Update From Paradise

      Our time here is winding down. We’ll be heading back up north for the next couple of months. And why wouldn’t we?

Marathon Men - an Ode to the Umps

Our team won, in no small part thanks to our efforts, and the Red Sox are now the World Series champs.

Lunching

      Yesterday we drove over to St. Armand’s Circle, which sits between Sarasota Bay and the Gulf of Mexico.

Condo People

          So I ran into Linda last night while taking Mamie for her evening spin around the complex. She was walking her dog Ginger, and pushing (yes, pushing) her other dog, whose name I’ve forgotten. Ginger is a black and white terrier mix, and no-name dog is also black and white, a geriatric – and fat – Chihuahua who rides in her own red doggie carriage. They’re all usually color coordinated, Linda with her black hair and black and white outfits, and the girls with their black and white markings, but often sporting red accents – a leash here (dog), a hat there (human).

          Then there’s the gentleman who I see night and day walking alone, around and around the complex, always with his cell phone on speaker. I wonder if he’s talking to a distant wife who’s checking in to see if he’s getting his exercise.

          Fran is a sweet, slim lady who may be dealing with the after-effects of a stroke with her somewhat halted and hesitant speech. Her husband is a big friendly brash ex-cop, but it’s their dog I can’t stand. It’s a miniature Schnauzer who barks and snarls like an animal from the gates of hell every time it sees you.

          There’s one couple only seen on weekends, since they drive up to their condo here at the end of the work week.

          From Fort Myers.     Only an hour away.

          Lauren and Bill toodle by at least once a day on their tandem bike, in my opinion a true test of marital harmony. (There’s a reason why, years ago, we ditched the canoe and got ourselves each a kayak.)

          Bob is a wiry widower with a George Hamilton tan, game for any fun that may crop up, particularly if it involves a bar stool.

          And I just spotted the skinny, skinny guy from the next building on my ride back from the YMCA this morning, almost 4 miles from our complex. He was out walking in the 88 degree sun and was about a block from the Y, which meant he had another 4 miles to get back. I haven’t seen his wife yet this year, but let’s just say they truly are a Jack Sprat couple.

Word of advice - carry cash

  

        Life here in Florida for the month of October has been pretty idyllic.

Breakfasting Al Fresco

I had any number of companions at breakfast this morning: 

No Man is a Hero to His Valet

The Florida Mega Millions lottery is now at the unbelievable sum of 1.6 billion dollars since there was no winner last night.

Winning numbers:

15,23,53,65,70 and the Mega Ball number was 7

Our ticket?

07,22,25,47,53 (Whahoo!!) with a Mega Ball number of 04

          And yes, apparently matching only one number is worth bupkis.

          We shouldn’t be too surprised we didn’t win – the chance of matching all six numbers and taking home the grand prize was one in 302.5 million. We’re still new to this whole thing, being more the impulse $1 scratch ticket sort of gambler, but potential winnings in the millions are pretty alluring.

          But then my bar of Neutrogena facial soap reminded me last night that I’m probably not cut out to be a millionaire anyway.

          A few years ago after surgery laid me up, we employed a woman to deal with light housekeeping every two weeks. This had been a life-long dream of mine, so when I went back to work we continued having her come. It was great at first, but then the idea of having another pair of eyes in the house (even if it was only twice a month) got to me.

          Was she judging my own interim cleaning skills? When she tidied the bathroom counter, did she notice that the same bar of facial soap was still there, barely diminishing? (A tell-tale sign that my skin care is often a bit hit-or-miss, depending on how tired I am.)

          As the final blow, when I realized that the “light” housekeeping she did was just that, and I’d seen that her idea of scrubbing the kitchen floor was to stand there with a spray bottle and a Swiffer with a rag around it, I was happy to call an end to the whole thing.

          The cherry on top came when we moved to a condo and now have a lot less footage to dirty up, and are no longer shoveling mulch, digging in the dirt, and dragging the outside in.   

Tropical Cabin Fever

It may be October in Florida, but I’m experiencing deep New England winter.

Making Landfall

 

Last week I knew we were officially in Florida when I saw this sign in Baldwin while waiting for a train to go by.  

Spelling phonetically isn’t always the best idea.