All this is to say that we're primed to depart. My medical recovery is proceeding well (though I am still undeniably damaged goods) and we are thus both anxious to do something more energetic than merely resting here. We have been walking about a mile every day since my return from the hospital. Even today - in spite of numerous tornado warnings - we ventured onto the beach for another 0.8 mile walk (I know this precision because my partner now sports an Activeon device which measures such things). As for the resort where we're staying shortly, there are bicycles available for the guests. Not to mention an ensuite washer/dryer. In a word, we're chuffed!
Our walk today was in the nature of a post-luncheon walk because after we completed the test of our new credit card at the gas station (where at last we successfully entered an acceptable zip code) we decided to celebrate by going to Ponce Inlet for oysters, conch salad and fish sandwich, lathered in unsweetened ice tea. I feel compelled to note as a matter of record that my choice to saturate the conch with Tabasco sauce proved once again to be an analgesic. It's a most peculiar result, something I first encountered only a matter of days ago when I had eaten very spicy shrimp at Boondocks. I resolved to repeat the theme today at lunch, not knowing whether it would have any effect, but apparently it does. The other advantage of the hot sauce is that it stimulated my lungs and enabled me to have a passably useful cough. The strangest corollary however is that my lower limbs appear to function more agreeably, as though the pungent sauce somehow induces motor skills. I won't be so preposterous to consider this a medical discovery but in the meantime I fully intend to revisit the possibility.
This year's medical challenges contribute in no small manner to the effervescence which attaches to these modest travel plans. I suppose I am always looking for an excuse for my notorious indulgence but nonetheless this particular feature seems to add a ready element of authenticity to the wantonness. It is an unmistakeable reality of aging that one is reminded again and again of the speed of evaporation of all there is. As such it is my considered view that any effort to seize the day is worthwhile. It is all very good to contemplate one's future and what one might or might not do; it is yet another to do something about it. This is our small attempt to warrant the poet's wisdom.
"For a brief moment the thought of the shortness of life and the all-devouring grave laid a chill on her spirit, as if a cold draught had blown round the corner of her house, but before she had time to shiver, her habitual intrepidity warmed her up again, and she resolved to make the most of the years that remained..."
Lucia's Progress by E. F. Benson