Life in Florida

Though there is constant interaction between both sides of my brain, it seems that I can either write or paint but not at the same time.  Today seems good for writing.  The last few months have been full of paintings and creative endeavors for art shows back home in Maine over the holidays.  My first attempt to enter the local art scene here in Bradenton was an abysmal failure.  Who knew everyone only buys tropical paradise themes here.  Thank goodness Mainers and a handful of Texans are more art curious and kind supporters.

Florida is proving a strange place to be living, a curious vortex of things that don’t quite make sense.  Despite orange groves everywhere and a Tropicana bottling plant just two miles away, orange juice is more expensive here than it was in Austin or back home.  Due to agriculture on a large scale, there are precious few small farms that sell their produce at road stands and farmers markets.  We have taken to buying our veggies off stands at the flea market where the prices and often the quality are much better than the local supermarkets but even there many items are coming from California or other countries.  “Shop Locally” is verging on oxymoron here.  Conversely, I have never been so excited to see fresh, baby bok choi as I was at the St Petersburg Morning Market last week.

Right now the strawberries are in supply from Plant City and it’s tomato season in Ruskin.  The trouble is, the berries have little taste despite their enticing color and heady bouquet.  The tomatoes, too, are an exercise in disappointment.  They are either hard or rotting and in either case mostly without flavor.  But to be fair, we have all become the guinea pigs of an economy where what matters is quantity and not necessarily esthetics. It’s not just here in Florida.

I think what makes it all the more unpalatable though is that false advertising is a very real part of life here in the Sunshine State, whether it’s the blush of a strawberry or a job ad in the paper. We have both become skilled at investigating any business that invites us for an interview, though even then they still manage to catch us out.  One place was scamming seniors on magazine subscription renewals, moving its office often to avoid the cops.  Another was an online newspaper that misrepresented the position they were hiring for after a lengthy and friendly interview discussing something completely different.  There was the pizza place that was more interested in human resources-generated questions than whether you could make pizzas under pressure. The young owner has obviously been putting those human resources profiling classes from his M.B.A degree to use with little success as he keeps advertising for help two months later.

I showed up for an interview at a cool and groovy shop/art gallery/bakery not far from our favorite beach. We had been to the shop many times with company or for a nibble.  When the owner finally came out from his office he said, “Do you mind if we go outside and do this so I can have a cigarette?”  I should have said, “Actually, I do mind, yes.  Thank you for asking.”  But I didn’t because to me that would have seemed as impolite as having to sit through an interview with smoke being blown in your face, which is what happened.  As it was, he spent more time talking with people on the sidewalk than he did with me.  Needless to say, I didn’t get the job nor have I been back for coffee.

Oddly, it’s been a pattern that the people running businesses here in the Bradenton area are often guys in their fifties from New York and Chicago in uniforms of stained t-shirts or Hawaiian shirts, baggy shorts, filthy flipflops, big gold chains on their necks, big watches on their wrists and even bigger attitudes.  They mock Jamie’s accent and ask me if I go around “shushing” everyone because I’ve been a librarian.

We try very hard to be circumspect as we meet each day.  Our landlords are great.  The postman is friendly.  The cable guy went beyond the call of duty.  The lady at the sushi place chats with us now when we stop in.  But after ten months of living here, we have acquired the feeling that many people, upon retiring here, start their new lives by abandoning their manners, their patience and to a large degree, their humanity.  Whether it’s road rage, aisle rage, queue rage or just plain rage rage, it’s tough sledding if you are a nice person.  You can forgive the tourists for being idiots; it’s much harder to forgive the locals. And maybe that’s just it.  Maybe it’s because most folks who live in Florida are not from Florida.  Like all of us who move to some place new, we bring our internal geography with us and attempt to force it into the contours of a new map.  Plus there is also the possibility that we were as rude in Ohio as we are here.

•Sexy, fashion-conscious blue-haired beauty, 80's, slim, 5'4' (used to be 5'6'),
searching for sharp-looking, sharp-dressing companion. Matching white shoes and belt a plus.

•LONG-TERM COMMITMENT

•Recent widow who has just buried fourth husband and am looking for someone to round out a six-unit plot.Dizziness, fainting, shortness of breath not a problem.

•SERENITY NOW

•I am into solitude, long walks, sunrises, the ocean, yoga and meditation.
If you are the silent type, let's get together, take our hearing aids out and enjoy  quiet times.

•WINNING SMILE

•Active grandmother with original teeth seeking a dedicated flosser
to share rare steaks, corn on the cob and caramel candy.

•BEATLES OR STONES?

•I still like to rock, still like to cruise in my Camaro on Saturday nights and still like to play the guitar. If you were a groovy chick, or are now a groovy hen, let's get together and listen to my eight-track tapes.

•MINT CONDITION

•Male, 1932, high mileage, good condition, some hair,
many new parts including hip, knee, cornea, valves.
Isn't in running condition, but walks well.

 http://www.funnyordie.com/lists/a27cc6b611/actual-personal-ads-from-florida-senior-citizens



(photo from Google Images!)

 Then there is the issue of aging and longevity.  It’s the active seniors cutting you off in traffic and shoving you aside in the produce department, not the ones relegated to nursing homes. As in any city, you only see those who are still able to be independent.  Independence coupled with a sense of entitlement in a concentrated population is, let’s face it, daunting.  Imagine a never-ending Sunday dinner with all of your relations being right about everything and you’ve got Florida.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for people living vibrant and interesting lives right up until their last breath but I’m relieved I never had to encounter my 96 year old grandmother in her bikini top and sequined pareo pushing me aside on her way to the tiki bar for another margarita while she complains to her Speedo-wearing (barely!) husband about the tourists.

 

For now we soldier on, thankful for things like fresh orange juice from free fruit and walking the beach with the sandpipers at sunset.  It’s a nice place to visit…