Home Alone

 

Wednesday, February 29, 2012 – Home Alone

I’m home alone, and it's exciting!  This happens so rarely since Elliott can’t drive anymore.  But this evening, he’s out with “the boys” (a group of friends) for a few hours.  And I have the house to myself, which gives me the solitude I’ve been craving. 

A lot of thoughts have been going through my head during the past couple of days, and this morning, I started to get a better sense of why I’ve been feeling some anxiety about my retirement.  Early morning is my best time of the day for gaining insights, before all the mundane matters of daily life start to intrude on my brain.  When I was working, there were many days when I got up at 4:30 a.m. or earlier to write or work on my art.  Thank goodness I don’t have to do that anymore.  Nowadays, early morning means around 7 a.m.   In fact, today I didn’t wake up until – gasp – 7:30!  As I was lying in bed, stretching and listening to the birds, I heard a voice in my head whispering, “What right do you have to be lying in bed now when you should be at work?”  I recognized that voice immediately.  It was the voice of guilt. 

Maybe it all goes back to my deep-seated belief that a physically and mentally healthy person should contribute to the betterment of society.  But then I had to remind myself of the reason for my retirement.  It wasn’t so I could be on a permanent vacation.  It was to trade one job (teaching) for another (taking care of Elliott).  And in order to take care of Elliott, I have to stay healthy myself.  Now that I’ve provided moral justification for sleeping until 7:30, I can deal with how to spend my waking hours. 

There isn’t all that much “free” time.  Aside from the routine household responsibilities, I try to make sure Elliott has a well-balanced life.  That means taking him out not only for doctor’s appointments, but to movies, restaurants, museums, shopping trips, walks, visits with friends, etc.  As far as my own needs, I will focus on ways to maintain my physical, mental, emotional, and psychological well-being.  Over the next few days, I’ll be working on a list of activities and making decisions about how to prioritize them. 

Disorientation

 

Monday – February 27, 2012 – Disorientation

To add to my sense of disorientation in time and place, the weather isn’t behaving at it normally does.  The day looked beautiful, with the sun shining in a blue, blue sky, so I thought I’d get my daily dose of exercise by walking to Trader Joe’s and back.  I didn’t wear a heavy coat, but temperatures were so high that I was sweating in my sweatshirt.  The crocuses were deliriously proclaiming spring across the still scruffy winter-worn lawns.  Daffodils were waving in the light breeze.  This type of February weather would feel more at home in Fayence than in Fairfax.  I remember slipping into a ski jacket for an early morning walk down to the bakery and the marketplace.  Then by mid-day, we’d be sitting out on our terrace for lunch.  But that was more than twenty years ago in the South of France, not here and now in northern Virginia. 

I feel as if I’m standing on the edge of my life, not quite ready to plunge back in.  I don’t even feel like I know myself anymore. Maybe it’s entirely normal to go through a retirement-related identity crisis.  Retire, reflect, re-evaluate, redefine?  I suppose I could avoid dealing with the problem by begging for old job back – ha! – not a chance.  Or I could “solve” the problem temporarily by filling up my time and pushing all of the issues below the surface.  But I think it’s important for me to grapple with this now, for however long it takes.  I have to be very mindful of the choices before me and I want to make decisions thoughtfully, rather than just falling into them. Transitions are inherently unsettling – and lonely, too.  It’s hard to share this with Elliott.  He isn’t going through the abrupt changes that I’m experiencing.  He hasn’t just given up a job he loves, and all of the social contacts that go along with it. 

Fortunately, Elliott has already become Mr. Taxman, an identity he’ll retain until mid-April.  During this period, he’ll be so obsessed with income tax returns that he will leave me plenty of time for solitude and reflection.  As soon as we got back from Florida, he commandeered the dining room table.  I knew better than to suggest that he work at his desk, which is hidden somewhere under a mound of papers.  It happens this way every year.

The Comfort of Daily Rituals

 

Sunday – February 26, 2012   The Comfort of Daily Rituals

Enjoying the return to my daily rituals:  grocery shopping at Trader Joe’s – can’t live without their Mediterranean hummus; eating dinner at home – nothing special, but that’s what made it so satisfying; sleeping in my own bed – ahhh; waking up to the welcoming birdsong outside my bedroom window; preparing a cup of green tea the right way – not using a tea bag or microwave; making oatmeal with bananas and sunflower seeds; sitting in the morning sunshine to read The Washington Post; waving to neighbors; taking a walk on the path through the woods – and climbing over the towering tree that crashed down while we were away.  Yes, in the short time we’ve been back, I’ve relished all of these moments. 

