Mar 17: Tampa.

It’s St. Patrick’s Day and we pulled into none-more-Irish-than-Tampa-Florida around noon local time. Due to the enthusiasm North America shows for daylight savings, we’re now four hours behind the UK and Ireland; Elaine and the kids are visiting Downpatrick, and so is my mum. I shall repeat, for juxtapositional effect: I’m in Tampa. I haven’t had a drink since February 20 and I would kill all of you for an Aspall cyder (or Magner’s pear) but I shall remain on a self-imposed wagon until I get home at the very end of April. By then instead of a beer belly I will have a cookie belly.

I won’t lie, and I’m not afraid to report, there’s not much other than writing fiction for me today. It’s a travel/off day, but we’ll be back to work tomorrow in the David A. Straz Jr. Center.

For a particular couple in our midst, it’s an anniversary: happy 365 days of marryage to Dan and Charley. Charley will be ecstatic to know that Dan is closing in on me; the zombie tally stands at:
7,824 me
7,680 Dan
Only 144 walking, running, and crawling dead separate the titans.

In the meantime, I’d like to share with you a photo of what I’ll be mostly doing today. I call it ‘Fleur d’Magnifik’; that’s Swazi-French for Triumphant Butterfly of the night lilies in June specifically when it rains softly in the shadow of the dumpsters behind Dairy Queen.


When the iron comes out, it’s a slow day.


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3 Responses to Mar 17: Tampa.

  1. I remember someone on Oprah talking about how he and his brother lay down in the grave they dug for their father and looked up at the sky from that vantage point. That is what this shot reminds me of. Anything to postpone ironing.

  2. Eureka! I just figured out what your picture is saying: “I’m ‘prone’ to agree with you.”

    • Leif says:

      Haha, yes, one feels slightly alien, ‘going for a walk’ in Florida. With no car, I must, by definition, be a car thief.

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