I love this place where we're staying. It's a beautiful old home which has been restored but not to the point of defunkification (a sin in my book) and it smells of old wood and the coffee we brew. Although it's a guesthouse, it is not like one of those overly decorated B&B's which look, as my dear Colin used to say, as if "a doily factory had exploded" in it.
And there is not one bowl of potpourri anywhere in it. The furniture is a mix of old and vintage and nothing makes you feel as if a stern headmistress is going to pop out and remind you to put a coaster under that drink.
Comfortable and lovely. Fairly simple and elegant.
There are a few things about it though which are a little funny. One being that since the walls have no plaster or sheetrock every sound travels everywhere. Last night we had the whole place to ourselves which made us feel like naughty children in a house in which the parents have gone away, but today a couple came in who had rented the upstairs.
Ah well. We are trying to keep our steps and voices low.
Still- it is a bit disconcerting as well as funny if you look at it the right way.
Another thing is that our room does not have a bathroom in it and we must go down the hall a few yards to use our own very private bathroom and so we must be decently clad when we make that small journey.
This is not a problem but we have been advised to keep the bathroom door locked at all times (and I would hate it if someone were to steal my travel-sized bottle of Dr. Bronner's lavender soap) but this means we must remember to take the key which is not really a problem either as we recieved two sets of keys on our arrival which included keys to the front door, back doors, our room and the bathroom. PLUS there is a bathroom key hanging beside the door in our room on a chain AND this note.
Which is all wonderful but the really amusing thing about all of this is that when you check in, there is no one to greet you, simply a big-ass white envelope with your name on it WITH ALL OF THE KEYS INSIDE in the mailbox right outside the front door.
So it's been a nice day in all regards and I went shopping while Mr. Moon worked on the lot, sweating in the heat as he toiled. I did not feel guilty at all and bought two linen summer dresses, one which I'd had my eye on for about a year and which finally went on sale. It still cost way too much but I bought it anyway.
When I'd done all of the shopping I could do without going into a complete diassociative state, I came back to the guesthouse and read.
When Mr. Moon returned we went and had lunch and talked with some people from Chicago who have recently bought a house nearby here in what I can only describe as scrub-swamp. I wish them well.
We sat at the bar where the oysters were being shucked and Mr. Moon was given a huge oyster to slurp from the shell which he did with great enjoyment and the oyster had a tiny pearl in it which I wrapped up and will take home to put in a locket. The man from Chicago was also given an oyster and although I could tell he would have just as soon have swallowed a raw frog, he had no choice but to also slurp the living salty goodness in a manful way. Jokes about Nature's Viagra abounded.
Welcome to Florida!
And so it goes. We've been sitting on the porch here and wouldn't you know that a damn yellow fly attacked my feet and ankles? I killed that motherfucker. Or at least one of them. I don't even have a Benadryl.
Oh, Florida. I love you so much, even with your vipers, your horrid insects, your cockroaches the size of chihuahuas, your hellish heat, your sand spurs and cactus, your corrupt government, your condos and over-development.
We still have this.
Jesus- how can anyone write this much blah-blah on an iPhone?