And Monday morning,  more pleasures of being home:  a walk to the end of the driveway to pick up the newspaper; plenty of space to unroll my yoga mat; and last, but not least, my hair has lost its halo of Florida frizz. 

I can’t quite believe that I’ve only been retired for two months (not quite that, in fact).  My previous life seems light-years in the past.  Time is such an elusive concept to grasp.  With all the changes recently, including getting away from my familiar surroundings, the old rules of time have become skewed.  Although I’m back home, I’m feeling a sense of disorientation.  While I go through the motions of daily living, I’m trying to figure out this new reality.   

One for the Road

 

Friday, February 24, 2012 – One for the Road

Yes, it’s finally here – our departure day.  But before we make our official exit from St. Pete, there’s one last stop we have to make, which means one last opportunity for me to get lost!  And that’s exactly what I did this morning trying to find Mazzaro’s Italian Market on 22^nd Avenue North.  Elliott was not an enthusiastic supporter of the plan, but there was no way I was leaving St. Pete without picking up one for the road – a genuine Italian sandwich, that is, and some Italian pastry to go with it.  Otherwise, we’d be faced with the fine dining choices of the Auto Train Station in Sanford, Florida. 

As expected, I took a few wrong turns.  Also as expected, Elliott didn’t say much, but he kept looking at his watch, fearful that this detour would jeopardize our chances of being the first to check in for the Auto Train.  He may have considered this a ridiculous escapade, but I was confident and insistent that this was a necessary stop.  Eventually, I located the store.  As soon as I stepped out of the car, I started to swoon as the aroma of freshly baked bread wafted across the parking lot.  As I went into hyper-foodie mode, Elliott slipped into the persona of a petulant child.  Ignoring his pout, I rushed from one section of the store to another, exclaiming in delight as I spied wines, cheese, fresh pasta, olive oil, and all sorts of goodies.  If we’d had more time, I would have stopped at the coffee bar for a cappucino.  Actually, I would have spent the entire day in this foodie shrine.  But since we were on a schedule and I didn’t want Elliott to become overwrought, I found the deli counter and ordered our sandwiches (roast beef on rye with nothing for Elliott; mozzarella and tomatoes with “the works” for me).  Then I moved purposefully to the bakery, thinking a couple of biscotti would go well with our after-dinner coffee on the train.  I was about to rush to the checkout when I spied the sfogliatelle.  I called out to Elliott, who was several steps ahead of me, eager to escape.  Within mere seconds, I had two of the prized pastries in a paper bag.  If you’re not familiar with these Italian delicacies, you must seek them out.  The paper-thin sheets of dough are shaped like leaves of an open book.  Between them, at the spine of the book, is a creamy ricotta filling.  Biting into one is sheer ecstasy.  My mini sfogliatelle lasted only until I got to the parking lot. 

Then it was back onto the road, 275 North across the Bay, exit onto 4E and good-bye, Tampa.  We just cruised along the highway for the next two hours (aside from the usual crawl in the vicinity of the theme park exits).  Three weeks ago, Florida had seemed like a foreign country, but it didn’t anymore.  Much to Elliott’s relief, we got to Sanford shortly after 12 noon on Friday.  Shortly after the train pulled out of the station, I reminded him to try his sfogliatelle.  I probably could have eaten it myself and he wouldn’t have cared.  But I love him, even if he doesn’t share my mania for food.  Amazingly, Amtrak arrived in Lorton 90 minutes ahead of schedule this morning and we were back in our house in Fairfax before 10:00 a.m. 

The Last Supper & Some Reflections

 

Thursday, February 23, 2012 – The Last Supper & Some Reflections

A slow walk down Central Avenue to Moscato’s Bella Cucina for our last supper in St. Petersburg.  The fresh angel hair pasta was superb – mixed with fresh mozzarella, resting on a bed of baby spinach leaves, bathed in olive oil and garlic, and topped with grilled zucchini and yellow squash. 

