Jefferson Martin

Jefferson Martin

Musings about old Volvos and the meaning of life.

Captive no more

Just got back from a week with the family on North Captiva Island off the gulf coast of Florida. The good: semi-tropical vegetation growing from soil created by millions of years of seashells washing ashore and being sun-bleached to a brilliant pure white. The not-so-good: no paved roads, no cars, no stores to buy food

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carbon-contradiction

Carboniferous Irony

I started the Weber charcoal grill this afternoon on North Captiva island in Florida to slow-smoke our spatchcock chicken. I grabbed a brew, sat down in the chair and looked up to realize the irony of cooking a descendant of a dinosaur on a grill which is powered by the very carbon the vegetation surrounding

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captiva-office-silence

Office Space Silence

Spending a week on North Captiva in Florida with the family fully intending to enjoy this beautiful, bucolic place along with finishing some patent work which is long overdue. North Captiva has no paved roads and no real stores or shops to speak of. Just houses, and a ferry boat which operates every two hours

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Swans, Darts and Volvos

Years ago I played competitive English darts on the east coast. I drove my Volvo 145e from venue to venue and while I was barely good at the sport, I persevered. A number of English ex-pats competed in that league and brought some authentic, albeit unusual, language to the game. The go-to competition dart game

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X-Ray Shoes for Easter

Long before my long bones lit up a PET scan and changed the direction of my cancer journey, I was all too happy to have my feet ‘lit up’ by an X-ray machine installed in the Belk’s department store downtown in the nineteen fifties. I would step up onto the wooden platform of the machine

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Metaphor or Reality?

Within only hours remaining before reporting to a meeting with my onco-pros, our beloved Volvo cancer therapy car named Moose just stopped working. The fuel pump decided to go end-stage on me and I found myself an ad hoc traffic controller for people totally put out for having to thread their way around an old,

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Light Me Up

I seem to get a little agitated a few days ahead of my PET Scans. I become insufferable to loved ones around me and a cranky old man yelling at kids on his yard to those who observe me from afar. These tests are designed to find unusual activity within me on the part of

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Scrapping Digitally

I have to admit I am really impressed by a scrap metal dealer here in the Philadelphia area. After replacing two failed front seats in one of our Volvos with a pair of mint seats from a junkyard I was left with a sense of pride for a job well done and about eighty pounds

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Cursed Cancer Life

Poorly paraphrasing Anne Boyer, even with a respite from cancer aggression I am still cursed to live in the world that made me sick in the first place.

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I Just Don’t Care

Since my cancer diagnosis in 2017 things in my life have been understandably up and down. Sometimes the tests designed to track the progress- or, hopefully, the lack of progress – of my unwelcome little body bastards are good. Then, another test round has everybody face-clamping and saying,  “Oh, no!”. I have become mostly immune

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