“Remember that feeling of being totally and utterly relaxed? All your senses are tuned up. Your body and your mind are on the same planet for a change and every experience is heightened just a little. You feel it when you discover a place where you can unwind, breathe a little, and let yourself remember who you really are.”
This quote aptly describes the last six weeks. It appeared in a travel flyer, advertising would you believe, Canada! But then I suppose the place itself is not entirely responsible for that” feeling of being totally and utterly relaxed”. Yet I am able to affirm that the place…St Petersburg, Florida, more particularly Shore Acres, certainly contributed a major portion of my relaxing. It also contributed to my being out of touch via these scribbles with my good friends and family. I can assure you, or warn you if you please, that when we are finally settled in Paul’s Paradise we will have this trusty word processor available to continue our rambles.
(It is the ides of April, or Tax Day, if you prefer, and I am sitting in the library of St. Petersburg (North Branch) typing this. I discovered that you could use this word processor without charge, even if you were not a member of the library. You can’t be a member until you are a resident, home ownership is not sufficient…so it will be in future.)
“Easter Happens!! Christ is raised!! “These were the words of the priest on this Easter Mom in St. Petersburg, Fl. The church is nearly full. He, the priest-pastor, illustrates this Easter as happening by reciting examples of human problems being faced and conquered by Faith and Belief. One of these illustrations:
A young mother stands over a small white casket in which her five-year-old daughter, seemingly asleep, lies dead. The mother stands looking down into the casket clutching a small yellow blanket, one that had been the daughter’s favorite. She steps forward and lays the blanket over the child tucking it along the sides and feet of the child, then she leans closer and kisses the child, saying, “See you in the morning!” Easter Happens!
This excellent inspirational talk was delivered Easter Mom in the Lutheran Church of the Cross, in Shore Acres, St. Pete’s (Shore Acres is an area in St. Pete’s near the Tampa Bay; it would be like referring to “Lawndale” or “Foxchase” in Philly). The church is a new building. It was dedicated in 1990. It is formed similar to an amphitheater with the altar in center front. Behind the altar are choir seats, organ, and piano in a semicircle facing the congregation. The congregation sits in pews that are on separate levels rising up from the altar area to the rear of the church.
We have walked this sunny pleasant morning from our temporary home to the church. We are staying at Rich and Shirley’s home (often referred to erroneously as “John’s House in Florida”). It is a 10-minute walk. Our new home will be in the same area in a little different direction. But it will be not much further in the time it takes to walk here. The walk to church reminds of the walks to Sunday Mass in Sea Isle City to St. Joseph’s. The weather and the surroundings are conducive to this reverie. The wide open spaces between homes, few if any sidewalks, a warm sun with a little breeze and no humidity all remind one of those halcyon days of summer in Sea Isle.
This had to be our easiest Florida jaunt yet. What made it so was the addition of “audio books”. We listened to Michael Crichton’s “Air Frame” on Friday, and Steve Martini’s “The List” on Saturday. Each book took about 4 hours. We were listening to the conclusion of Martini’s novel as we approached the “seven mile” bridge from Tampa to St. Petersburg. We’ll never take a long drive again without an audio book or two. Along with those novels we had “A Reporter’s Life” by Walter Cronkite, which I listened to while June did needle point. June is not into memoirs.
We received a phone call on the evening of April 1 from the Pastor of the Lutheran Church. When you attend, as we did on Easter Sunday, there is a pen and papers requesting your name and address. It also asks if you are a visitor, member of another church, or you wish some one to call. We merely listed our address at Rich and Shirley’s no phone number, and no request for a call. So the call was a bit of a surprise. Pastor Gerry’s voice was a resonant as it was when he spoke on Easter Morning. I was very happy to tell him how we enjoyed his remarks and in the course of praising his remarks, I used the expression “his eulogy”. When I hung up June noted that it was hardly a “eulogy”. I immediately reverted to my lawyer persona and tried to defend my use of the term. I went so far as to defend its use as a word used to praise the deceased Jesus, saying something like it was a speech in praise of the departed! But June aptly pointed out: “We were celebrating Jesus’” resurrection, not his death!” I had tried to justify what was clearly a mistake, and then further defend it in “bad” attorney fashion. It would have been better to have laughed and not try to explain it. However, lawyer-ing stays with us even when we hang up the shingle…and retire. But mistakes and apologies aside, we were flattered by the call. It was particularly touching since some one had to take the trouble to look up the phone number and he took the time to make the call. We were impressed with his reaching out and continued to attend while we were in Shore Acres.