And a few thoughts about compatibility – I’m amazed at how we’ve lived in such close quarters, nearly 24 hours a day, for the past three weeks without any significant tension or conflict.  (The minor incidents were all short-lived and occurred when I was trying to navigate and drive in unfamiliar territory.)  So I guess we’re compatible, which is good to know after 28 years.  As for Elliott, his positive outlook and joie de vivre continue to inspire me.  He hasn’t let pain or the side effects of medication keep his spirits down.  He moves more slowly nowadays, but he keeps going and we just factor his reduced speed into our schedule of activities.  I can’t begin to count the number of times I’ve heard him reply to a stranger’s “how are you?” query with “99 – and doing fine!”  There’s real conviction in voice when he says it.  It’s spurred me to come up with my own response to the question:  “61 – and having fun!”

Last Day in St. Pete

Thursday, February 23, 2012 – Finding the Fountain of Youth on Our Last Day in St. Pete

Today is our last full day in St. Pete.  When I opened the blinds around 7 a.m., I was greeted by a view of gray glop.  The TV said it was a muggy morning, and they were right.  But I escaped to sunny Spain, at least temporarily.  We were running low on Cheerios and I didn’t want to deprive Elliott of his favorite breakfast.  So, after I showered, I generously offered to go next door and eat at Pincho y Pincho.  The tiny jewel-like space brings Andalucia to mind with its dark wood, terra floors, and sultry lighting.  Patterned tiles line the walls.  Blue and white ceramic pitchers dangle above the bar.  Unfortunately, 8:00 a.m. is too early to order Sangria – too bad, because I wanted one of those heavy blue-rimmed goblets.  I took a seat at the bar and the waitress (formerly from Long Island) poured me a mug of coffee.  Who is it that said:  eat like a king at breakfast, like a prince at lunch, and like a pauper at dinnertime?  I think I heard it on the Dr. Oz show a few months ago.  I certainly followed part one of that sage advice.  This breakfast was a real splurge:  an omelette with Manchego cheese, tomatoes, red peppers, and mushrooms; roasted potato wedges; and a tall glass of orange juice.

I took my time eating and chatted with the regulars.  When does rush hour start?  I wondered aloud, glancing at the quiet streets.  There is no rush hour in downtown St. Pete, the regulars told me.  Once, an enormous truck rumbled by, hauling in equipment for the upcoming Grand Prix.  A few minutes later, twenty or thirty bicyclists, arrayed in multi-colored plumage, rounded the corner of Central and First Street in what the regulars call the daily Tour de St. Pete.  Otherwise, it was eerily calm.  

Elliott and I went to see some other properties this morning after breakfast.  These were in an historic (i.e. old) and definitely non-luxury coop building on Fourth Avenue.   It’s also restricted to the 55-plus age group.  One of the apartments was tiny, but would serve well as a pied-a-terre, and the price was right.  However, I have a few reservations.  I could live without certain luxuries, but there was no parking.  Secondly, I don’t know that I’d be happy living exclusively with older people.  I don’t want to make an impulsive decision.  We need to get home and get some perspective on the situation before we decide what to do. 

The sun has reappeared and I’ll take one last walk around St. Pete this afternoon.  Later today, we’ll pack up so we’ll be ready to check out of the Ponce around 9 in the morning.  By the way, here’s a photo of Ponce de Leon’s Fountain of Youth, which we finally found in St. Petersburg. 

Actually, it's a photo of the water fountain on the 4^th floor of the Ponce de Leon hotel where we’re staying. 

Condo Hunting in St. Pete

 

Wednesday, February 22, 2012 – Condo Hunting in St. Pete

It was bound to happen sooner or later.  What I’m talking about is looking at real estate, Elliott’s favorite vacation pastime.  Last summer when we were in the Boca Raton area, we spent three or four days looking at ridiculously low-priced condos in adult communities.  Then we went over to the Gulf Coast, and looked at condos in Sarasota for too many days.  Every time we passed a real estate office, we had to stop and look at the listings in the window.  And since I had the computer with us, we spent hour after hour looking for property online.  So it was inevitable that we’d end up doing the same thing here in St. Petersburg.  While I find a lot that I like in St. Pete, I don’t know if I’m ready to give up a D.C. area residence, at least not yet.  It’s true that Elliott could be more active and independent if we lived in downtown St. Pete.  The winter weather wouldn’t keep him trapped indoors and he’d be able to walk a lot instead of depending on others for transportation.

While we were out last Saturday morning, we struck up a conversation with a couple exiting one of the high-rises on Beach Drive.  Elliott mentioned that he was curious about downtown residential buildings and she just happened to be a real estate broker.  Prophetic?  Perhaps.  She showed us a few condos today that were very attractive in terms of size and location.  The buildings had plenty of amenities, such as a pool, a fitness center, etc.  To be honest, it sounds quite tempting.  But it would have to be our year-round residence.  The more I think about being a snowbird, the less I like that idea.  I need one home base, not two. 

