My idea of paradise is a tropcial island, studded with palm trees and encircled by wide, white, sandy beaches. Actually, it’s more than an idea. I have visited many such places by boat, and know for a fact that the tropics get me all hot and bothered. I dream of these islands when I sleep at night.
So why is it that I keep ending up back here in this frigid winter wonderland? By the end of January, I’m depressed and hibernating, realizing that if I drink every time it snows, I’ll need rehab before spring. What in the heck am I doing in this frozen wasteland, when I could have been sailing among warm sunny islands this winter?
Florida is not a tropical island; in fact, it’s not much of anything. The Spaniards probably laughed all the way to the bank when they sold us that swampland. Stupid gringos. We made a bad thing worse by filling it with condos, chain stores, and very elderly people in big dangerous cars. The only thing Florida has going for it is that it isn’t freezing(usually) in the winter, and there are palm trees. I have a place to stay, and can drive there with my canvas business loaded into the car, having already lined up enough work to pay for gas. Also, I can take the dog, although I do still believe that FL needs to put up signs at the border that say “Welcome to Florida; no dogs allowed.”
So back I go to my fake tropical paradise, trying to chase the mid winter blues out of my system. Once I return north, the days will be longer, the temps shouldn’t be quite as cold, and soon I’ll have pollen season to look forward to. There’s something in New England’s spring that aggravates my sinuses almost beyond tolerable, whereas I have never, ever been allergic to a tropical island. And yet, I keep coming back here, and staying happily for long periods of time. For some reason, my heart is here, which I guess makes it home.
Nearly a dozen of us, including myself, are part of a close knit group of folks who have all sailed in by boat from somewhere else, and decided to stay. And while we continue to dream of winter escapes, with some of us actually making the break, we admit that there’s something here, something that satisfies our sailor spirits, something that we love and don’t want to leave. It may not be tropical, but it is our paradise. Snow covered and all.
So why is it that I keep ending up back here in this frigid winter wonderland? By the end of January, I’m depressed and hibernating, realizing that if I drink every time it snows, I’ll need rehab before spring. What in the heck am I doing in this frozen wasteland, when I could have been sailing among warm sunny islands this winter?
Florida is not a tropical island; in fact, it’s not much of anything. The Spaniards probably laughed all the way to the bank when they sold us that swampland. Stupid gringos. We made a bad thing worse by filling it with condos, chain stores, and very elderly people in big dangerous cars. The only thing Florida has going for it is that it isn’t freezing(usually) in the winter, and there are palm trees. I have a place to stay, and can drive there with my canvas business loaded into the car, having already lined up enough work to pay for gas. Also, I can take the dog, although I do still believe that FL needs to put up signs at the border that say “Welcome to Florida; no dogs allowed.”
So back I go to my fake tropical paradise, trying to chase the mid winter blues out of my system. Once I return north, the days will be longer, the temps shouldn’t be quite as cold, and soon I’ll have pollen season to look forward to. There’s something in New England’s spring that aggravates my sinuses almost beyond tolerable, whereas I have never, ever been allergic to a tropical island. And yet, I keep coming back here, and staying happily for long periods of time. For some reason, my heart is here, which I guess makes it home.
Nearly a dozen of us, including myself, are part of a close knit group of folks who have all sailed in by boat from somewhere else, and decided to stay. And while we continue to dream of winter escapes, with some of us actually making the break, we admit that there’s something here, something that satisfies our sailor spirits, something that we love and don’t want to leave. It may not be tropical, but it is our paradise. Snow covered and all.
