At our condo holiday party the other night I met a white-haired, white-bearded man who lives in the building next to ours and was for many years the captain of the QE2.
After I got kicked out of the Blue Anchor pub on Saturday I walked back to the Colony and took a nap. When I next emerged, the street in front of the hotel was lined on both sides with people sitting in lawn chairs behind metal barriers. Hania and I stood on the hotel steps and a little after six heard the sound of drums. The Delray Beach Holiday Parade was approaching. While the Fort Lauderdale Boat Parade, also taking place that evening, was big and corporate, this was small and neighborly: marching bands, pompom girls, women of a certain age dressed as elves.
A little before seven we made our way through the crowds on Atlantic Avenue to 2nd Avenue, where we were meeting friends at Coco Sushi. We got a table outside, with a view of the Christmas tree and the bright carousel in Old School Square. After dinner we walked through the square; even though the carousel was now dark and the tree closed – it’s a large, walk-through edifice – people milled about; some had staked out places on the grass, including a large family enjoying a large pizza. The atmosphere, like the parade, was of simple, small town pleasures and I thought that next year we’d come again for a night at the Colony, a historic hotel with a colorful lobby that was made even warmer by a real tree. I’ll just stay out of the Blue Anchor.
Saturday I got bounced from a bar for the first time in my life.
It was mid-afternoon, Hania and I had just checked into the Colony Hotel in Delray Beach, and I headed down to the Blue Anchor to watch the second half of the England-France match. The pub, whose exterior was imported from a pub in London, seemed the perfect place to watch the quarterfinal match.
As expected, the inside was packed with passionate fans, all of them cheering for England. I walked past a tall, thin man at the entrance and found a spot near the bar. Shortly, the tall, thin man came over and gruffly told me I was blocking the lane, which constituted a fire hazard. I asked if I could stand by the door where he had been standing. He said I could.
After a few seconds in my new spot I was approached by the tall, thin man again who asked even more gruffly if I was going to buy a drink like everyone else. This seemed an odd question from someone who had just chased me away from the bar. I explained that I had just arrived, and in fact was thinking of buying a beer, but now that he was being so rude about it I had begun to think I might not.
“OK, you’re outta here,” he said, and physically forced me out the door. As I stood on the sidewalk, stunned, he called me “rude” and asked if I were from New York.
France went on to win the match, to my great satisfaction (even though I had begun the day as a fan of England). Though it didn’t match my satisfaction at having gotten thrown out of a bar at the age of 70.
Last week the men who've been renovating our building for the last 11 months wrapped our windows in plastic. So we've gone from not being able to use our balcony to not being able to see it. Or, of course, anything else beyond the glass. The temptation is to spend a lot of time outside; yesterday we went out for lunch; later in the afternoon I read by the pool. We've been told the wrapping my last two weeks, at the end of which, hopefully, we'll have a painted a newly railinged balcony. But considering the speed at which the work has progressed so far I won't be surprised if we experience our first Christmas as shut-ins.
The recent COP27 climate summit apparently produced a rash of optimism but not for me. Saturday afternoon I was at the Miami Book Fair listening to the poets Robert Pinsky and Campbell McGrath in a frigid auditorium. I knew to bring a sweater – I have taught in Building 8 of Miami Dade College, where my students were urged to bring sweaters when they registered – but I was still cold. Hania, who also wore a sweater, said that her discomfort was so great it distracted her from the conversation.
Over-the-top air-conditioning is not unique to MDC; it is found all over South Florida. It is why I keep a sweater in the car, which I put on in most movie theaters, shopping malls, restaurants, doctors’ offices. It is the most egregious and maddening waste of energy, doing damage to the environment while making people uncomfortable. We are all now conscious of our carbon footprint, made to feel guilty for unnecessary air travel. While unnecessary energy is being spent to make us cold. There is absolutely no reason for it. And yet nobody talks about it.
On our trivia team was a woman who had recently moved from California. It was like sitting next to a mythical creature. I had read articles of Californians moving to Florida – I've also seen the license plates – but I had never met one in the flesh. As someone who used to dream of living in California, I find the migration fascinating and a little puzzling.
I asked her why. She launched into a long list of reasons, from taxes to out-of-control homelessness. A former resident of Beverly Hills, she seemed enthralled with her new life in Boynton Beach. It still seemed a little odd to me, though I noted that our ocean is a lot warmer for swimming. “The Pacific Ocean,” someone at the table said, “is useless.”
Later the ex-Californian turned to me and said, “Are there any good Thai restaurants here? We haven’t been able to find any.”