A bad first night, which seems to be ritual on these solo March vacations. The bed, as usual, is perched so high I could use a stool to climb safely to bed.
Another factor making me miserable was that a couple of days earlier I had come down with a major cold. This never happens to me; I have multiple aches and pains but it's been decades since I got hit with a bad cold. And since I recently read Spillover, by David Quammen, things that don't usually worry me, like germs and viruses, have developed lives of their own in my imagination. So I can not only visualize deadly microscopic bugs flying out of me with every cough or sneeze, but also practically feel my insides turning to masses of jelly-like viruses.
And of course there's my whole aching arthritic body. I strategically saw my g.p. a couple of weeks ago and got a six-day prescription of that miraculous prednisone-like drug that wipes out the aches and pains while doing some other nefarious kind of damage that hasn't yet shown itself. I had been holding off starting the regime, because I can deal with the pain at home, but had a memorably disastrous vacation that entails many, many stairs and so much knee pain that I was unable to walk on the beach. That changed my philosophy of tolerating pain so that I plan my prednisone trips based on when I am away. And coming up this spring we have a Harvard graduation at the end of May and a Champaign, Illinois wedding in June. But enough was enough, and I determined somewhere through that first long night that faux-prednisone started Sunday morning.
Hours after the first a.m. double-shot I was happily pain-free.
The Beach
There were two types of weather predicted for this week: wet and warm-ish and cold and sunny. Violent Saturday night thunderstorms led to a cloudy Sunday, and by the afternoon I was ready to find the beach. With my annoying cold and the threat of more rain, I just opted for walking, no chair and book, no camera. It's a long walk if you're traveling with beach gear, but pleasant enough (about ten minutes) to the beach.
And the beach is beautiful. Wonderful for walking, with hard packed sand, and it had the added advantages of no cars (Daytona Beach). Weather and health permitting, I hoped I could have more beach time this week.
Brigantine Quarters apartments do have water views, but not the kind that warrant the nautical sounding names that overrun the community. I would have thought that the water that runs past the back of my apartment was man-made; for what it's worth, it is a lagoon, which claims to be home to some interesting wildlife.
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| Wildlife, not as interesting as claims: |
I haven't seen an alligator, turtle or even fish yet, but I'm going to stay on it this week. I'm not sure why the fine for feeding an alligator is an even $1,062. No doubt the research showed that at $1,061 the tourists wouldn't be able to resist.
DeMille and Me
When I was in graduate school, there were two young men who would sit front and center of every class and make wisecracks throughout. The professors found them annoying and did their best to ignore them; the student thought they were idiots.
One of them is John Corey, the main character in a series by Nelson DeMille. As with most wits that don't know when to stop, you eventually realize that they are just not that clever, but I have fond memories of Corey's first appearances. As I recall, however, the first couple of books were about half the size of the later ones. It feels as though we are actually with John Corey, for many long days, listening to him interrupt anything anyone has to say with a wisecrack. And DeMille is determined to teach us the long history of the Middle East, so that nearly every other character but Corey is giving a history lesson. Which makes me look forward to Corey's irrelevant interruptions.
In other words, it's much like being there, without the weapons.
The first exciting action scene takes place around page 300. It was nicely done, but then in the next scene one bad guy tells another bad guy in great detail exactly what happened in the action scene. Just so you knew they knew?
Why do I keep reading this guy, you might rightly ask. Well, I like John Corey more than I dislike him. And, like his wife, I shake my head much of the time, but occasionally bust out laughing, because even an idiot says something funny sometimes. This is pretty much the only series by DeMille that I have stuck with, I think hoping that someday we'll get a little more action and a little less history. And a little less wisecracking. The stories are good. The characters are good. The plots are good. I believe that DeMille needs a good editor that has the balls to stand up to him. And I just don't want to miss the John Corey episode where that happens.
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