We began our trip to the grocery store this morning with the gusto you’d expect of white water rafters on a Saturday morning. Though today is a Friday, it marked the first time of late I have moved from the apartment, nay even my bed. Several days ago I was suddenly racked by a cold which immobilized me. Grâce à modern chemicals I slept for unusually long periods and managed to expel from my lungs, nasal passages and throat whatever contamination had afflicted me. Although I wasn’t positive this morning that I had fully recovered, I was intent upon making an effort to return to normal. My abbreviated hiatus from normalcy had bored me to tears! I had to do something of the daily round to discover whether I had relapsed beyond repair.
The primary reason we delayed going to the grocery store until 9:00 am rather than 7:00 am when it opens as we had initially canvassed is that the fish department (where I regularly buy my fresh salmon filets) doesn’t get into gear until as late as 9:30 am. Fresh salmon has become a stock item of my diet. I buy a full half of a salmon which I then cut into filets of about 2½” each. These I cook in pairs for about 2 minutes in the microwave until the colour is barely past pink. Nothing added. Then I pop the containers into the ‘fridge and that constitutes the main course of my evening meal, served either chilled or at room temp. The salmon here is never frozen (not that I believe that would matter). When I made my way past the initial aisles of fruit and veggies, cereal and milk, the fishmonger was in operation. Before I opened my mouth, he asked, “Do you want a half salmon?” Such is the distinguishing element of habit! I don’t believe he was being facetious. I told him, “Yes, please!” Frankly I long ago surpassed the sting of ridicule for monotony or routine. To my complete delight the package he handed me over the counter moments later was fresh off the truck (he opened an entire case of the stuff to extract my portion). When he gave me the heavy salmon filet folded in its plastic sealed bag and wrapped in Saran with its $36 sticker attached I knew it was a good one! Nor was I mistaken; for when we subsequently returned home and cut the whole into filets for cooking in the microwave, the result was perfection!
Thus began my day today. But I had not yet exhausted either my ambition or my energy. Repetition is what preserves me from madness. That meant in the current context that a bicycle ride was in order. And some photographs. Both would however have to be restrained. At my age I am learning not to push the envelope so to speak. Accordingly I contrived a cycle within the immediate neighbourhood only; and, a photographic outing devoted to the yacht basin which is directly adjacent Cutter Court where we reside. Besides the weather was not favourable so a speedy return to the fold in the event of a downpour was judicious.
Once again luck was on my side! I ventured down a number of local arteries which circuitously led to remarkable enclaves, many of which were adjacent the golf course or Shark Bank and Broad Creek which filter past Harbour Town into Calibogue Sound and thence into the North Atlantic Ocean. As much as I thrill to architecture, however, other than for personal interest, my artistic attachment is primarily limited to commercial buildings not residential. I mention this to excuse my lack of photographs of the homes. Certainly I appreciated the Italianate influence of the homes with triple loggia on Genoa Court, but my nautical persuasion overtakes all else, which explains my reverie with the ocean and the yacht basin.