I am losing track of time, as I started to write these notes I had to go check the date (it is 4/3/1970). I stopped wearing a watch, except if I remember, when we go for a walk. That is so we can know how long we walked. It’s an old habit from the running days of keeping records. We visited one of our old “hangouts” last night. The Leverock Restaurant near Madeira Beach. A “hangout” these days is where we dine out. When we arrived at the restaurant it appeared physically the same. The water was still out there, a channel running between the main land and Madeira Beach; the menu was the same, it still had our favorite “onion encrusted salmon” but then we noticed it was not called “Leverock” but the “Waterfront Steak House”. We inquired from our waitress when the ownership had changed. She advised, or more exactly, she declared: “We have nothing to do with Leverock!!” It seems that Leverock had not been owners since Dec. 1996. Our emphatic waitress than proceeded to forget to bring June’s requested ice water, and brought both of us the wrong soup! June quipped: “It would seem Leverock would probably have nothing to do with her either!” Despite its poor beginning it was an excellent meal and will continue to remain on our “hangout” list.
It’s been a week now since we arrived. Yesterday (4/4) we visited Clearwater Beach and walked along the Gulf of Mexico. It’s that big green blob on the geography map between Texas and Florida We witnessed a beautiful sunset reminding of us the ones before in Avalon.
A book review caught my eye. It was of a book entitled “Handwriting in America: a history of penmanship” The review writer was fascinated with the subject since he, like I, had been subjected to the “Palmer Method” of handwriting. I can still remember Sister Saint Arthur standing next to my desk with her “clicker” watching as I made my letters. I probably remember it because I repeated first grade and had St. Arthur once again! The letters were displayed on poster board around the room. Capitals were on top row and the lower case beneath. Good writing was so important that we had constant reminders in every First Grade Room. Now even prior to Kindergarten writing proper letters is the big thing.
The reviewer and author of the book both noted that a “handwritten” note today is rare. The Saturday Evening Post in 1955 stated: “…handwriting is as obsolete as smoke signals…due to telephones, typewriters, dictating machines, etc.” It is now “more” obsolete, if that is possible, with word processors, E-mail, faxes, etc. Yet, there was a time when man or woman’s handwriting was the measure of their character and class. Then writing became universal and soon was replaced by type and the printed word. However, even today producers of word processor programs are promoting “personalizing” your type with different fonts. There is even a program to personalize your signature for the PC.
This renunciation of handwriting art has made us a nation of scribblers. It has been at a sacrifice of “the idea that appearance of words is part of their meaning, the script is a public presentation of the private self; that surface is part of substance.” It would seem that the current interest in calligraphy is a return to that belief. We have admired our daughter Mary’s practice of the art. One of my treasures is a poem written in a gothic script by my Sister Therese for my 50th. We recently gave a beginners set to our granddaughter Kelly Golden because of her interest in the art.
Thinking of handwriting reminds me of my Dad. His scrawl was monumental. He had a weekly letter. It was typed. But it always had a handwritten note attached. Once in while when Rebecca (his secretary of 40 years) was unavailable, he did send a hand written note. He never learned to type (it was a secretary’s job, not a lawyer’s). The notes were sometimes so indecipherable that you just gave up and “winged ” it hoping it was something that needed no response. My reporting of my experience with Dad’s scratching reminded Winnie of a family secret. Her younger brother, Pat, later Father Pat, often sent his letters from Dad back to her for a translation! It seems Win was one of the few who could decipher Dad’s scrawl. Dad like most of us, even those Palmer Method trained joined the nation of scrawlers with the coming of type. It seems without Sister St. Arthur and her clicker” good” hand writing became as obsolete as “smoke signals”!
It is now the 25th day of May. If I am ever going to get April-May Jottings off, I best stop here for the nonce. I will continue our reverie in paradise later. However, before I go, one more quote, apropos of my recent whining about response to my scribbling. It appeared in Paul Theroux’s novel, “My Secret Life”: “I want what most writers want: unqualified praise. Criticism is never helpful and always boring. If you cannot encourage me, please leave me alone” (p.296).
Vive Valqua! See ya and enjoy!