FC noted in a comment that I spend a lot of time flying on airplanes. This is true. Until 10 years ago, I rarely flew anywhere, but since then I’ve accumulated many miles. The Snarl was the one who actually got us airborne on a regular basis. Once I told her she had reached the age where she no longer got depreciating goods as Christmas gifts she started padding her wish list with travel ideas. Our first bit of adventure travel had the two of us kayaking the Inside Passage of Alaska and that was so successful we did a trip each year. She (and I) sacrificed throughout the year on clothing and ‘stuff’ in stores and then we would find some off the beaten path place to travel to each winter. We went to Nevis and Belize and Roatan and Isla Mujeres and Abaco. Now, of course, she doesn’t need me to dive blue holes or go watch elephants. She works long hours as a concierge and a second job as a barista while going to school so she can do these things on her own. Sigh. (She did ask me if I want to take an inexpensive camp weekend down in the Keys in the next month or so and I’ll jump on that opportunity.) My guess is a rendezvous during her Africa stay won’t work because she is going to be mostly out in camps doing field work with a dozen students, professors and guides.
My good luck, I hooked up with traveling man. He’s had to do it so much he detests travel, and oddly enough, I’m starting to grow weary of airports. My ankles haven’t the patience for really long flights and even with his business related upgrades that make traveling more palatable, it’s still annoying and claustrophobic and germy. For the near future I’m limiting my travel to the trips I need to make up to the zoo to complete my internship there, because I think the docent position is going to make a big difference in the quality of my life in Chicago. Far and away, the worst part of flying is the fuel issue. No way am I taking up a smaller footprint, flying as much as I do. That bothers me.
And yet. Winter sun is no longer a luxury. It’s the fix for seasonal affective stuff that has only gotten worse with age. While not particularly prone to depression, I’m an emotional sort and the long gray weeks of Midwest winters were taking their toll, relieved only by those island getaways. But I’ve also become more of a homebody of late; maybe it’s all the changes and transitions of the past year that have me clinging to my own spaces, here and in Chicago. I feel really fortunate that we now have this St. Petersburg bungalow that we also call home.
This past week I spent more time working on the garden here in Florida and today the restored Frank Lloyd Wright table and chairs will be delivered. l’ll post a picture as soon as they arrive. I’m also going to post some pictures of the porch, garden and my little plant start nursery (a feeble attempt to save on landscape-size plants. I’ll be ninety before these amount to much…yesterday, I saw a five foot diameter hanging staghorn fern I wanted so much my fingers itched, but I settled for a little broken off starter the nursery guy gave me when I bought some rooting hormone instead.)
So, these next couple of days- more pictures, fewer words. Here’s a start: my chair on the porch. It has a pretty nice view to the world. (you can see two slats of hurricane shutter on the French doors to the study that aren’t typically there. We’re still waiting final inspection from the building department.)