We took a break from real estate shopping after lunch.  Elliott napped and I decided to check out the closest beach.  Spa Beach is in a true downtown location, just off the extension of 2^nd Avenue North, leading to the pier.  It’s small, but it’s definitely a beach.  It has sand, palm trees, and little wavelets that make a gentle but insistent statement as they lap the shore.  If you were so inclined, you could come down here at dawn and watch the sun rise over the waters of Tampa Bay.  A dog and its owner frolicked at the water’s edge.  A few benches were occupied, but otherwise, the beach and the adjacent park were deserted.  A local gentleman, sitting at a picnic table and chomping on a cigar, assured me that, come summer, the beach would be packed.  Under a threatening sky (a front is moving in), I sifted through the sand for miniature shells.  If you have keen eyes, you’ll be rewarded with some perfect gems. 

Late in the afternoon, we looked at one more condo in a bayfront high-rise.  Like the ones we saw earlier in the day, this one had amenities galore.  We’ll certainly have a lot to mull over once we get back home. 

We strolled down to the St. Pete Brasserie for an excellent dinner (snapper for me, rack of lamb for Elliott, a shared apple-cranberry tart), then capped it off with chocolate covered marzipan back at the Ponce.  

Ready to return

 

Wednesday, February 22, 2012 – Ready to Return

When the simple act of choosing a restaurant for dinner seems like an unwelcome burden, it’s time for the vacation to end.  Yes, we’ve arrived at that point.  Last night, my solution to the restaurant issue was to bring in a croissant for Elliott (that’s all he requested) and some take-out salads from a vegetarian restaurant for myself.  As I struggled with the plastic fork, I couldn't help thinking that the salads I make are better. 

This morning, as usual, I poured Cheerios into bowls, counted out the vitamins, and started the coffee.  I’m sitting here in my St. Pete hotel room, listening to a weather report for sunshine and mid-70s – and thinking about getting back to my steaming oatmeal, my fitness center, my daily yoga practice, my radio station, my friends, my school, and more. 

And here’s something ironic.  One of the greatest thrills of retirement was not having to get up at 5 in the morning.  But for the last few weeks, I’ve been getting up at 5 again.  It’s because Elliott gets up then to take the medications that control his pain.  He turns on the light, and I immediately wake up.   When we get home, he’ll try to shift the every-8-hour schedule slightly so that we can sleep until 6, a much more civilized time to start the day. 

Beach Time and Chihuly

 

Tuesday, February 21, 2012 – Beach Time and Chihuly

I wouldn’t call myself a beach person.  I’ve never enjoyed lying out on the sand, baking in the sun.  But I do like to walk on the beach, to feel the ocean breeze, to pick up shells, and to listen to the waves.  I definitely was not going to go back to Virginia without seeing a few of the Gulf Coast beaches, and we only have a few more days before we leave.  So this morning, we set out for the beach.  All we had to do was drive west on Central Boulevard, cross over the Treasure Island Causeway, and go straight ahead to Gulf Boulevard.  Then we drove a couple of miles north to John’s Pass, where we met up with Agnes and Roy.  While Elliott and Roy sat on benches on the boardwalk, Agnes and I had a good 40 minutes of traipsing through the sand.  Along the way, we saw very few people but lots of little shells, bigger shells, and – surprise – sponges!  I picked up a couple of the sponges as souvenirs.  

After lunch at Bubba Gump’s (of Forrest Gump fame), Elliott and I continued our beach exploration on our own.  We drove south so we could get a look at the Treasure Island beaches.  This time, I actually took my shoes off and walked barefoot through the sand, which was pale and slightly coarse.  I couldn’t help feeling a miniscule drop of disappointment when I thought back to the powder-soft sands of Siesta Key near Sarasota.  But the beach at Treasure Island was wide and nearly deserted.  It was the perfect setting for the ritual of immersing myself in the surf (at least up to my ankles).  I performed the ritual one more time at the Pass-A-Grille Beach, a little further south.  And that’s the extent of my beach experience.  

