Alone together in Florida––a perfect combination and setting

by Pat Laster

“Writers, like other dangerous criminals, should come to know solitary confinement.” – Paul Greenberg, Arkansas Democrat Gazette.
Since I was in Florida during the annual Arkansas Writer’s Conference, I missed Herr Greenberg’s speech, but he used it (double duty) in his next Sunday column.
The sentence hit me like a dirt clod. For each of eight mornings, some days as early as 6:15, I sat in solitude (not solitary confinement, but still...) and read and wrote. It was like being at a writers’ colony with Gulf breezes and doves as a background for creativity.
Never mind that I had to look out over a parking lot as large as a football field. I tried to look up and beyond to the little patch of Gulf across the street and behind a row of ubiquitous condos fenced in against any but the owners/ guests. Public beach access parking areas were plentiful, however.
Here is an example of my journaling that recounts a not-so-pleasant arrival at our condo.
Thursday: 10:10 pm: (We’d left before six that morning.) “The air conditioning laboring, but gets no cooler than 74°. Alone in room 2C of Tristan Towers since Billy can’t stand the heat; there were NOT 3 queen sized beds as advertised (unless they meant a blow-up mattress and/or a sleeping bag. All the others in our party, Billy, his mother, his sister and a friend—have “jumped ship” and are staying at Js’s place tonight. “An emergency,” I’m told, until a definite complaint to the lessors can be made tomorrow. “Earlier tonight, my four children, their spouses and children gathered here. Local son Gordon—the one turning 50 in July––ordered pizza, breadsticks and pasta. His wife/daughter brought 2-liter drinks, crusty bread/dipping oil-spices. We visited amicably (how else?) until time for Gordon/Breezy to drive to Destin (an hour away) to pick up his dad/lady friend from the airport.
“So here I sit in a big bed in a big room with the oscillating fan Billy traded for my small face fan. Tomorrow night, we’re eating at Peg Leg Pete’s. By then, we should either be living as originally planned at J’s –with his relatives/friends—or in a different place/room. Meanwhile, I’m sleepy—again—so what’s keeping me awake? Nothing!”
The AC was repaired later the next day, but at 6:15 Friday morning, I was “on deck” again.
Myriad doves with a different sound than those at home—a 3-pulse motif: coo-coooooo-cuk ––called over and over.
Sights included the horizon––the curved edge of the earth––a cloudless sky, dog walkers, joggers, swallows, palms, oleanders, river gravel, ornamental grasses and CARS! A business man, satchel in one hand, lunch in the other, purple shirt, taupe trousers, walked to the farthest vehicle in the parking lot––a slate gray hatchback. Before exiting, he pulled over to the concrete barrier/fence and hosed off the car and then headed into the gate’s eye and disappeared. He must be one of the 90 families who live in the Towers. (I counted the mailboxes in the lobby!)
Can you stand another episode next week? Good.