math for about 15 minutes, and by the end I had tears in my eyes and lost all of my self esteem, because I THINK in the second example (of a "1:350 Ship model"), one inch equals only 12 inches--one foot-- and not 48 inches, as in the first example.  I think.  But they don't state that the scale is different! I can't stand it!  The sign has been there for years!  Am I nuts?  Do I have to read Math Doesn't Suck by Danica McKellar again?  I leave it up to you, dear reader.


It was too far to drive in one day from Corpus Christi to Destin, Florida, so we stopped for one night in Baton Rouge, Louisiana.  We had just time to visit the Rural Life Museum in that city, which is managed by LSU and includes a working plantation as well as huge exhibits of tools and domestic artifacts from early and mid-nineteenth century.  Naturally I loved seeing the quilts, including this one I think is called "rail fence," a pattern I like a lot (not from the 19th century, though, these are made by women in the community for display as reproductions).
 
 And this:  an iron with a hollow handle that had a metal ball in it, so it would be known (by the noise) that the slave in charge of laundry was indeed ironing.  While I have referred to myself on occasion as the slave in charge of laundry, I have never had to iron with one of these.

Next week: reflections on life on the Florida panhandle. Indolence rules.