Last Weekend on Daytona Beach Shores, FL

When we began our routine morning walking on the beach today we suddently realized this would be our last weekend on Daytona Beach Shores.  We intend to leave on Thursday, March 29th - very possibly never to return.  Luckily for us the weather today was brilliantly sunny and comfortably warm, a high of 70℉ with a balmy easterly wind at 16 km/hr (sorry, but my Weather App is oddly a combination of Fahrenheit temperature and metric speed).

The pending departure has naturally instilled many and varied thoughts.  On the one hand we're both grateful for the time we have had here.  The apartment has been everything (well - almost everything) we could have hoped for.  Certainly the people in the condominium building (everyone from the President of the Corporation to the Concierge to the Manager of the Newsletter to the effusive and amicable residents and their dogs) have been absolutely super.  And I must mention the medical people here (the paramedics on the beach, the nursing staff at Halifax Health and the numerous physicians who attended upon me regarding lung, cardiac and arcane issues beyond my comprehension).

Paradoxically as I sat on the bench at the lifeguard stand which has come to mark the limit of our morning walk ever since I returned home from the hospital, I noticed three beach paramedics were standing nearby, chatting.  I decided that in a general sense I owed them thanks for what their colleagues had done for me immediately following my collapse on my bicycle at Ponce Inlet on February 10th. Anyway, I walked over to them, apologized for the interruption, then told them that I am damaged goods and that it was their colleagues who had rescued me from my fall.  Instantly the female member of the group said, "Oh, you're the one!  We were wondering how you made out!" One of her male co-workers echoed her statement.  Recognizing that these were the very people who had taken care of me I then proceeded to tell them the outcome at the hospital and the subsequent diagnosis of third degree heart blockage.  The senior member of the crew informed me that the diagnosis of a Pacemaker issue is not uncommonly intially missed in these accident cases, which of course seems to parallel precisely what happened to me. I left the group by reiterating my huge gratification for all they had done.

As usual the agenda upon our return to the condominium was - for me anyway - lounging in the sun by the pool.  There were more people than usual by the pool today, including younger people who might well be part of the many "March Break" students currently visiting.  I am trying to control the length of time I spend in the sun so after 50 minutes I picked up my hoodie from the side table, put on my Top Siders and left.  I headed directly up the stairs from the pool deck to the second floor and then the Club Room where the grand piano  is.  This too will likely be the last time I play that piano.  Frankly, given my broken ribs, sitting upright on the piano bench is somewhat painful.  I recorded a piece with I thought I might eventually share with my friend Jill who is notoriously my biggest fan.  As it turns out my enthusiasm about the matter got the better of me and I ended sending not just one - but three - copies in total to her (though in my defence the multiplicity was the product of trying to render the most convenient manner for playing it back).  Not to mention that I contradicted my earlier assurance to Jill that I would not interrupt her artistic work in her studio until later in the week when she has completed her preparation for an upcoming important art show.  Oh well..too late for moaning about that error of judgement!

After I left the Club Room (and before having challenged the reiteration of my piano piece) we agreed to take the car for a drive.  We hadn't anywhere in particular to go - having already recently exhausted the northerly and southerly limits of interest - so we decided just to "drive to Ormand Beach and back". The route is well known to me because it is where I go when I took my car to be detailed in Ormond Beach.  I also happen to like Granada Boulevard which takes me back onto Atlantic Avenue for the direct return to the condominium.  We did however pause our return for two reasons; one, to get some gas (I am still ecstatic that I can enter an acceptable Zip Code when using our new credit card - which also happens to be "Cash Back"); and second, the collect some fruit, figs and frozen mixed fruit from Publix grocery store.

And this brings me to my confession of the tiny bit of reluctance we have about Daytona Beach Shores.  I apologize for what might appear to be curmudgeonly posture on this subject.  We have our reservations about motorcycles, propane propelled trucks and vehicular traffic on the beach. Being close to children and young people generally presents an odd element of resistance (especially when conjoined with boom box sounds). I have no doubt that my incertitude about these features is solely the product of being a miserable old bachelor (though I am quick to add that the disfavour is not universal).  Perhaps it is nothing more than an acknowledgement that with time people change; that what might once have appealed to my youthful instincts no longer exists.  Perhaps it is nothing more offensive than saying opera isn't for everyone!