On Not Being Dead in Florida

Welcome to Naples, the perfect place to get dialysis and a pina colada. Unlike Clearwater, which is essentially a collection of parking lots, Naples is outright swanky, with art galleries, upscale jewelry stores, and well-meaning bistros. And, of course, it’s full of old people. On the way to the theater a white convertible blew past with three seventy-year old guys grinning in their boating caps and ironed pastel Lacoste shirts. Naples is like college for senior citizens. Everyone is single again, you hang out with your friends all day, and you try not to think too much about your future.

Meanwhile, at our hotel we are approaching cabin fever. Today Mathilda watched the children’s music video I bought for her in Tarpon Springs five times in a row. I got it to help teach her Greek. Her favorite song so far is “Ach, Kounelaki,” the lyrics of which translate to, roughly, “Oh little bunny, oh little bunny, what a beating you’re going to get. Don’t you wrinkle your nose at me! Don’t you twitch your cute fluffy tail! Oh little bunny, oh little bunny, you’re going to eat this piece of wood.”