Today was another relaxing day on beautiful, sunny, warm Key Largo.  It marked the second of as many days in a row in which I have attended to personal care.  The adventure today was my acquaintance with Cindy of Cindy’s Hair Place located directly across the Overseas Highway from Buttonwood Bay.  Nonetheless I drove there because even a half-mile walk would have drained me entirely in my present condition of near immobility. The drive did however afford my first glimpse of the North Atlantic Ocean since we arrived on Key Largo one month ago. Until now I have been preoccupied with the Gulf of Mexico on the west side of the Florida Keys where we abut. I intend to return to the ocean-side locale to capture photos which I missed today because of a wrong turn and I didn’t want to be late for my appointment.

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The exchange between Russia and the United States of America of Brittney Griner for a convicted arms dealer promotes multiple postulations among them the legitimacy of the initial accusations, the penalties for violation of national law, the justice of the trial processes, the reasonableness of the convictions and the indisputable nightmare that is prison.

In February 2022, Griner was detained by Russian customs after cartridges containing hashish oil were found in her luggage, and later arrested on smuggling charges. She had been entering Russia to play with the Russian Premier League during the WNBA off season. Her trial began on July 1, and she pleaded guilty to the charges. On August 4, she was sentenced to nine years in prison. In November 2022, Griner was transferred to the Russian penal colony IK-2. During this time, US officials had stated that she was “wrongfully detained.” Griner’s family is part of the Bring Our Families Home campaign that advocates for the immediate release of wrongfully-held detainees. On December 8, Griner was released by Russia in a contentious 1-for-1 prisoner swap for arms dealer Viktor Bout, who was serving a 25 year sentence for providing heavy weapons to terrorists and conspiring to killing Americans.

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My appointment for a mani/pedi was scheduled for 9:30 am this morning. I arrived outside the salon a few minutes early. There was a red neon sign flashing OPEN on the front window. Through the window I could see there were already others inside. Some were at their stations performing manicures and pedicures with clients both male and female.  When I opened the entrance door I stood by the cash, inert, expecting some recognition from someone. All I got was a brief glance from a young muscular man in a tight T-shirt half-way into the salon where he was giving a pedicure to a woman. He said perfunctorily, “Do you have an appointment?”  His utter lack of retail aplomb instantly froze me. I replied with equal disinterest, “Yes”. This animated exchange prompted him to remove himself reluctantly from his subordinate station at the feet of the woman and shuffle towards the computer screen on the counter at the entrance where I awaited. “Your name?”, he asked. To which I replied, “Chapman”. I wasn’t giving him more than necessary. “What time?”, he continued. I told him. “With Snow?”, he asked. “Yes”, I replied, “That sounds familiar.” He glanced out the front window.  “She’s on her way”, he reported then evaporated. I sat down on a chair by the window. The chair had been stretched out of utility from repeated use. I thought of switching to another but abandoned the idea.

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Likely it will come as no shock to you to acknowledge that the picture we paint of ourselves (both for ourselves and for others or independently) is seldom if ever the way others see us in return. This seemingly curious phenomenon is upon the briefest analysis entirely explicable. Each of us has a battery of empirical and psychological ingredients which unwittingly colour whatever we do or say or think. And be assured that the flavour arising from our personal experiences is bound to be singular just as are the circumstances from which they emanate. When it comes to assessing others be warned too that there is no certainty connected to any common indicia.

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When young most of us were eager to do something with our lives, to prove ourselves to others, to become something, perhaps famous. Often we had our sights on someone or something we wished to emulate or follow. Occasionally one’s personal zeal was overtaken by parents who wanted their child to join the family business or to continue in the same historic line of professionals. Even after retirement there are those who persist to seek accomplishment which can for example include returning to university to get another degree; or transitioning to a new occupation often strikingly different from the first. Whatever the projected success may have been there comes a point in one’s life when it no longer matters. I do not view this as lacking in ambition or purpose. And certainly continuing to read is not so much a goal as a prerequisite. The same applies to an openness to learning whatever the vernacular.

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Last evening the air conditioner stopped working.  Again.  This is the second time in as many weeks. The report from the office of the estate agent today is that the problem (similarly affecting several other units) is the result of antiquated faulty wiring provoked by the recent replacement of the roofs of the townhouses. We are told that the A/C mechanic will not be able to address the matter for two days but that we shall have priority because our unit is occupied.  The good news is that for the foreseeable future the skies are forecast to be clear and cool; with a northern breeze. To be frank it is comfortable with the windows ajar and the crosswind from front to back of the unit.

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I by-passed the sea this morning. Instead I continued my tricycle ride to the island swimming pool. For two reasons. One, it was too early to swim in the sea. It was only 10:30 am. I shall preserve the early morning swims in the sea for those occasions in March or April when I anticipate the heat will warrant the eclipse. Two, although I hadn’t laid my head on the Nautica pillows until late last evening approaching 11:30 pm, I slept soundly until 3:00 am when I got up and took another round of analgesics which put me under until 7:30 am. I then languished in bed until shortly after eight o’clock when I succumbed to the conscientious urge (or should I say purge) to greet the day.  I saw behind the bedroom window blinds that it was another sunny day. So I got up. But only reluctantly. I was still feeling tired.

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While I doubt the Puritans can take credit for that strata of modesty (or what in general is called limitation; that is, constraint and avoidance of extravagance) that runs like a bedrock seam through the best of human society, there is unquestionably a moral element attached to the principle. Having preoccupied myself for the majority of my life with excess of one description or another, I can ardently speak to the repentant feeling adduced by limitless behaviour. Usually, as with over-eating for example, it was followed by an anguish which cleansed the guilt and left room for self-serving rationality. In my later life the archway to extreme has given way to one of moderation though bear in mind that to dissemble was not the product of control but rather cosmetics. I found things just looked and worked more fittingly without the recklessness (sort of the way pearls look better on an older woman).

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As I serenely lounged by the pool mid-afternoon today with my eyes closed, my ruddy face directed to the sky, I suddenly became aware that the dazzling sunshine was fleetingly blocked not by a cloud but by the frenzied tops of a distant tree. The hindrance was not the usual grey patch of a passing cloud; rather it was the shimmering light streaming through tree branches tossed about in a high wind. This has not been the pattern for the past month. I know this because I have always positioned myself on or about the same lounge chair each time I have visited the pool. The change today was evidence that we’re approaching the Winter Solstice and I will have to accommodate my sunbathing ritual accordingly.

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While things may indeed be sent to try us, that at first appears rude reward for having to take the test.  Which is not to say a life without challenge is to be wished for, but it makes one wonder.  A moment’s reflection however clears the air. The alternative, though imaginable, is so dubious and of questionable sustainability as to be something only Jonathan Swift might have penned.

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