My parents-in-law no longer own the condo in Indian Shores, Florida. It’s too bad because it was a great place on a great beach. Driving across Ulmerton which becomes Walsingham to get from Tampa Bay to the gulf beaches was a drag though. The road was wide, the traffic bad, and there was no scenery but strip mall after strip mall. I always pronounced Ulmerton and Walsingham the way Steve Martin pronounced Dr. Hfuhruhurr and Anne Uumellmahaye in The Man with Two Brains. The drawn-out sigh of pronunciation fit the drive.
The condo was beachfront on the second floor, which was actually the first floor of units. The ground level was open parking with a break wall in case the ocean became unruly. Sitting on the balcony was almost as good as sitting on the beach.
Every year we got a week there in return for V doing the taxes. It was the early to mid ‘90s, before V had chronic back pain, so we were able to golf, swim, and walk for miles on the beach. We had done a lot of traveling to different places, but the condo was the first place we returned to again and again. We liked that instead of being an adventure vacation, it was a relaxing vacation where we knew the area and all we had to do was enjoy being there.
I’d get up in the morning, start coffee brewing, and mosey downstairs to get the St. Petersburg Times—excellent entertainment for a quarter. I’d take my coffee and paper out to the balcony and enjoy the morning.
Being a Canadian on vacation in the US, I’d look through the ads in the paper and marvel at how inexpensive things were, especially liquor. There’s a great wine store in Tarpon Springs about 45 minutes from the condo called
B-21 Fine Wine & Spirits. I got some excellent bottles there over the years like 1977 Dow's Vintage Port, 1989 Chateau de Beaucastel, and great California cabs from the late ‘80s like Mondavi, Sterling, Caymus, Mayacamus, and Silver Oak. That was the thing about B-21, you could get older vintages. One time I got a bottle of Opus One. On the way back we went through the drive-through at Checkers and got fries. I cooked striploins and we had a great dinner on the balcony watching the sun set.
In October of ’94 I read an article about a guy in St. Pete’s who writes the blurbs on the back of baseball cards for Topps. The article mentioned how cards from years where production was low were worth more as collectibles years later. I’m not a sports fan, but even I couldn’t miss that the players were on strike in the fall of ’94. I figured the fans were probably sour on the game because of the striking millionaire players, so there probably wouldn’t be many cards issued. I went out and bought a complete set. I still have it in its unopened box. It’s tucked away and I would have forgotten about it if I hadn’t been reminiscing about Florida. Someday when I’m cleaning house to move into the seniors’ home, I’ll come across it again and maybe I’ll be able to sell it for enough to finance a trip back to Florida.
My favourite restaurant is
Bern’s Steak House in Tampa. In the early '90s their wine list was hardcover and was the size of the Hamilton (Ontario) phone book. They'd print new editions once every five years, so depending on where they were in the cycle, you might see white-out or edits in the list based on inventory changes. The prices didn't change though. If you had shown up on day 364 of year four, you'd pay the same as you would have on day one of year one. Now I see their wine list is online and it's updated quarterly. Are you curious to try a wine from the year you were born? You can probably find one at Bern's.
They have a cellar at the restaurant (ask for a tour) and two more cellars across the street. Their inventory is maintained at around 500,000 bottles. Every year before going to Florida, I would spend hours with the
Wine Spectator's Ultimate Guide to Buying Wine, making a list of wines I'd look for at Bern's. V would wait patiently while I indulged in my guilty pleasure for twenty minutes with the wine list. Then dinner would begin.
The décor is busy and gaudy, but in a way that works. The waiters spend a year in training. They have to train at all stations in the restaurant and work on the farm where Bern's grows their herbs and vegetables before they can serve tables.
The dessert room is upstairs, separate from the dining room. There is a dance floor and a pianist. Each table is in it's own private booth made from a huge wine cask. The booths that don't have direct views of the pianist have televisions so you can see him play, and telephones so you can talk to him and make requests. We always requested Linus and Lucy, the Charlie Brown theme!
The list of dessert wines is amazing. I once had a glass of sherry from 1900. It tasted delicate and fragile and had a faint flavour of hazelnut. As I tasted it, I thought about all the history that had passed since the bottle was corked. Both world wars, the first flight, the moon landing. It was more than just a drink. It was an experience. I had a Dow's vintage port from 1963. And I had excellent coffees (roasted daily at the restaurant) and desserts.
I love ocean waves. I love the thick, frothy sound of them. To me, fresh water waves sound like the kitchen tap dripping or a garden hose spraying a driveway. The sound of ocean waves washes over me and gives me a happy sense of wellbeing. I love it when the waves get big. That’s when I like to go in the water and just let the waves push me around.
Every day we would go for a long walk on the beach before lunch. The only decision was north or south? Flocks of sand pipers were always scurrying around the water’s edge, looking for food washed ashore by the waves. It was like they were kids chasing the waves out, then running back to avoid getting wet when the next wave rolled in.
I’d collect shells (I know, I’m way to old for that.) I’d take some small ones (about the size of a nickel or dime) home and take them into the office. Months after my vacation I would do things like drop one in someone’s boot, pocket, or pencil holder, or put one under a stack of papers on someone’s desk.
Sometimes I would just sit on the beach, scoop handfuls of sand and let it fall between my fingers. What is it about sand running through your fingers or skipping stones that feels so good?
One trip, I noticed a guy with a metal detector. He would come around early in the morning and scan the sand around the lounges looking for treasure. I wrapped some quarters in paper and wrote things on them like, “You’re getting close,” and, “Elvis was here,” and, “Oh my God, you’re right on top of it!” I buried them by the lounges near the balcony. The next morning I went to the balcony with my coffee and paper and watched as the guy came scavenging. He came so close. He was within six inches and his detector didn’t beep! Dude, if you’re reading this, get yourself a better metal detector!
I was a member at the
Dali museum in St. Petersburg. I wore a
Disintegration of the Persistence of Memory watch for years. I bought it at the museum for about $40. The crown eventually fell off but I still wore it even though it hurt like hell to set the time. I went through four or five watch bands. The face eventually faded to a pale yellow so the picture was barely visible before I finally stopped wearing it.
Many of Dali’s paintings are illusions. He would paint one thing that could appear as something else, or sometimes as three different things.
The Hallucinogenic Toreador is a great example. (To see the toreador, look at the green wrap on the Venus. It’s his necktie.) It hangs in the St. Petersburg museum next to
The Discovery of America by Christopher Columbus. Both are about 3x4 metres. I was awestruck the first time I saw them. I don't know how long I stood there staring at them.
I’m not religious, but I like Dali’s paintings of Christ and
The Last Supper. They’re beautiful. I also like his paintings of Gala. You can tell how much he loved her by the way he painted her.
Dali had a remarkable mind. He was able to conceive of extraordinary, complex things and put them on canvas. I sometimes wonder what he would have created if he was an architect or scientist.
It saddens me to look at the paintings he did the last ten years of his life. His health, sight, and skills were declining. When I look at them, I think that if they were done by any other artist, I would consider them great paintings. But when I compare them to his own earlier works, well, it just makes me sad.
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