Above is what our beaches are starting to look like as the “snow birds” take flight and wing back to better weather in New York, Pennsylvania and Michigan. And—though a great group, for the most part-- good riddance to the lot of ‘em. There will be far fewer Cadillacs, Chryslers, Buicks, and other enormous cars on our narrow road for the next seven months and a ton more safety when these crazy old coots vamoose. I wonder how many will be killed on their migration north? No, not how many of the codgers--I’ve learned they seldom kill themselves in these wrecks--but how many who share the road with them will be murdered by them. I was chatting on the beach the other day with a nice gent from Ohio who is down here visiting his mother. He told me that just the other day she mistook the accelerator for the brake and drove straight through her garage door. Must be a disease sweeping the country; something must not be connecting between the octogenarian’s brain and the brake pedal.
Michelle and I make noise about taking wing ourselves to the Virgin Islands, or maybe Hawaii, or maybe Portugal, or maybe even Turkey. For now it is just talk; we both are fairly content where we sit. Beginning now, with the departure of the seasonals, Manasota Key is pretty much deserted and until November, at least, it will seem like M and me have our own personal island and our own private beaches.
Stupid Mugshot of the Day