There are a plethora of gated communities here in Florida, man made villages of homes tucked behind lush landscaping and pastel colored stucco walls. Many of them are associated with golf courses, and the astronomical maintenance fees that go with all that. Our community is not such a one, but, in my estimation, the lack of golf greens is more than assuaged by the miles of inland lakes and arched bridges. Within easy walking distance are tennis courts, fitness center, and a large, sparkling pool. Also a cafe to grab lunch, and a salon for hair and nails. Add to that a bank, post office, gas station, and life is nearly complete within the confines of these five square miles. Real estate advertising often refers to Island Walk as "resort style living," and that isn't hyperbole. So we find ourselves rarely venturing outside this oasis. It's our personal paradise, quiet, calm, and lovely. The city of Naples is a continual bustle of beautiful people enjoying their very riche lifestyle, and I certainly don't fit into that mold. It's fun to watch (for a while) but it's not me. The outside world intruded on us yesterday morning when we awoke to find egg splattered on the screen of our lanai and on the slider door outside the master bedroom. This happens occasionally in our suburban Detroit neighborhood, and we shake out heads but aren't terribly surprised. We were surprised that it happened here, and aparently we've developed a false sense of security. Island Walk is obviously not as insulated from "the real world" as we liked to believe. And while an occasional egg tossing/toilet papering spree isn't the harbinger of doom, it serves to remind me that perfection is simply not possible-even in "paradise." So I'll adjust my expectations a bit. After living on planet earth for 50-plus years, I'm accustomed to doing that. We cleaned off the screens without too much fuss, and used the opportunity to hose down the lanai floor (which needed doing anyway). The dogs had great fun playing in the water, and now everything is clean and shiny once more. Except my image of our oasis, which is just slightly tarnished.
Hosting Help
I've been thinking about branching out into more sophisticated blogging - getting my own domain name, some advertising perhaps - setting up shop in a more professional way. All this thinking was probably spurred by the sleek new laptop I got for Christmas. Whatever, my little brain has been working furiously. However, I know next to nothing about webhosting.
No worries, though, because I found an excellent resource to help answer my basic questions and point me in the right direction. Web Hosting Choice is a complete website that provides all the basic information about what I need to host my site, as well as offering a guide to web hosting services that fill the bill. There clear, concise format is easy to navigate, and the explanations are complete and user friendly.
Like a good host should, this site made me feel right at home.
Frump City
The mirror is definitely not my best friend these days. With great dismay, I feel myself drifting across that invisible line into OL-ism. Perhaps it's the elastic waist pants I've come to favor, taking great pains to conceal the waist band by layering blouses over T-shirts. Or maybe it's my hair, which seems bent on misbehaving badly in the Florida humidity, turning my usual soft waves into unmanageable frizzy curls. My skin looks unhealthily pale amidst the sunshine and bright colors of the tropics, and my makeup seems fruitless in its quest to conceal an ever growing numbers of lines and creases. I don't consider myself terribly vain about my appearance, and although I like to dress stylishly, I'm not a trend fiend. I generally buy a couple of nice pieces a year, at Talbots or Coldwater Creek, and the rest of my clothes are pretty casual pants and sweaters which suit me for work and for leisure activities.
But in the past few years, it's become more difficult to stay current without looking ridiculous. The new "baby doll" tops are a case in point. I wore that very same style in the late 60's when I was a tiny waisted teenager. The effect now is simply not the same. I merely look like exactly what I am - a slightly puffy middle aged woman trying to appear stylish. Sad.
A while ago I saw an elderly woman ( a real OL!) tottering through the airport in spike heels, tight black low rise pants, and a fake fur jacket. My god, I thought, spare me from ever being so foolish! At least elastic waist pants don't send everyone around me into fits of derisive laughter.
Nevertheless, especially when I'm here in Southwest Florida, a land of beautiful people wearing very expensive clothes, I feel especially old and out of date. I haven't updated my Florida wardrobe in a few years, and it's in desperate need of revitalizing. I simply must have one or two outfits to wear downtown for dinner at Bistro 821 or lunch on the patio at Campiello's. But I dread the whole shopping experience, which just serves to make me feel frumpier than I already do.