Now that I’m counting down our remaining days in St. Pete, I’m trying to fit in a few final activities.  This afternoon, while Elliott napped, was a good opportunity for me to visit the Chihuly Collection.  I remember seeing photos of Chihuly glass displayed outdoors in Venice.  I’ve even seen the glass flowers that decorate the ceiling of the Bellagio Hotel in Las Vegas, but I wasn’t very well informed about his work.  It was quite exciting to see the collection here in St. Petersburg.  The pieces aren’t displayed in isolation but are assembled into integrated compositions that include careful lighting.  Given what I know now about glass blowing from my earlier visit to the Hot Shop, I am in awe of the scale of the works.  No wonder it took a dozen people or more to produce some of the larger pieces.  The series I liked best was called “Floats.”  In the installation “Float Boat,” a wooden rowboat is filled to overflowing with large round globes of glass, in all color combinations.  Unfortunately, words can’t really do it justice, and photography wasn’t allowed, but you can find some images online.  

Gulf Coast Exploration

 

February 20, 2012 – Gulf Coast Exploration

On Monday we were back in tourist mode.  Our destinations – Tarpon Springs, then Dunedin, both north of Clearwater on the Gulf coast.  We started out on Route 19 again – ugh.  Without any major missteps, we arrived in Tarpon Springs around 11 in the morning.  Roy had advised us to head for the sponge docks, and that’s where we began our exploration of the town.  At one time, sponge diving was the major industry in Florida, according to the map we picked up in the visitor information center.  The Greek influence, a legacy of early Greek immigrants who founded the town, is apparent everywhere.  On Dodecanese Boulevard, we stumbled into the massive sponge emporium that calls itself Spongeorama.  Sponges of all shapes and sizes, loofahs, olive oil soaps and lotions were crammed into bins and baskets.  Feeling a bit claustrophobic, we decided not to stay for the video on sponge diving and rushed through the narrow and crowded aisles back into the sunshine.  

I was feeling hungry, so when we spied the Mykonos Restaurant on the corner of Athens Street, we went right in.  It’s a good thing we got there early and claimed a booth by the windows.  Within 20 minutes, the place was packed with the lunch crowd.  Our appetizer, char-grilled kalamari, was so generous that it filled a large dinner-size plate.  I was also hoping to tempt Elliott with a bowl of avgolemono soup (egg-lemon chicken soup) and a spanokopita (spinach pie), but he claimed he was full.  The spinach pie had the flakiest phyllo wrapping.  It crackled when I cut into it and the filling was a wonderful balance of perfectly seasoned spinach and cheese.  I even bent one of my “rules” and ate half of the bowl of soup.  The lemony chicken broth was thickened with egg yolks and studded with orzo.  I ended up eating about half of it although I don’t generally eat chicken.  (I generally avoid eating meat and poultry, but my dietary rules are not rigid.  The only absolute rule I follow is only to eat food that tastes good.)  There’s something about Greek food that I find very appealing.  Perhaps it’s the simple honesty of it.  Think really fresh food, cooked with care and presented without distracting embellishment.  At less than $25, our Greek feast was a true bargain.  

Back outside, we opted to skip a boat trip to see a sponge diving exhibition.  However, there’s no way to avoid sponges in Tarpon Springs.  Continuing down Dodecanese Boulevard, we were barraged by sponges – well, actually, by shops selling sponges and a variety of touristy souvenirs.  Even the Sponge Exchange is no longer a site where divers come to sell their wares.  Today, it’s a mini-mall catering exclusively to tourists.  About halfway down the main street, I turned to Elliott and said, “Once you’ve seen one sponge shop, you’ve seen them all.”   He concurred, so we spun around and headed back to the car (without any sponges, by the way). 

Using the map from the Tarpon Springs visitor center, I navigated us to Dunedin sans GPS.  Dunedin, located about 10 miles south of Tarpon Springs, prides itself on its Scottish heritage.  There’s a small downtown area (Main Street and Broadway) where we found lots of shops selling stuff.  I wasn’t in the mood to look at more stuff I had no interest in buying.  We walked down Main Street to the marina and the pier - smaller, of course, than St. Pete’s, but quite lovely.  After a short break for ice cream (Elliott) and iced coffee (me), we decided we’d had enough of playing tourist for one day.  

