Excerpt From
Thomas Babington Macaulay Macaulay. “The History of England, from the Accession of James II — Volume 2.”

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Recovery from our ethereal and ephemeral sojourn upon the languid bohemian Florida Keys several days ago was further protracted today, retarded perhaps by a sudden blast of cold air from the west. Like a hibernating bear I withdrew only reluctantly this morning from beneath the billowing duvet. My initial objective was to enlarge my knowledge of Things Universal for which purpose I pointedly began with the sharpest focus as I thought might be afforded by FOX NEWS. But I was disappointed in the gamble as I revealed with but a scratch of the surface the predictable party line. It’s like watching TV shows, always the same entertainment, repeated with the sole purpose of attracting base and urgent sentiment. At this horizon so-called news is merely retail. I thus disbanded my central purpose and disintegrated instead within the scope of my own common habits and preferences.

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The process to invigorate myself upon our wearying return from the Florida Keys to home base unfolded after ten-thirty o’clock this morning as I soothingly withdrew from under the burdensome duvet and prepared to divest all remnant of the textured past; viz., get things ready for the purgative wash – clothing and carcass alike. My spectacles and electronic devices were sprayed and wiped; the ornament duly cleansed and brushed. The devotion doesn’t begin to capture my servitude!

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Mid-morning under cloudy skies today we returned from Daytona Beach Shores where we had nested briefly at The Shores en route from a short jaunt in the past week to Tavernier and Key Largo. Our first stop back on Hilton Head Island was Publix to restock the larder with the usual provisions, then a visit to Island Car Wash followed by a gratifying and compensatory breakfast of freshly baked donuts ornamented with glazed icing sugar, succeeded by extra thick bacon, supreme sausage links, fried eggs, an outstanding biscuit with butter ‘n blueberry jam and strong, black coffee at LowCountry Produce Market & Café. We had much about which to rejoice! The venture to Key Largo was replete with excitement, reaffirmation and uninhibited quenching. Our Epicurean spirit prevailed amidst an equally comforting cerebral and demonstrable satisfaction of limitation. Excess is no longer a springboard of evolution.

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We had planned last evening to awaken this morning at five o’clock. It was closer to 4:30 am. After our ablutions, breakfast and loading the car, we were on the road no later than 6:30 am heading north from Tavernier to Daytona Beach. Somehow we got onto an unfamiliar part of the Florida Sunpass route we had intended.  There was a lot of traffic and a snarl because a transport overturned on the side of the road. After that however – and a propitious stop at a service centre to void our anxious bladders – we rolled seamlessly into Daytona Beach Shores and the resort where we’re staying for the night before going onto Hilton Head Island tomorrow morning . But all was not trifling travel.

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The once unimaginable election of Donald J. Trump as President of the United States of America has prompted the not uncommon observation that farting is normal, period. The latest evolution of this metaphor and once mildly embarrassing reality (at least among his base of alleged “deplorables”) is that it doesn’t matter whether Trump paid hush money for consensual sex with another adult. The argument is that in the minds of the masses consensual sex with others during marriage is either natural, normal, expected, historical, tolerable or irrelevant. That may very well be true though as a matter of fact – actual or alternative – it is conveniently impossible to prove it. I haven’t yet resolved how the diehard Christians rationalize the debate (but they’re generally more vocal when attacking people than when supporting them).

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We’re already planning our return visit to this idyllic venue, a plane of laid-back tranquility and remorseless indulgence. The heat and sunshine instantly quell every hesitation that dares to survive the incomparable soothing nature of life here. The furnishings of the apartment are reminiscent of the Hemingway theme so popular in Key West, the wooden wall panels, the mahogany and wicker chairs, the prints and accessories of everything nautical and seaside. I long ago learned not to attempt to take it all with me. It is an ephemeral passion; it’s state of contentment survives here and here alone.

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When the immediate appeal is muted by circumstance one must look beyond. It is not guaranteed inviting or replacement. But if one is patient – itself a not uncommon challenge – the rewards of the alternative can be startling. For example today began with the initial disappointment of foul weather; that is, grey clouds instead of blue sky. There was the forecast of thunder storms midday. Though we attempted to surmount this defeat by swimming in the pool, the magic was not there on a cloudy day. My only option was to venture about in search of a photographic opportunity. I headed to the pier. There I propped my stick against the railing through which it promptly tumbled below ten feet or more upon the rocky beach. There was no way for me to reach it from above. And I didn’t want to attempt its recovery by scaling the rocky shoreline for fear of tumbling myself. I therefore regretfully resolved in my mind to abandon it to the sea.

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“The weather had indeed served the Protestant cause so well that some men of more piety than judgment fully believed the ordinary laws of nature to have been suspended for the preservation of the liberty and religion of England. ”

Excerpt From
The History of England, from the Accession of James II — Volume 2
Thomas Babington Macaulay

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At 7:30 am this morning when we drove off New Smyrna Beach through the pink daylight sky the temperature was hovering around 60°F. Hours later as we soared off the Florida Turnpike onto the Overseas Highway towards Key Largo the thermometer had jumped to over 80°F. The sense of wilting and softening was instantaneous! My mind was as speedily absorbed in the fiction of moving to a subtropical climate permanently; and as rapidly acknowledging the allure of the South Pacific to our ancient friends who have done precisely that!

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