As has been our custom in recent autumns, we are spending a month in Florida recuperating from the stresses of, in F’s case, tax season (for those not familiar with the ways of CPAs, tax season doesn’t really end until Oct. 15), and in my case, F during tax season (just kidding dear!).
Therefore in the coming weeks, assuming I actually do some writing and don’t spend all my waking hours drinking beer on the beach, swimming, riding bikes, cooking seafood, and drinking cocktails while watching sunsets, this blog may occasionally take on the form of a travelogue.
In truth the idea for this blog originated in a series of emails I wrote during some trips we took over the past couple of years as a way of keeping family and friends up to date. Thus, its origins are about the fun we have traveling. So for you readers who are disappointed in not getting the usual brilliant satire and hilarious insights into life and the human condition and could care less about our vacation, all I can say is that you need to check the fine print in the blog’s money back guarantee.
So, a few notes about Florida.
Yes, it’s as decidedly weird and absurd as its reputation, although I have to admit that given the number of times I have read a news item in recent years about some crazy person or some bizarre happening, North Carolina is giving it a run for its money. I think of Florida as having a split personality; one is the glitzy, sandy, high-rising, palm tree swaying, luxury lounging rich relative, while the other is the, well, let’s just leave it as the poor cousin baking in the sun. Driving the length of this great long state, you realize that there are a lot more orange groves, cattle ranches and horse farms than there are beaches, which is saying something.
And, of course, there are more strip malls per capita than in any other place in the world filled with shops selling stuff I have no idea what it is and offering services I’m not sure I want to know what they are.
I say all this not to denigrate Florida, because I did plenty of that when I was an actual full-time resident of the state, but to celebrate it. Because the mountains of North Carolina, where we live most of the time, have plenty of things visitors could denigrate, plus it’s not very warm right now and – this is the critical point – it doesn’t have a beach.
I have been accused before of not liking where I live, which is not true; I simply don’t like winters that last nearly half the year. And having spent a considerable amount of my childhood around (mostly tropical) water, I’m like a junky who needs a regular fix of the warm waters of the ocean. You could say my heart is in the mountains but my soul is at the beach.
Which brings us to our present surroundings, high above a beach overlooking the Gulf of Mexico. Looking at the beachgoers after driving through the length of Florida, where wearing masks during this pandemic is decidedly optional, I can’t help but wonder why bathing suits aren’t optional too. I mean, who doesn’t long for the glorious freedom from that clingy feeling of wet material grabbing at all your bits and pieces so that you are constantly rearranging things and plucking it away from soggy personal parts?
I might consider putting liberty to the test and seeing just how much freedom is allowed here on the southern tip of America. But I’ll definitely need another beer first.