My brain was feeling a little weary, so I thought I’d rely on modern technology to direct us back to the Ponce.  Unfortunately, when we plugged in the GPS, it complained that its battery was feeling low, and the screen turned black a few moments later.  Maybe it’s not fair to blame poor old Garmin.  It could very well be the fault of the geezermobile’s aged cigarette lighter, which is supposed to provide the power for the device.  In any case, I had to rely on my inner navigational abilities, plus frequent glances at the folded up map from the visitors center.  Not only was the drive back on Alt. 19 a navigational challenge, it was also an assault on our aesthetic sensibilities.  It seems that to get from Interesting Point A to Interesting Point B in Florida, you are required to drive through miles and miles of unmitigated ugliness.  I suppose if I were to be completely honest, I’d acknowledge that it’s much the same back in Northern Virginia, with the addition of hills, winding roads, and more cars.  However, since I live there, I don’t see it as an outsider might. 

Anyway, we pulled into our regular parking place on Beach Drive late in the afternoon.  The full day excursion left both of us pretty exhausted.  I’m happy to stay in and eat some of those leftovers sitting in our refrigerator for dinner.   How many more days until I’ll be back in my own kitchen?

Sunday with Friends and Family

February 19, 2012 – Sunday with Friends and Family

Sunday morning, and the sun greets, triumphantly announcing a new day.  It’s hard to imagine that next Sunday morning, we’ll be awakening in our own bed for the first time in three weeks.  

I took a little break from being a tourist on Sunday.  Instead, Elliott and I spent the day with friends and family.  We had a chance to visit Bob and Carol at their home in the Old Southeast section of St. Petersburg, a residential area about two miles south of Central Avenue.  Their large industrial building is an enormous space that they’ve divided into a shared studio (1^st floor) and living quarters (2^nd floor).  We also met their two caramel colored dogs.  After a wonderful brunch that Carol prepared (and some goodies we brought from the Cassis bakery), they took us on a driving tour of St. Petersburg’s more interesting neighborhoods.  Not far from Bob and Carol’s, we marveled at the sculptural forms of a sprawling banyan tree.  In nearby Driftwood, we drove slowly past lovely houses hovering under a mystical forest of hulking live oaks.  (Educational note:  live oaks are not the opposite of dead oaks.  They are a particular kind of oak tree found in the Southeast.)  Then we drove north through the downtown area and crossed over to Snell Isle to see the impressive mansions of St. Pete’s upper crust.  The highlight of the day, however, was seeing the collaborative art work that Carol and Bob have created.  Go to their website and check out the latest series on water. 

In the late afternoon, we met up with Elliott’s nephew, Bill, his wife Sharon and their 11- year old daughter Katie.  They drove down from Trinity, a little further north on the Gulf coast.  After a walk down the pier, we watched the pelicans diving for their dinner before we went up inside the inverted pyramid and dined in the Columbia Restaurant.  This is a well-known Spanish restaurant with a history of nearly 100 years in Florida.  We sat at a table overlooking the bay, shared tapas and Gulf seafood, and watched as daylight faded into darkness.  

Market Day in St. Pete

 

Saturday, February 18, 2012 – Market Day in St. Petersburg

St. Pete prides itself on its year-round sunshine.  Shortly before 7 this morning, I glimpsed some light peeking around the shade at the eastern window.  Optimistically, I pushed the shade aside and was surprised to see the sky still gray.  I shouldn’t complain, though.  All those lovely palm and banyan trees and tropical flowers need some water.  Otherwise, it would look like a desert here. 

Today is Saturday, and that means the Saturday Market, a major St. Petersburg event held weekly from October through April.  All the locals have raved about it, and we’re going, no matter what the weather is.  The top floors of the high-rise condos were still shrouded in morning mist, but the sun was struggling mightily to break through the clouds when we made our way down First Street shortly before 10 a.m.  We followed the crowds two short blocks to the parking lot of the Al Lang Stadium, pausing briefly to allow a swarm of bicyclists in official-looking jerseys and helmets to swing around the corner.   

 We could actually hear and smell the marketplace before we set foot on the grounds of the parking lot.  The market had been underway for about an hour and it was already jammed.  Elliott was pushing Winnie (his walker), and we had to weave our way past giant dogs on leashes, babies in strollers, and pedestrians of every description.  There appeared to be several members of the yachting community present (judging from their tee-shirts).  In fact, one of the hotel guests mentioned that there’s some kind of regatta this weekend.  I guess that explains all the beer we’ve been seeing.  

