Yes, it is cold today in Florida…and windy; even the birds are blown about in the impossibly blue sky. If your only sense was sight you’d think it was delightfully warm; the wind-blown palms sparkle in the  sun as if it were 80 degrees out instead of 57.  But at least two hardy souls refuse to believe the evidence of their senses.


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One of the attractions of a beach vacation is adapting yourself to that that strange environment known as a  beach house. As with most other beach houses I have inhabited from New Jersey to Florida, our genial host makes an aggressive attempt to whip us into leisure-time frenzy. There is a sign saying the Tiki lounge ( our kitchen) is serving various tropical drinks. A plastic parrot advises  us to forget about work. An extravagantly  be-hatted girl urges us to be nice or go home. 

 

 

 

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But the predominant theme is Piscean:


 

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Finned creatures of every garish color and shape swim through every room, inhabiting  every depth from floor to ceiling. These are the fish of our dreams – or should I say nightmares? – which bear little resemblance to actual denizens of the deep.

 

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Living in this beach house is like being underwater in a aquarium designed by Walt Disney, an aquarium that for a while strangely smelled of pine-sol.

 

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And if it isn’t fish, it is palm trees -palms on the chairs, on the shower curtains and occasionally on the walls.

 

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But still no match for the real thing…

 

 

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More to come …