God's waiting room. Land of the killer power chair, and versatile walker, replete with cut off tennis balls to grease the skids, making it a dangerous speed machine.
Oh, Florida is all of this, but thankfully, much more as well. It has younger folk and places to eat, or wet your whistle, or both. They all get along rather well, but do not, I repeat, do not, under any circumstances, try to outrace a senior citizen from the parking lot to the door of a restaurant at 4PM, the official start of the "early bird special." They will cut you off, cut you down, and block you out like you were made of paper mache. No football player could dispatch you faster. Nothing, no, nothing will keep them from getting ahead of you in the seating line. Go ahead, try it, I dare you. You'll see.
Anyway, that's where I am right now, in a desperate race to ditch my winter mood. Find me a pool, or take me to a beach. Let the sun shine on me, and warm me, console me, heal me. And just in case that's not quite enough, can you fetch me a beer, or a wine.
Mark Twain Quote: "Bermuda: I said it was like being in Heaven. The Reverend rebukingly and rather pointedly advised me to make the most of it then." (The same could be said of me and Florida, I suppose)
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