At Bayfront Park today I met a chap who has published a book entitled “Grandpa Bernie’s Bedtime Stories“. He is about 96 years of age and married to the same woman for 67 years. She was sitting on the bench next to him. When I asked the woman some pointed questions about their marriage, she told me she is more negative than her husband who is always positive. She added that he is a good man. They both laughed when I related to them two quips: “If she knows why she loves him she doesn’t” and “Criticism is the best autobiography“.

Breakfast at Longbeach Café this morning in Whitney Beach Plaza near the corner of Gulf of Mexico Drive and Broadway Street (which we take when dining at Mar Vista). Interestingly this old fashioned diner at the northern end of Longboat Key overlooks the innermost inlet of Bishops Bayou. It is decidedly a hangout for regulars some of whom arrived with their dogs and new puppies. I saw a server chat and laugh with a group of guests and pat one of them on the back as an expression of familiarity.

I don’t need to go to Venice for Murano glass or buy Perthshire paperweights to appreciate quality when I see it. The putative instinct is impossible to explain but I have no doubt it exits. So assured am I of this talent that it vitalizes me the same way that innate intelligence promotes confidence in those who have it. I hasten to distinguish my latent faculty from brainpower; the one is artistic, the other is penetration. While I consider both are laudable, I acknowledge their difference.

When I awoke this morning at 8:30 am – after having removed my sleep mask – the sunshine was already pouring into the bedroom. There was no time to waste! It was imperative to initiate the matutinal productions to ensure that the bicycle ride began in tempo.

Chatting this afternoon with a fellow by the pool he asked, “When you’re in Canada, what do you do during the day?” I responded, “Nothing. Just the same as we do here.” Which is to say, nothing. I’m reluctant to account my daily adventures either here or in Canada because quite frankly there’s little to report. Following my retirement in 2014 there may have been projects of significance related to the administration of my father’s estate and subsequently related to the administration of my mother’s estate. But apart from those undertakings things are predominantly colourless.

We have turned on the heat in the apartment. This uncommon though seasonally predictable act signifies we’ve entered that short period of time during which the daily ambient temperatures consistently drop below a high of 80 degrees. For the next several weeks – conveniently the Christmas holidays – we’ll continue to endure cooler weather though usually beneath azure blue skies. Today was illustrative of that complexion. Once again this morning as I cycled along the island my first and instinctive gasp reflected the remarkable beauty and astoundingly clear atmosphere which surrounded me. The only difference today was that I wore a light sweater atop my customary golf shirt.

It was an odd day to go to the beach. The air was uncommonly cool. But the sky was clear and the sun was at least trying to be warm. What captivated me in particular were the lively waves and the sound of the surf energized by the strong northerly wind. The beach access was vacant. Walking across the white sand in my brown leather topsiders was a delight for some inexplicable reason.

When I awoke this morning I had little more on my mind than a mid-morning appointment for spinal decompression at the chiropractor’s office. I certainly didn’t imagine I would be moved to philosophic proclamation. I was very much mistaken. There were just so many desirable evolutions today that by late afternoon as I sought to recover my equilibrium and prepare my evening meal I found myself static in the kitchen, wet paper towel in hand, staring at the floor, pondering the scope of what had so agreeably transpired.

It is a pity to ignore the noticeable details of this place. A lifetime of dedication to introversion lends the risk of error. The calculation is not that the local ingredients are negligible rather that one’s internal mechanism more generally characterizes attitude and state of being. This is a mistake. Longboat Key is not just background.  Neither has it the contrived and almost spooky appearance which sometimes insinuates Hilton Head Island.  Longboat Key – though it certainly maintains its own indulgent attributes – has a more obvious architectural freedom and expression. The extent of novelty in turn contributes a dynamic of adventure which enlarges the overall acquaintance. The famous Floridian coastal cloud banks amount to a vast, magnificent and perpetually changing (often by the minute) panorama.

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I am in a state of immobility. My bicycle has been temporarily expropriated. Just as well. I need a break from exercise and monotony – as much as I thrive on them both. Besides sitting alone before my computer, glancing at the gulls soaring like kites in the wind over Sarasota Bay, listening to table music, eating walnuts drowned in maple syrup and sipping chilled espresso is an agreeable way to spend an idle Sunday morning. It’s only approaching ten o’clock and already I’ve showered, eaten breakfast and done a laundry. Thus have I expiated my guilt on the Sabbath!