Wednesday, March 11, 2015

one of those days

Today was one of those days when you think you know what you are doing and where you are going to do it. Oh, how naive and trusting we are. Our plans were to drive to drive to St. Petersburg and take in the Dali museum and check out some of the places that Jean had suggested we see. But I slept late--I mean really, really late, Mary late. It was 10:00 am before I rolled out of bed.
So we opted for a walk in that direction instead of this, and on this side of the street instead of that. In other words we were invoking our latent nomad, trusting that it would take us to exciting, interesting places.
We decided on the wharf as our destination. I love watching the working fishermen and their vessels doing their job. I am particularly impressed with the fishermen's facility with their boning and filleting knives when they render the day's catch into the slabs of fish that are promised on the day's menu at the many restaurants around here. It seems like it takes maybe 6 slashes with those razor sharp blades to cut off the heads and tails of the unfortunate grouper, or whatever fish made the mistake of taking the bait, and then slicing it from stem to stern, scraping out the entrails and sharing them with the pelicans and egrets in attendance, and finally separating the fillets from the bones with laserlike precision. Unfortunately, the fleet was not in when we arrived there, so I had to rely on my memory and imagination to see that fishmongering take place.
We considered a lunch cruise on one of the large, squarish vessels dedicated to that, but the fact that the floating behemoth resembled a garbage scow from some Asian port convinced us that we would be better off lunching on dry land. So we did.
After lunch at one of the many outdoor cafes long that stretch of south beach, we were faced with the fact that we had ambled much farther than we intended and farther than we felt capable of retracing to get home. While we stood there in the crowded promenade weighing our transportation possibilities, people flowing around us in eddys, irritated at the need to alter course to pass us by,
an angel of mercy appeared before us in the form of Mike, a rickshaw peddling savior. This fine upstanding young man loaded us into the vehicle's seat and peddled his, and our, way north toward home. Ten minutes later and $10 lighter, we were back and ready to take a nap.
Thus is the exciting life of the retired.

No comments: