These are the gates that I first walked through as a child to find an almost impossibly fantastic sight. A huge cement pool, empty, with four lions, one at each corner, guarding the space because it was their job and their purpose.
This is the place I saw over fifty years ago which was the shell of the beautiful little cabana house where we are staying and some burned ruins which have been rebuilt into a perfect little living space for renters and a sweet stucco house where the landlord and his husband live.
And the pool is the pride of the place.
It is huge and it is beautiful and the lions remain at each corner, still at guard.
It truly is one of the miracles of my life that I get to come and stay here, to swim in the exact same pool that fired off a million questions and fantasies and dreams in my eight-year old brain.
I have been sending my kids a series of pictures from the pool that are silly. Just plain silly.
Last night I sent them this one.
And texted, "Damn Flamingo photo-bombing my picture!"
This morning they got this:
"Interspecies love!" I texted. We discussed how sweetly they are gazing at each other. How sad and yet, how tender they are.
Then came this.
Uh. Excuse me? And no, I did not set this up in any way.
And then, and THEN...came this.
Menage a trois?
Okay. Things had gone too far. And the flamingo soon agreed with me and flew off the lion and under the bananas to look on in disbelief.
It takes so little to amuse me.
Besides taking pictures of saucy cement lions and float toys, we also went to breakfast at a favorite place where all of the servers are female, old enough to qualify for Medicare, and who could kick your ass. I got one egg Hollandaise and it was delicious. We hit up the Goodwill and then the local church thrift store. I bought some place mats, a vase. The usual. Then we came back to the cabana house and spent the afternoon celebrating thirty-five years of marriage. And swimming in the pool. And laughing. This man and I travel well together.
Our most beloved phrase so far since we got here is "You're a cracky."
Remember when August came up with that one?
I kept telling him that he cracked me up and he finally said, "Yep. I'm a cracky."
And then there was sunset.
My man fished off the dock.
I saw dolphins surfacing and plenty of mullet jumping. Osprey cried on their way home to their nests. A train went by on the trestle that Henry Flagler built around 1893.
And we spent time being absolutely quiet, watching the sky and the river, and letting the peace prevail.
I will admit that the fire of anxiety which was lit earlier in the week has flared up at times. I wish with all of my heart that this was not a part of my life but the fact remains that it is.
I deal with it. My husband is kind to me and holds my hand.
We're about to eat a pizza and Mr. Moon is working on a jigsaw puzzle that we bought at the Methodist Church thrift store. All is well in Roseland.
I am still so incredibly glad to be here.