Sand: the sweet texture of momentary freedom.
Survived peril.
I. Hate. Airplanes.
Sunday - SPF 45
Casino night: not just a tacky prom theme.
We drove through an orange grove/farm/orchard/whatever that stretched more than 20 miles (the road cut right through) and all you could see were perfect oranges hanging on green branches. (I wanted to jump to the curb, get lost somewhere in the grove, and gorge on oranges until my stomach sloshed with juice. – Citrus massacre! – It wasn’t meant to be.)
On the other side of the oranges was Immokalee, an old reservation that was now a Mexican/Guatemalan/Native American slum. It was the kind of place that made me sad, but also made me want to stretch out on the grass like the old man who was lying in the overgrown field next to the 7/11. You could tell the people were used to seeing stupidly-excited white tourists shuttle through the ghetto with their doors locked on the way to lose their money and chain smoke. (Old white casino-goers are all about chain smoking. And visors, apparently.)
Smack dab in the middle of the ghetto (there was a Bonds-for-Bail across the street) was the enormous casino with a shiny entrance, shiny parking signs, and shiny cars valeted in the lot. Ridiculous. Inside, there were flashing strobe-like neon signs, scandalously clad cocktail waitresses, and chain-smoking geriatrics. My brain wanted to seize. Because it was our first time at the place, we got $50 (free!) to gamble away to our hearts’ content. I played a 2 cent slot machine and ended up winning 100 dollars before my $50 was spent. We spent just over 2 hours mostly watching the old folks greed over machines and card tables. My favorite was a woman who must have been at least 80, sitting at a black jack table, on a scooter loaded with an oxygen tank, who was never without a cigarette. She was scowling and the smoke flying out of her mouth made it impossible not to stare. I like to imagine her nickname is The Bull, or something else that should probably belong to a 40s-era boxing champ.
Driving home, surrounded by oranges again, we talked about trying to catch a glimpse of the space shuttle launching that night (not that we had any idea what time it was taking off) and as our chatter lulled, a brilliant orange flame shot up from behind a cloud. We stopped the car and watched the shuttle fly up and up from the orange patch – a serendipitous rocket encounter, the best kind.
Monday – SPF 30, with spots of 45
Fresh, fresh grapes!
“Well there we were, and another wild day began.” – J Kerouac
A record-breaking stint poolside. Finished most of On the Road. The next one won’t be a repeat, but I can’t kick my re-reading habit and I don’t want to.
Tuesday – SPF 15, 30 with spots of 45
“You’re a strong black woman!” – text to my mother from unknown sender
“Was that you out there running this morning? You crazy kids.” – Old woman to me
Three daily morning jogs, two wild cats in the neighborhood, one reactive shin splint, and an endless supply of tunes to hit the pavement with.
Wednesday – RAIN
Best breakfast in town, $4.99.
Lost: worn copy of Ulysses.
I’ve started it before, but my commitment was shaky. I told myself I’d get through it while spending uninterrupted hours in the sand. I’m beginning to realize that I’m just not meant to finish it.
I’d like to imagine that it ran off with some hot little number like Anna Karenina or Lolita, if it’s into that kind of thing.
Thursday – SPF 15
Lions and tigers and bears, oh my.
The second national tour of Wicked kicked off in Fort Myers and we were lucky enough to catch the show. An actress playing Elphaba on Broadway starred, and was fantastic. Yes, on spring break I attend scheduled activities like musicals. Deep down, I might be a middle-aged tourist with an itinerary. Yep, it scares me, too.
Friday – SPF 15
50% off all pirate ashtrays
Sand in my shorts, sand in my hair, sand in between my toes.
Bliss.
Saturday – SPF 15
Hey look, those are great melons.
Today we adventured to the flea market, an endless parade of as-seen-on-TV demonstrations, “you might be a redneck if…” t-shirts, and overly excited white-haired shoppers donning fanny packs. An absolute shit show – which happened to be absolutely hilarious. I wanted something called the Cake Filler, which is impossible to explain, but looked wonderful … and stupid. However, the farmer’s market was amazing.
Sunday
Sociology? Like sociopath?
Oh Florida, I'll miss the little things: the tiny lizards, the stray cats, the old people, annoyed locals, but especially the wacky-businesses. Farewell Manatee Executive Center. Goodbye Kidney Thrift Store.
Hello 40-some days until graduation.
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