In My Florida Mind

In my Florida mind, I am in a different decade.  I am in my late thirties to early fifties, the time period during which my parents wintered on Sand Key, just south of Clearwater Beach.

When I go with my mother to the grocery store, there are many what seems to me to be old people  Then there is my mother, who is not yet old in my Florida mind.  Then there is me and no in-between these three divisions.

My day rolls much like the tide.  I manage to rollerblade from the condominium complex down to Sand Key Park, where I glide around and through the parking lot, holding onto my portable CD player where Sting's Ten Summoner Tales provides the background music in my Florida mind.  My dad wanders down the beach to the parking lot, to make sure I'm okay and tell me it's time to come home.

There are four small children in my Florida mind, frolicking in the waves, digging in the sand, crawling onto the lounge chairs with me and Dan, burrowing under the beach towels when the sun dips beneath the clouds.  Perpetually hungry, seeking snacks and drinks which precipitates an escorted trip back to the condo, up the elevator to the 16th floor where my dad sits on the lanai, smoking, probably drinking a beer and my mom sits in 'her'chair, watching the soaps, smoking.  They were tag team smokers, my parents.  When one put out a cigarette, the other lit up.  The elevators were my nemesis for when one entered the condo building, one was confronted with a list of rules meant, in my current Florida mind, to maintain a modicum of peace, quiet and order in a building filled with retirees.  Back then, the rule that frequently initiated a call to my mother from an other resident that her grandchildren were spied in the elevator WITHOUT THEIR SHOES ON. Which, as you might imagine, set my mother's teeth on edge and frequently ended in an argument between us, similar to this:
     MOM: I got a call AGAIN that the kids were in their elevator WITHOUT THEIR SHOES ON.  Who was it?
     ME: I'm not sure.  One of them.  All of them.
     MOM:  Why can't you make sure they put their shoes on before they get in the building?
     ME:  I try but they leave the beach without their shoes and before I can send them back to get them, they're already in the building and they need to (here you may fill in the blank with an urgent need presented by a preschooler or small child).
It usually devolved from there because in my Florida mind, I had yet to learn about simply saying, "I'm sorry.  I'll work on it" and not fling back unnecessary, angry responses.

In the defense of any family with young children who visits their parents in their Florida (or any other state) condo--my brother in law once said that the first rule on the condo list is NO BREATHING and it went downhill from there.

I wear two piece bathing suits in my Florida mind.  I tie back my bleached blonde hair with a instrument known as a banana clip.  I had them in a variety of colors, to match my outfit of the day.

Still available on Amazon.com

We're going to pause here for a moment because my current Florida mind continues to get stuck in the old Florida mind about how many rolls get squished into the one piece (with spandex to hold it all in) I wear.

Yes, this is ridiculous and I know it.  I also know I'm not the only woman among the 50+ set who struggles with this.  This article appeared in the Minneapolis Star-Tribune earlier this week.

http://www.startribune.com/what-women-can-do-to-fight-menopause-belly/506513482/.  Followed by this lovely response in the paper today:

WOMEN AND AGING

The so-called ‘truth’ about menopause belly

What a disappointment. (“The truth about ‘menopause belly,’ ” March 3.) The message throughout trumpeted the idea that a natural progression that happens to most women’s body is wrong and should be battled at all costs.

Why? If our bodies naturally change this way, then why should we be fighting to have some ideal shape that is dictated by fashion magazines and Hollywood?

There was little in here about a healthy or fit lifestyle. It was about image: “Your body is, in effect, working against you” and “This stuff can be hard to fight.” Only at the end was there one line about maintaining overall health. Shouldn’t this have been the message throughout?

Maybe the reason “menopause belly” is bothersome is that articles like this keep telling women that their natural bodies are wrong.

This woman is my new SHero.

In my Florida mind, Dan and I are treated by my parents to a dinner out by ourselves.  Dan asks my dad for a recommendation.  My dad, then age 65, responds: "I don't know, I haven't had a good meal in a restaurant in 65 years."

Cousins figure into my Florida mind, as my sister's family's spring break and ours would occasionally overlap.  My parents would put one family up across the street at the Radisson, which in my current Florida mind is now a Marriott, while the other stayed with them.  Remember the list of rules?  My Florida mind reminds me of the repeated, never ending transgressions committed by 8 children. This has informed my current Florida mind to set one rule when we go south.  Families visit one at a time, without overlap unless a significantly lower airfare is involved.  Selfishly, this also gives me dedicated time with 2 of the grands and their parents.  So lovely,

In my Florida mind, there is a visit by myself.  The children are either post college or matriculating.  I am speaking at a conference in Tampa so I extend time to be alone with my mom and dad. There is also beach time, where I devour Barbara Kingsolver's The Poisonwood Bible.  Books don't usually stick with me; the one has, for years.

The last few memories in that Florida mind are of my parents obviously slowing down.  Dad shuffles out to the balcony that runs the length of each floor, where he sits on the neighbor's chair with a beer and his cigarettes, watching the traffic below on Gulf Boulevard.  Three years following my sending them information about geriatric specialists, my dad tells me when they go home, they are going to make an appointment with one and to my great surprise, he basically recites the biography of each doctor in the practice.  When they want to go across the street to the little strip mall, they drive.  My offer of walking across to get them bagels from Dunkin' Donuts in the morning is greeted with glee.  Their days of walking the beach are in their Florida memories, which they revisit as if they had just strolled the sands yesterday.

This Florida mind activates in so many different ways.  Driving down Ulmerton Rd., which Dad perpetually experienced difficulty pronouncing.  Following an older driver who is going 10 miles beneath the speed limit: in his car, my dad would say, "Move it, Mack."  In the Publix, I look for my mother.  Every time we eat at Crabby Bill's, I recall my parents took He Who Must Not Be Named there for his first taste of grouper.

I like how that Florida mind eases into my current Florida mind; they meld yet manage to remain separate.  My current Florida mind expands to make room for what crosses its new threshold.  I am not caught in the past.  I find comfort and sadness there as being here fills me with the lovely grief of remembrance.  I am able to feel the sun through the palm trees, squish the sand beneath my toes, revel in the never fail to impress beauty of sunsets and look forward to what my Florida mind will register today.