Yesterday evening I went to two Walgreens and two CVSs before I found what I was looking for: tennis balls. The first three stores had basketballs, footballs, tee balls, wiffle balls, softballs, but not the ball for the sport played with grace and near perfection by the woman who grew up within a lob of one of the stores, Chris Evert.
Floridians often see something, or hear of something, and say, with satisfaction, “only in Florida.” Florida Man notwithstanding, we often have an exaggerated sense of our exceptionalism.
Yet the other night on my walk around the island I came across something that would be hard to imagine outside South Florida. A Jeep Patriot sat in the parking lot, its engine running, its driver still behind the wheel. An American flag was attached to a side window, and two decals of the Stars and Stripes decorated the back; four if you counted the two in the Harley Davidson sticker stuck to the window. Out of the vehicle floated the velvety voice of Carlos Gardel.
Finally a bright spot: In Miami, restaurants with music must keep it at a low volume so diners don’t have to shout to be heard.
Yesterday evening Books & Books streamed a virtual launch of Kent Russell’s new book about Florida, In the Land of Good Living, which involved a conversation with his sister Karen.
About two-thirds of the way through the conversation - after all the talk about conmen and hucksters, “the false-front spirit” and “the batshit insanity,” the destruction of the Everglades and the scourge of rising seas, oppressive heat and lizards in the bathtub - Karen noted how Florida “is scattershot with sublimity.”
My travel guide to South Florida appeared yesterday in the online edition of City & Shore magazine: https://www.qgdigitalpublishing.com/publication/?m=63081&i=664412&p=34
It contains most of the things I love about Miami-Dade, Broward, and Palm Beach counties. Some are not what they were when I wrote the article back in February – the cruise ships right now don’t come and go like women talking of Michelangelo – but this unwanted hiatus is temporary. Eventually we’ll be dancing at Ball & Chain again – with more gusto than ever.
The other night we got takeout from Padrino’s on Federal Highway: vaca frita, plantains, black beans and rice. A taste of Miami without I-95. Heading home I thought: it might be a while before I head south again. It’s not the drive, but the dispiriting sight of a city already quieted by summer now muzzled in masks.