There was the usual assortment of produce, food, and crafts, plus live entertainment.  Some of the more unusual offerings included eucalyptus oil (for pain relief), pickles, pet treats, and beautiful cedar furniture.  You could get a massage right there in the market, for a dollar per minute.  I almost bought a colorful patchwork and appliquéd shirt from Nepal – or was it Tibet?  It was really hard to walk past Pappardelle’s forty varieties of pasta without getting a couple of pounds to bring home.  It seemed like everything imaginable was available in the market.   Want a shot of wheat grass?  A plumeria to plant in your garden?  You’ve come to the right place!  Much to Elliott’s relief, I didn’t make any purchases – that is, until we got to the food vendors.  This section of the marketplace was a mouthwatering mélange of aromas.  Whatever your culinary desire, you’d be able to satisfy it here:  from knishes to crepes to Cuban sandwiches.  Taste of Ethiopia rubbed shoulders with the Belgian Waffle stand and Curry in a Hurry.  I tried a tasty sample of African Groundnut Stew at Spice Routes, and looked longingly at the South American arepas.  In fact, the sheer number of choices created a dilemma.  There was no way I could possibly eat everything I wanted to try.  After making a thorough tour of the area, I worked my way back to Empanada World.  It wasn’t just an ordinary empanada I bought.  This one was stuffed with spinach, artichokes, and hearts of palm.  Meanwhile, Elliott got into the line at the creperie.  We were lucky enough to find a table and two empty chairs so we could sit down to enjoy our morning snack.  The empanada was delicious, and sweet Elliott shared his luscious strawberry jam filled crepe with me.  

We needed a break from the market if we were to recover our appetites, so we retreated a couple of blocks to Kahwa Coffee Roasters.  It was easy to pass an hour sipping a latte and reading my Kindle.  By then, it was past noontime, the sky was blue overhead, and I could justify going back to the market for lunch.  I gladly stood for several minutes in the sunshine while I waited for my midday Thai feast:  A tingling red curry spiced stir-fry of tofu and green beans, accompanied by grilled eggplant, brown Jasmine rice, and cucumber salad.  I’m glad, however, that I brought it back and consumed it in the comfort of our hotel room, where a box of tissues was close at hand.   

 

I took advantage of Elliott’s afternoon rest time to visit the nearby Morean Arts Center, Glass Studio, and Hot Shop.  The downtown arts center displays work of local artists in a large gallery and offers classes and workshops in various media for adults and children.  I was especially interested in seeing the adjacent Glass Studio and its Hot Shop where glass artists give demonstrations on a regular schedule.  Even the powerful fans couldn’t keep the temperature cool in the aptly named Hot Shop.  I was sweating as I sat on the bleachers and watched two glass artisans work non-stop for over half an hour to create a single blown glass vase.  Now I understand why hand-blown glass objects are so costly.  I wasn’t in the market for glass art, but it was interesting to see the pieces that were for sale.  Most were blown glass items, and many looked Chihuly-inspired.  Only a few of the pieces were fused and slumped glass similar to the two pieces I made when I took a workshop at the Workhouse Arts Center in Lorton last year. 

I tried to walk in the shade when I left the arts center since it honestly felt like summer.  On the way back, I remembered to stop by the Schakolad Chocolate Factory on Central Avenue.  From the handmade treats in their display case, I chose a dark chocolate raspberry truffle, a dark chocolate mocha truffle, a dark chocolate hazelnut truffle, a dark chocolate covered marzipan, and a dark chocolate covered Graham cracker – all as a surprise for Elliott.  Mmmmm.   I didn’t want the chocolate to melt, so I hurried back to the hotel.  

By the time we went out in search of dinner, the sun was low, the temperatures had dipped, and there was a light, cooling breeze.  With the long weekend and the regatta going on, there were plenty of people walking around and lots of cars on the streets.  I led Elliott up Central Avenue to a Greek taverna I’d noticed earlier in the day.  It was so noisy inside the restaurant that we decided to dine al fresco.  We could still hear the Greek music, but we could also carry on a conversation.  We started off with an order of taramasalata and pita.  I adore the delicate pink color and creamy, silky texture of the fish roe spread.   After that, I could barely eat half of my blackened mahi-mahi with roasted red peppers, orzo with feta, and grilled vegetables.  About halfway through our meal, the music abruptly changed.  Right away, I recognized the rhythm that accompanies belly dancing.  (I took a few belly dancing classes in my younger days.)  Sure enough, a belly dancer was swiveling her way through the packed restaurant, and several patrons had joined in.  She even brought her performance out onto the sidewalk just as we were leaving.  

