I’m kidding, of course: at a certain level, The Missus and I both feel we could probably hang out here for a few weeks more. But aside from the (surely considerable) inconvenience which our presence offers to The Stepdaughter and The Stepson-in-Law we ourselves are chomping at the bit to be in motion — for our separate as well as shared reasons.
I at least have been lucky enough to get out and about a bit: nearly daily shopping forays (“I can’t believe I forgot to get the milk for my tea when I went shopping yesterday!” etc.); walking to the end of the block and back…
On one of the latter excursions around the neighborhood, I took along my “good” camera. Most of what there is to see (and photograph) here is a uniform green-and-tan: palm trees, sago palms, bamboo, numerous tall pines, the sudden shock of a riot of tropical flowers… The individual plots of land are large enough (maybe 5-10 acres?), and so well shielded by vegetation, that a lot of the houses are completely invisible from the street. What you can see tells you there’s probably no neighborhood “design code” or anything; the architecture is all over the map — Spanish-style haciendas, traditional Colonial, ranch-style, etc. (Haven’t seen any doublewides but, like I say, who knows?)
Anyway, I’d taken my camera out for a neighborhood walk. Lots of plant-and-flower photos, a handful of “wildlife” shots: couple turtles, a short-and-skinny black snake, that sort of thing. Mostly, I was just walking. And sweating like a sonofagun after 45 minutes or so in the heat and humidity, in a branch of the network of streets I’d never driven on…
And that’s when a couple — probably in their 60s, so a young couple (LOL) — pulled up in a Jeep beside me.
Now, in case I haven’t told you before: I am determined on this road trip that I’ll be better than I ever have been before about talking with people: not ducking my head and looking away, practicing a guileless smile, etc. So maybe I was on a bit of a hair trigger, too eager to talk… and also a bit nervous about the fact (as I imagined it) of being accosted in rural Florida while walking the streets of a neighborhood with a camera — and clearly otherwise Not Fitting In. I started, in short, to babble:
“Hi, I don’t live here. We’re just staying with my stepdaughter over on the other side” — *waving vaguely towards the other side* — “just admiring the lovely foliage, it’s all so photogenic…!”
I’m not even sure they’d rolled down a window yet, let along gotten a word in edgewise. (You can probably imagine The Missus’s eyerolls at this part of the narrative.) But they just smiled, waved, said something reassuring and drove on.
Five minutes later, there they were again: still in the Jeep, headed in the other direction. As they drew up alongside, the guy rolled down his window and handed me a can of “Pibb Xtra,” an “artificially flavored spicy cherry soda” that I didn’t even know existed. (Plain old Mr. Pibb, sure: I knew that one okay. Just not this tarted-up variety.) “You looked like you could use this,” he said, “but I’m sorry, it’s not very cold!”
“It’s colder than I am!” I said, laughing.
The guy kind of saluted me, and they drove on.
It’s not a kind of soda I’d select for myself. But, y’know, even after I’d gotten back to the house and gotten nice and comfortable, I couldn’t bring myself to just discard it…
…and as of this afternoon, I can report: it goes well with cheddar-filled-pretzel Combos.
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P.S. For what it’s worth, we will probably — probably — be on our way to the next destination sometime this week.