Southern sanctuary by the sea

We retired early last evening. We were exhausted from the day’s performances; and had tired our interest in and capacity for the tragedies and unfolding political dramas in the news.  We easily slept the recommended eight hours. As a result it was effortless to get going at a respectable hour this morning.  Shortly before seven o’clock I attacked the world and arose – or rather peeled my aching carcass – from beneath the huge duvet. By 9:30 am I was bathed, dressed and munching slices of a large Granny apple, a moderation punctuated with a remaining half of Naan bread sans butter. The butter that tempts me in the ‘fridge is Kerrygold Pure Irish butter, a supplement I would willingly consume by the spoonful! My dietary vigilance was spirited today by the uncommon success I had in buttoning my latest fat-size Nautica shorts. Certainly it is a small compliment but every inch in these matters counts!

I am simmering a soup I began preparing yesterday. The recipe (if indeed I may dignify my gibelotte as such) is essentially a mixture of veggies. Like most old fogeys I am developing an incremental preference for soup. The overriding theme is the avoidance of pecan pie, donuts and anything else that for mysterious reasons instantly attracts my weakened culinary bent. Self-discipline in these affairs is clearly an unwritten exception to what at my advanced age (“when the keepers of the house shall tremble“) is otherwise meant to be unbridled obeisance to indulgence.

The bicycle ride this morning – 11.10 kms @ 8.1 kms/hr –  was a circle from Harbour Town (where we are now) to the southern tip of the Island (where we have stayed on two occasions in the past). I stopped at Tower Beach to capture images towards the sea.

Initially as I rode there were few others on the paths.  I presume it was too early for the majority. The majority – when they began to appear – was predominantly older people like I. By contrast one younger couple passed by draped in tennis racquets. The earliest of the lot was the golfers whose cracks at the balls I heard as I traveled. While the golfing continues throughout the year, unquestionably things are now mostly “off season”.  Perhaps with the easing of the erstwhile pandemic restrictions the frequency of visitors has increased. All the cyclists and pedestrians – with only occasional exceptions – adopt the unusual “country” feature of recognizing people with a cheery hello as they pass. It is as though we all accept the singularity of our concert.