Floreeda

Well, we’re down here in Florida.  “Flor-EE-da”, as my kids say.  It’s pretty nice.  We’re the first ones here, so we got our pick of the spare room and bath.  Hooray.  I don’t have to sleep on the fold-out couch!  Let my siblings fight over the couches, that’s my attitude.  There’s some perks to being the only one with kids.

There’s a lot of old people down here.  They’re all very nice.  I would expect that, though, seeing as they’re all old and retired and have nothing better to do than drive golf carts around and go out for dinner.  They ought to be nice.  What do they have to complain about?

One odd thing is that everything closes up around 9PM.  These old people go to bed early, that’s for sure.  Where I live, (“up north”, as they say down here), there’s at least a Wal Mart and a grocery store open all night.  Most restaurants are open til at least 10 or 11 PM.  Not here.  Here, you’d best get your stuff wrapped up before dark.  They close the whole place down on the stroke of 9.  I’d swear there was a curfew or something.   But maybe that’s for the best.  Old people shouldn’t be out driving at night.  Heck, most of them shouldn’t be out driving during the day.  But at least they can see a little better when the sun’s out.

There are probably more golf carts than cars in my mom’s community.  It’s funny driving here.  The first time you drive, you see a cart, and it looks odd, because there just aren’t golf carts driving on the streets in Ohio suburbs.  But then you see another cart, and another.  And then you see that they have their very own special lane, and you’d best not even think about getting your car wheels in that lane, or the golf cart gestapo will hunt you down and slash your tires.  If you pay attention, you will soon realize that your gas-guzzling, oversized vehicle is a serious minority.  It’s really just being tolerated on the roads, as if the golf carts are just waiting for you to figure things out and join their ranks of sun-kissed, wind-swept, rechargable folk.  And then, once you come into the light, you will park your silly gasoline engine and its hulking metal exterior in a closed garage, and not bring it out again until it’s actually time to drive someplace that requires you to go more than 45 mph.  Or someplace where it’s not sunny and 80 degrees all the time.

Tomorrow, my brother comes in from Seattle.  I wonder what his observations will be.  I’m sure, at the very least, we’ll giggle about the old people down here in FlorEEda.  But we’ll probably also agree that they’re very nice. 

And then, we’ll go joyriding in the golf cart.

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