Tuesday, November 20, 2007

The Fruitville Chronicles, Day 7


Much like George Lucas I figured I would start my story cycle half way through. It made him millions, after all, and what's good enough for the bearded killer of movie dialogue is good enough for me. Let us begin.

Tuesday November the whatever finds your correspondent in Florida, a week in to his two week sojourn in the sunshine state. Thanks to the generosity of mother-in-law, her consort, and said consort's extended native Floridian family the Weasel Unit has been luxuriating in a borrowed bungalow taking in the sites as well as a modest amount of beer (not Scout- she has been sticking to milk).

The house comes with a beautiful tile swimming pool which is equipped with a woefully underpowered heating unit. Of course, being residents of Maine the general expectations of the Florida relatives have been that we will jump in the pool even if we have to chip ice off the surface. So with an air temperature of 80 degrees and a water temperature of 68 degrees we have been taking turns amazing the locals with our polar bear impressions. "Its no colder than Loonlips Lake in August" we say through gritted teeth with exaggerated New England cadences as we shiver through a few lengths of the pool. What the relatives miss are the early morning screams as the Yankee drive to puritan self-mortification hits chilly chlorinated water for a few chest constricting lengths of unvarnished agony.

We have a grapefruit tree (on its last legs) and an orange tree with fruit that is just coming ripe. Scout has been helping consort Les pick the oranges, extending his reach by 26 inches and employing her surprisingly strong grip to good effect. Cousin Gary brought by a sack of avocados from his daughter's house and we are eagerly awaiting their ripening. We have made many trips to the so-called "Third World" Publix (we aren't exploring the racial implications of that nickname in the interest of preserving the family dynamic).

We have split our time between cultural pursuits, getting sand between our toes, and eating fried seafood in a variety of guises (please don't batter anything that swims for me for a while, please, please). I imagine I will provide details in future dispatches.

I could write much more but I hear relatives filing in to the lanai and beer bottles clinking in the fridge door. Tonight we are grilling: a little chicken, a little salmon, and baked potatoes. I'd better go grab my plate and get in line for the buffet.

Toodle pip,
Weasel

7 comments:

msdee said...

Glad to see you are having fun
If you can do a 68 degree pool in 80 degree temperatures in Florida perhaps you can come down to Brooklyn and dive into the ocean by Coney Island just like the Polar Bear team of people do on New Years Eve?
I dare ya!

Jim said...

I'm somewhat envious of you, with your 80 degree temps and all.

Having made four consecutive March sojourns to watch Mark's Wheaton ball club on their spring sojourn (2003-2006), I know how much you must be enjoying Sarasota, with its perfect, white sandy beaches. We stayed for two years in Clearwater Beach, just to your north. Not quite as "high end" as Sarasota, but quite nice.

I have a fantasy that someday, if I hit the lottery, or a rich relative passes on that I might migrate south and finally escape the winters.

It's probably a fantasy and I'd be missing Maine when June hit, with four months of oppressive humidity making me wish for the moderate summers in the Pine Tree State.

Enjoy your holiday in the sun. I have some sauerkraut I'll need to deliver at some point.

Cheers!

weasel said...

MsDee- I'm a Maniac, not a maniac.

Jim- You need an excuse for next March. Maybe Fort Myers for spring training? And I have seen the tonier side of Sarasota while down here but our family here are most def blue collar (but not red necked). Sipping mimosas on one's yacht off Lido Key is still a (capitalist) dream....

Thanks for stopping by chums: more to follow once I process it.

weasel said...

PS: Sauerkraut! We must arrange a hand-off, for sure!

Margaret Evans Porter said...

Florida warmth seems really far away...I s'pose 'cause I'm in Blighty. (We were fleeing the imminent arrival of snow--possibly we headed in the wrong direction!)

Mondale said...

nuttin wrong with fried seafood.

weasel said...

For every bloomin' meal, guvnor?

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