Alternatively, I could just stay home, which becomes ever more appealing as the crowds and traffic thicken for the "season." Then I can be comfy in my old (elastic waist) Capri's or the soft, flowy cotton sundresses my daughter-in-law brings back from Thailand.
Besides, frumpy feels better than fashionable anyway.
And So This Is Christmas
Or the day after, to be exact. It's a bit peculiar for this Michigander to be sitting outdoors on a December afternoon, listening to palm fronds whisking in the breeze, blessedly barefooted and wearing tank top and Capri's. Peculiar, but not unpleasant. Not at all. We arrived late afternoon on Christmas Eve, just in time for all the grocery stores to close. No matter - we made do with some of the emergency rations from the freezer (Stouffers lasagna and garlic bread). There was plenty of wine in the rack to wash it down with. Christmas morning dawned cloudy and cool, but the dogs woke us early anyway, so excited to be here, anxious for a walk and a game of fetch. We spent a quiet afternoon with Brian and Nantana, and then all drove to my dad's house where his wife prepared a turkey dinner with all the trimmings. It's funny, but if someone had told me five years ago that I would one day sit down to dinner with my father and "that woman" and actually enjoy it, I would have said they were completely crazy. But I realize now that all the anger and animosity I harbored toward them at the time of my parents divorce was more detrimental to me than anyone else. It's good to let go of that - not easy, certainly, but necessary in order to be healthy. Today was back to business as usual, and a trip to Publix was definitely in order. The thing about having a vacation "home," (as opposed to staying in a hotel) is that someone has to do all those "homey" things. That someone is usually me. So, a couple of hours and $200 later, the larder is well stocked once again. Some fruits, vegetables, and yogurt for snacking, fresh organic chicken breasts (some for us, some for the puppies), fixings for salads, and a restock on the emergency freezer rations (Bertoli Dinner for Two in a bag). After another hour with a broom and some spray cleaner, the lanai was ready for use. And that's where I've landed, bare feet propped up, a dog on each side, blue sky overhead, a cold drink, and you :) Definitely the preferred way to spend an afternoon in December.
How about you? How's your day after Christmas?
Tales from the Road
Dateline: Macon, Georgia, Sunday, 11:00 p.m. We've exhausted the channel lineup on the tv here at the LaQuinta Inn. The dogs have made their last trek around the perimeter of the hotel. Magic has watered every lamppost and sniffed every tree. Molly is stretched full length on her purple blanket, nose tucked neatly between her front paws, while Magic has appropriated the left side of the king sized bed (Jim's side -ha!) My dogs are amazingly flexible creatures. From the moment we set out on this three day journey, they seemed to know we were in for a long haul. They accommodate themselves nicely in the car, taking turns lying on the pillow in my lap or perching on the console between the two front seats. They communicate in silent signals, rising from one spot in unison and trading places efficiently and neatly before going back to sleep. Like any couple in a long term relationship, they've learned the give and take required to keep things on an even keel. I'm happy to say, we all seem to be faring quite well on this trip - I'm resigned to eating junk food for three days, and Jim has accepted the fact that there will be crumbs on the black suede seats in his car. And, by the way, we are cruising smoothly and easily, courtesy of the Hemi engine in his new Dodge Charger. We traversed the hills and dales of the Smokies without a hitch. Speaking of the Smokies, I am in love with those glorious Smoky mountains, even on a day like today, when the trees were all brown and bare, and the mountain tops were wreathed in wisps of grey fog. They are majestic and fearsome, emerging victorious after the endless flatlands of Ohio. I am most proud of my southern heritage when I travel through those mountains, imagining Daniel Boone (a distant relative of mine, so I'm told) trekking across that green land, and fording the Cumberland River. Yes, in terms of the view from the road, today was my favorite day. Now we've reached the tail end of Georgia, and there's nothing really pretty to look at anymore. Tomorrow brings the endless wilderness that is I-75 in Florida, the view unbroken save for high brick walls shielding the latest luxury community from the eyes of prying motorists. It's always a bit disheartening crossing the border into Florida, and knowing there are still about five hours of driving left to do - and that's if you're lucky and don't find yourself embroiled in one of the Florida's famous traffic jams (shudder). And I'm thinking I should probably go to bed, so I'll be bright eyed and bushy tailed for the remainder of my road trip. It's been a quiet trip so far - and quiet is good. I'll see you on the other side.