Wednesday, March 11, 2015

Recollections Of Florida




Recollections Of Florida

I am sipping a tall glass of sunny Florida orange juice. Nothing better in the dark of a March morning.

I spent the summer of '95 in Florida, just south of Sarasota. I remember how hot it was. So hot, in fact, that my daughter would literally run from air-conditioned car to air-conditioned building and spent little, if any time, outdoors unless we were at a beach.

Me? I loved the heat. I used to go for long walks in the dead of the day, and come back to our townhouse drenched in sweat.

What I remember most about Florida was this small truck stop café that was along my walking route. I used to spend an hour in it, sipping on an iced coffee and soaking in the out-of-the-way Florida culture. Many colourful locals found their way into my writing notebook that summer, and I think, to this day, they continue to show up as characters in my short stories. They were always so offbeat.

I like offbeat. I like weird.

What I don't like is repetition, the dull and mundane life of predictable people in predictable dilemmas.

I don't ever really miss stuff I've done in my life, but this morning, I'd sure love to be back in Florida on a hot summer's day, while listening to Old Pete and Mercy Mary complaining about the humidity and arguing with one another about whether or not Jesus had a son, whose descendants are now living on the Keys.
 







 








 
 


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