Tilting at Windmills

The windmill at my cousin’s house

This is another part where I have to admit I’m bad at telling a chronological story.

So, the first time I went to Florida after Dad died, we got a dogsitter and flew out as soon as we could. Rented a pickup truck at the airport because I had no idea if Dad’s truck worked, if I would be able to drive it, and what we would …