Tuesday, January 15, 2013


On the Broadwalk John Ricci sings Italian love songs while couples dance.  David doesn't want to dance so we listen to the songs for a few minutes and then keep strolling.  It is about 9 o'clock in the evening.  The weather is still warm enough for walking despite the breeze. 

Even though the morning is cloudy I sit on the beach.  Very few people on the sand, one or two brave ones in the water: I work on the New York Times crossword puzzle, take photos of the ring-billed seagulls, stare at the furious ocean.  I want to take the rhythm of the waves breaking and crashing with me, to use when I need to escape reality, to scare away anxiety. 

In the afternoon all four of us drive to Las Olas Boulevard in Ft. Lauderdale to lunch at the Riverside Cafe.  I like Las Olas because I like the shops.  Betty and I browse through Chico's and buy a few colorful shirts.  In the meantime Jon and David take a long walk and find a townhouse they like.  Let's see how much it is they say and David walks over to the real estate agency to find out while Jon is looking in his phone.  Are you serious? I ask.  Let's go please.  Nature is calling.

Back home we play Scrabble (I come in second in a photo finish, David wins); then we have cocktails and supper in the courtyard.  Leftovers from last night are abundant because we went to an Argentine restaurant and ordered so much, we had enough for a week.  Jon and I shared a parrillada for two.  That's a lot of sweetbreads, sausages, and just plain meat.  I ate more than I should have and had a problem sleeping.  Besides I've been a bit anxious the last couple of days.  Why?  I don't know.  The trip? Mom? My heart?  But I feel better tonight.  As they say: "wherever you go, there you are."  You can't escape yourself.  You might try but, ultimately, you carry your baggage with you.  That's why I stare at the waves to take their calming rhythm with me.  That's why I count backwards.  And that's why I write. 


  1. Wherever Owen and I travel, we always think about buying a place. Something about the moment and impulse...it's a good momentary escape like the waives, etc.

    1. It's always nicer when you don't live there day in and day out. You said it.