On our way back to the hotel, for the first time, we noticed a real city vibe.  The tall buildings were beautifully illuminated against the night sky, and there was a certain energy in the air.  It wasn’t quite Times Square, but St. Pete was clearly in a festive mood – colorful neon lights, music and laughter spilling out of bars and restaurants, crowded sidewalks.  As far as dress goes, it ranged from ultra-casual (shorts and tee-shirts) to formal attire.  A few people actually looked like escapees from a wedding reception.  We may have trouble getting to sleep tonight with all the revelry going on outside, but it’s fun to be part of it. 

Friday, I think

 

February 17, 2012 – Friday, I think.  

It’s one of those rare gray mornings in St. Petersburg.  But we’re not going to let the overcast skies and forecast for showers dampen our spirits.  This morning, we’re off to the Museum of Fine Arts.  The current special exhibition is Ancient Egypt: Art and Magic, and that’s where we begin.  We tagged along for a little while on a docent-led tour before we took off on our own.  The docent remarked on the power of words, both written and spoken, in ancient Egyptian culture.  Words had a magical power.  For example, the Egyptians believed that by saying the name of the deceased, they ensured that the deceased person would continue to live on in the afterlife.  I immediately thought of saying the name of a departed loved one when reciting Kaddish on the anniversary of the person’s death. 

Most of the works we saw in the exhibit were made of stone, primarily alabaster.  The Egyptians chose stone for their art because of its permanence.  Since alabaster was white, and white was associated with purity, alabaster was the most desirable type of stone.  Priests played a role in the quarrying of alabaster, which was a religiously sanctioned activity.  We also saw objects made of other materials, such as granite, bronze and wood. The chubby-faced red granite bust of Ramses II reminded me of the Passover story.  And I re-learned something I’d probably first learned years ago in one of my undergraduate classes, namely that bronze is an alloy of copper and tin.  One of the most imposing objects on display was a wooden sarcophagus lid.  It towered over all the other objects in the gallery.  Probably what I’ll remember most was a papyrus scroll, over 2000 years old, with a drawing of the scene called the Weighing of the Heart (spell #125) from the Book of the Dead.  The accompanying panel referred to the “negative confession” made by the deceased.  Check it out - it's fascinating.  And here’s a final factoid from the exhibit that I’d like to pass along:  the ancient Egyptian word for cat is “miu.” 

Of course, the MFA has a permanent collection, as well.  We wandered through the rooms and came across several familiar names.  Among the late 20^th century American works displayed were paintings by Gene Davis and Leon Berkowitz, two artists Elliott knew in Washington, DC.  Georgia O’Keeffe was represented by three works, including the beautiful Poppies from 1927.   In the room devoted to European 19^th and 20^th century European art, we saw paintings by Monet, Renoir, Cezanne, and Gauguin.  There was an especially lovely Berthe Morisot painting of a woman reading.  We walked a little more quickly through the galleries of earlier European and American painting, Asian art, Pre-Columbian art, and decorative arts because Elliott was beginning to tire.  He took a rest break while I perused the excellent museum shop and stocked up on gift items.  A quick stop at the Cassis bakery for coffee and brioche helped revive Elliott.  

We were scheduled to get together with an old friend of Elliott’s for a late lunch.  When I say old, I mean Bob and Elliott last saw each other in 1980 when both were part of a visiting artists program in Bulgaria.  Bob and his wife, Carol, met us at the tiny tapas restaurant Pincho y Pincho, the sister restaurant of Ceviche.  For over two hours, Elliott and Bob reminisced and related stories from the past 30-plus years.  By that time, the rain was coming down pretty steadily.  A rainy day seems to call for soup, and the menu offered both the black bean variety and a hearty garbanzo bean soup.  We tried both.  In addition, Elliott and I shared a few tapas:  huevos rellenos (stuffed eggs), grilled jumbo asparagus, and a wonderful sautéed spinach dish with sliced figs, honey, and caramelized onions.  

The rainy afternoon continues.  Elliott’s reading now.  On this trip, he’s become addicted to his Kindle.  But every so often, he accidentally touches something and loses his place.  Then he gets upset and calls for me to come and fix it.  I wish his Kindle had a big UNDO key he could press.  It’s movie time (thanks to Netflix) for me.  Inspired by today’s visit to the museum, I chose Linnea in Monet’s Garden.  Next trip – Giverny? 

And speaking of trips – I just realized that today marks the midpoint of our sojourn in St. Petersburg.  In one week, we’ll be on the auto train again, heading up north to Virginia.