There’s a gate outside my window swamped by an enormous bougainvillea. It’s in full bloom right now. Beyond the gate is a crushed-shell parking area. I’ve officially become a snowbird at 47.
“I’m not planning to blog this trip,” I told Patty, my colleague at Penn State Press. “It’s not really an adventure.” I did plan to do some writing, though, and work on my photography. A few days later, it occurred to me, “Why bother trying to finish that script or those short stories; I’ll probably never see them complete, anyway.” Instead, I could scratch my writing itch with the blog, and so here I am, sitting at a tiny table in “my” breakfast nook in St. Petersburg watching the sun climb the sky.
My 45th and 46th winters in Ohio were pretty hellish. Lots of snow; very cold. When the last one finally started to let up, I blurted out in front of Mark and a friend of ours that I’m done. I’m had to find a way to spend time in Florida, and a week or two just wouldn’t cut it. I think I surprised Mark and our friend, but I know I surprised myself. Last July, I rented an apartment for two months, and now I’m here, telling you about it.
Early Friday morning, my friend, Matt, and I embarked on this new adventure. As you might expect, there isn’t a lot to say about the drive down. It was sunny. It was foggy. It rained. The tires hummed along. We passed Ruby Falls (that’s for you, Jan and Tony), but we didn’t stop. Friday was to be our day to push as far south as we could, so distractions, as entertaining as they might be, just weren’t in the cards. After much talking and laughing, we pulled into the parking lot of our motel in Macon, Georgia at around 6.
Do you know how embarrassing it is to stop at a motel for one night but have to ask to borrow a bellman’s cart to bring your things in? Very. Especially if you’re a northern guy in the South and assume that everyone expects you to travel with little more than deodorant and a watch. My dilemma was that in addition to 10 days worth of clothes, I had electronics—my computer and it’s entourage as well as my camera—that I felt unsafe leaving in my car overnight. I drew the line at my monitor, though. I can only imagine what the concierge would have thought to see me dragging a 24-inch monitor into the motel with my bags. The monitor got its revenge, though. It got scratched. I’ll have to look into repairing it or replacing it when I get home.
After dumping our bags, we headed into Macon for a bite to eat. From what we could see—which wasn’t a lot; Maconites don’t seem to believe in copious street lighting—it’s a cute, small city. It would be worth a longer visit. Downtown was lively; I think I heard that a concert was scheduled, and that brought a lot of people out. The concierge at La Quinta recommended the Rookery, and we did put our names in for a table there, but in the end, we settled in at a New Orleans–style pub called Parish on Cherry across the street and had a fine evening there. We ate at the bar, and we’re pretty sure that we weren’t the only gay pair there. Across from us were an older couple of gentlemen, both of whom looked like refugees from 70s British glam-rock bands. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that one of them in particular was a former member of Yes.
We finished the roughly 15-hour journey on Saturday morning and arrived at my apartment at about 3 on Saturday afternoon. The drive from Columbus is stupidly simple—even I didn’t make a mistake. Take 71 to 75, and it’s straight on until you hit 275—the St. Petersburg outer belt. Getting to the apartment was equally simple; it’s just off 275.
Janey, the mother of our host, met us on our way in and gave us a brief rundown on the apartment and facilities. I’m trying to get a handle on Janey’s story, and I suspect I’ll be narrating some of it as I continue to blog. From what I’ve gathered from her and from her conversations with Matt, she lost her husband a few years back, so she came to St. Petersburg from Colorado this winter to spend some time with her son, Jonathan, who seems to own the building. Janey is living in one of the three units in the building, and I think she’s thinking about making it permanent. She’s not missed winter in Colorado for a single day she tells me. Here are some photos of the place.
Perhaps oddly, the first thing Matt and I did when we unloaded the car was go for a run. After so much time in the car, it sounded—and felt—like a good idea. It was only then that I realized that Matt had never been to St. Petersburg, so I was happy to be able to show him the little bit of bay front that I knew from my previous visits.
