This is our fourth summer in Florida- a number that amazes me. I still don't feel at home here, although I know my way around. I don't feel completely out of place in the supermarket, but I have this suspicion that everyone knows I'm not from here, and they know that they don't know me. That special kind of paranoia belongs to the homesick, and even while I acknowledge its foolishness, I still feel it.
Summers- I may have mentioned this before- are the worst.
It's partly an issue of comfort, or rather, of discomfort. The long summer days are hot and sticky, the bugs are ravenous and abundant, the plants are vindictive with thorns and poison, and the air itself is attempting to decompose your body 37% faster than air in dryer climes.* If there is a spring or pool to soak yourself in, it's fine, pleasant, even, because there are no ticks in the water, and you can usually avoid mosquitoes under the water. To Florida's credit, there are any nu…
In September, we were gifted a wonderful stay at a fellow pastor's vacation home- a lovely little pink house with shells everywhere and two huge rooms just perfect for all of us. We were just a walk away from the white sands and calm, clear ocean, and we spent more time than my pale and sand-hating husband understood, but it was just lovely. I have pictures on my phone, but I only pulled out my big camera for these few on the first day.
It had a fenced yard for the dog, a golf cart to drive us the two blocks beachward and lots and lots of shells and quality family time. This was the trip that we watched Knight Rider together, so that's notable.