January 31, 2003

What I Did On My Winter Vacation
I always write what I call a "trip log", with the mistaken notion that I will actually one day go back and read it. At the very least it affixes the details in my mind one last time. Since I wrote it anyway, I will post it in the fine tradition of "let no writing go unposted". You are under no obligation to read it, of course. Triplogs prior to my reversion at least proffered erotic poetry (note to self: destroy erotic poetry soon!); I can promise no sex or violence in the following:

Here lieth the sun deck, where I laid sprawled befriended by Kirk and a cold one.

The advertising on the rental car was right, at least right now. "Florida - the Sunshine State" proved to be all of that as we loaded our weary bodies into a rental which still held the aroma of "new car". From Ft. Myers we took the causeway into sunny Sanibel where we blinked like uncovered slugs.

The condo had a small screened-in back porch overlooking the pool, where a fat cigar and a couple ales on repeating days tended to invoke nostalgia. I had a terribly strong sense of deja vu, and of remembrance of things past. The large green shade tree was much like the one at our house growing up, the one near which we dug a large hole with the hope of reaching China (our knowledge of the hot earthen core being incomplete). The sun deck and pool had 60s style accoutrements that reminded me of my best friend's grandma's swimming pool and her maddeningly strict rules of no swimming for an hour after eating; I recall being out of the pool more than in it. The sun deck ascended in whitely glory, a mad pad to which I would carry a ridiculous number of books despite always choosing to read Kirk's Sword of Imagination.

The leafy courtyard had antebellum lamps and reminded me of my alma mater, which reminded of what Burke wrote concerning the man who hangs about college after having graduated - "he is like a man who, having built and rigged and victualled a ship, should lock her up in dry dock." Ah but what a gloriously unbattered ship she would be!

The complex had the aura of a retirement villa about it; the average resident age in the 70s. The beach scenes looked like retirement or insurance advertisements - loving grey-haired couples walking hand-in-hand. This was a nice feature since I would be able to avoid eye custodial issues which inevitably arise when bikini-clad young women happen by. Instead I was reading Russell Kirk sans distraction, as the sun made her inevitable trek...

    When daffodils begin to peer,
    With heigh! the doxy over the dale,
    Why, then comes in the sweet o' the year;
    For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale.

    The white sheet bleaching on the hedge,
    With heigh! the sweet birds, O, how they sing!
    Doth set my pugging tooth on edge;
    For a quart of ale is a dish for a king.


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