In the evening we often take a walk through the Tarpon River neighborhood that rims the New River. The houses on the river are large, often with gates, while the other houses are, for the most part, modest, well-kempt cottages. There’s one eyesore, with a blighted lawn that recently sprouted two Trump signs, both proclaiming: “Make America Great Again.”
(I’m off to Mexico for a week; will be back here on the 16th.)
I was talking to a writer friend, a few years older than I am, who told me he'd recently been reading things he wrote when he was young. He was struck by how good they were, and how rich the language in them. "I used to have fun with words," he said. "Now it's just get it down quickly and move on."
I knew what he meant. And I wondered: Is it our age, or the age?
Yesterday I went up to the tennis center for the first time in months and found a man to hit with who spends half the year in Fort Lauderdale and half the year in his hometown of Lucerne. Whenever I hit a ball he couldn't quite get to - which wasn't often, as we were just rallying, not playing games - he would say, "Ja ja."
Saturday evening, strolling Lincoln Road after the New World Symphony concert, we came to a man with two young American bulldogs. Hania immediately went up to make their acquaintance.
"You need an adorable dog," I said to Larry. "Then women would come up to you."
"I'd rather have an adorable woman," he said, "and have dogs come up to me."