We met up with Dan and Alex for dinner at El Gallo Grande on Saturday night. The food was excellent—the best Mexican I’ve had in many years. Better, even, than Cuco’s which is my Columbus favorite. Unfortunately, I don’t expect it to last; it’s in an unfortunate part of town just south of the university, and I think we were one of only three tables on a Saturday night. Matt and I closed the night with a drink at a bar on Central. It was a mixed crowd, and I laughed to be reminded how some young lesbians behave at watering holes. There was lots of “expanding” to fill the available space, lots of hanging on each other, lots of PDAs, but I knew that one wrong sideways glance could unleash the simmering territoriality and a fight would break out. It was quite fun to watch.
Breakfast Sunday morning was at a little joint called Central Coffee Shoppe that’s not too far of a walk from my apartment. It reminds me of the now defunct Rube’s Diner in Clintonville. It’s a greasy spoon that does breakfast and lunch for cheap and that’s full of interesting characters. We met up with Dan after that to run a few errands—in particular to buy an ethernet adapter and long ethernet cable, which I forgot to bring from Columbus. I think Alex was mortified when we showed up at their house because he didn’t think it was picked-up enough for guests. Dan probably got a bit of an earful afterward. Alex is, however, an impeccable homemaker, and he has absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about. As nice as their home is, I have to agree with Matt that the sunroom is the best spot. Matt liked it so much that he fell asleep in a chair in the sun and started snoring.
Bob Mangia picked up Matt and me for dinner Tuesday night at BellaBrava. Bob lives up the street from Mark and me about a block and a half, but he has a friend living just north of St. Petersburg and has been coming to visit her every January for a number of years. It was a treat to see him outside of Columbus.
On Wednesday, Matt and I ate in and then met Mark’s friend, Dean Shepherd, and Dean’s friends out for a drink at a tavern called The Stone Soup Café. They have a pretty wide selection of beers on special for $4 on Wednesday nights. It turns out that Dean’s house is about six blocks due west of where I’m living. I hope to see more of him and his wife, Diane, while I’m here. Mark is already planning at least one meal with them when he comes down in a couple weeks.
I spent the next couple days running around with Matt (and watching my new obsession, a British TV show called Doc Martin) and just being happy to be here. I miss Mark, which goes without saying, and my Thursday lunch friends, but I feel clearer of mind and less like I’m in a fight just to get on every day. We’ve been exploring places like the Dalí Museum, mostly (not my favorite artist, but what a nice museum!), and I’ve been working when I have work.
Matt’s flight out was at 10 on Friday morning, so I bundled him off to the airport at about 8. Here’s a selfie of us before we left for the Tampa airport.
I-275 is undergoing construction, so I was figuring it would take 45 minutes to get him to TPA, but it ended up being a fairly painless drive, and within 30 minutes, we’d arrived, I’d dropped him off, and I was back on my way to St. Petersburg. I’m really glad he came down with me and stayed a week. It’s made the transition easier, but now that he’s gone, I’m starting the uncomfortable but not unanticipated process of adjusting to being alone. Dan and Alex are just 10 minutes away, of course, but I don’t want to become a pest, and I think it’s important for me to relearn life-alone skills, especially if I’m going to be making this winter trip for the foreseeable future.
Friday night, Dan and I went out to a mom-and-pop joint, Indian Shores Coffee Company, and happened to stumble on open-mic night. We didn’t say long, but the first performer was pretty good, and I enjoyed the three songs we listened to. Saturday night was dinner with Dan and Alex and their friends, James and Tom. I’ve eaten out a lot—Urban Brew and BBQ and Urban Comfort were particularly good, as was Kings Street Food Counter—but I think that will slow down now that Matt has returned to Columbus. I’ll probably continue to see Dan (and Alex when he’s not working) a couple times each week, but mostly I plan to eat in. I’m still eating leftover pasta, turkey tacos, and fish sticks. (I can hear you groaning.)
I’ve had to pick up a couple things to make the apartment more comfortable, but all the essentials have been provided by my hosts. I’m going to run out today to pick up some groceries and a couple more little items that will make my stay more convenient.
Saturday, I made a brief trip to Fort De Soto Park. It was windy and cool, so the beaches were deserted, but it was a nice, sunny drive, and I got a couple interesting photos. The last one reminds me of Matt, whom I call “Foxy” because of some neighborhood confusion over his last name—Wolf—when he first moved to Harrison West.
That about brings me up to date. More to come.
