Goodness how the week has flown. It’s Sunday now, and it’s been more than a week since I last posted. Much of that time was either uneventful or overflowing with work. I had two very long work days on Thursday and Friday, so I tried to stay off of the computer yesterday to give my back and neck a break.
Last Saturday, I joined up with Peter and Marc, two more friends of ours who live in St. Petersburg. Along with their dog, Griffon (I’m guessing on the spelling; he’s a Brussels griffon that they rescued), they live in a 29th-floor condo in downtown. They have a balcony with a fabulous view from Tampa to the east, around the south across the bay, and ending at the Don CeSar hotel (aka, “The Pink Palace” on the gulf side of the peninsula. In the video and photos below, you can also see the Dalí Museum and the Rowdies’s soccer field.
This is east; Tampa is far in the distance and toward the left.
Here’s south. That’s the Dalí with the bluish slug on top near the center of the photo, just this side of the runway of the private airfield.
I didn’t quite get the Pink Palace in this shot, but this is looking west.
The music you hear in the video below is wafting up from a weekly open-air market just across the street from Peter and Marc’s building. It always amazes me how far up sound travels—something Mark and I discovered when we took a hot-air balloon ride in 2006.
Marc and Peter introduced me to a restaurant patronized pretty much exclusively by locals called Ciccio Cali. Good food (maybe a little healthier than I’m used to, but good); inviting, light atmosphere; really friendly staff. They don’t have hot tea, though. Sigh. The battle continues for us tea drinkers in a coffee nation. I almost pulled my “Do you have iced tea? Do you have cups? Do you have a microwave?” line, but our waiter was so nice that I didn’t want to come off as snotty. I drank iced tea.
After lunch, we swung back by the condo to pick up “Mr. Griffon” as Peter calls him and tool around the Old Northeast neighborhood in Peter’s vintage 1968 Imperial convertible. Not surprisingly, we got lots of looks from older men who were obviously and longingly recalling their first cars. I had the whole back seat to myself, and it was liking riding around on a black leather davenport. I felt like I should be waving to passersby like the Pope.
During the afternoon, I got a fervent email from Dan. “Did you see the news?” Antonin Scalia’s death had just been announced. For some time, he has been one of the two justices I have most wanted to see leave the Supreme Court, but I also sympathize for his family and friends. His death appears to have been quick and relatively painless, and I hope that the people who loved him can find some comfort in that.
Alex, Dan, and I met for dinner at Cody’s Original Roadhouse (adequate, but forgettable) and ice cream at Larry’s Famous Old Fashioned Ice Cream Parlor later that evening. Alex prefers an ice cream shop in Pass-A-Grille, but for whatever reason, they had closed early that night, so Larry’s was the alternate choice. He warned me before we arrived, though, that the owner is an elderly man who sits all day in a corner watching Fox News. Sure enough, there he sat with the remote in his hand flipping channels looking for news on Scalia’s death but ultimately settling back on Fox. The ice cream was good (but how often is ice cream not good?).
Breaking the timeline of this post a bit, but yesterday, I discovered Old Farmer’s Creamery, which is nearer to me and has better ice cream. It’s no Graeter’s, and it’s a bit pricey, but it will be my go-to for solo ice cream while I’m here.
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Last Sunday was Valentine’s Day. I sent Mark flowers on Thursday, and on Sunday I fixed a computer problem for him, so I think I’m good this year <g>. I also took my second Java test, but I didn’t do as well. The questions I got wrong, however, are less important than the ones I got right, so I’m content with my score. For the rest of the week, I got a couple more lessons done, but I’m now behind where I wanted to be. That’s okay, though; I’m learning Java for my own edification, so when it happens, it happens.
The weather has finally been what I expected when I planned this trip—sunny and 70s—so I drove over to Madeira Beach and then north almost to Indian Rocks Beach. At that point, I hit a traffic backup, and I don’t think I moved for more than 10 minutes. If you’ve ever driven with me, you know how I get sitting in traffic. I would rather drive twice as far than sit still for long periods of time. I happened to be stopped next to a public beach access with parking, so I decided that was where I’d stop. I went for a long, barefoot walk on the beach. Yes; the water is still too cold for me, so I stuck to the sand. I had my camera along, and here are a couple shots. I hope they offer a window of relief for my kith and kin in the cold.
How would you like this to be your front yard? (The Gulf of Mexico is behind me.)
This guy was half yawing and half yelling at me to go away. “No paparazzi, please!”
Though I didn’t compose it very well, I like this shot of two fishers.
And if you’re like me and appreciate some aural relief, here’s a clip of the surf.
I’m out of bathroom reading, so I stopped at Barnes and Noble to pick up the current issue of The New Yorker. Good gravy! I can’t believe how expensive it’s gotten—nine bucks! I think the last time I bought and issue, it was four.
Mark comes back this Wednesday. I’m going to try to advance two projects before then. Wish me luck.