Bloggin' On: More Odds and Ends

A view of East Wind Lake, a man-made lake at the center of the condominium where I lived from February 1978 to April 2016.  Looking to the south on a midsummer afternoon circa 2013. Note the cumulonimbus cloud forming in the background. (Photo by the author.)

Hello again and welcome to another edition of Bloggin' On, a recurring feature in A Certain Point of View where I step out of my usual review of product reviewer or budding screenwriter and just talk about "stuff."

Don't get me wrong; I love writing reviews about music albums, books, movies (especially movies!), and the occasional computer game, but there are days when I wake up in the morning and I don't feel like doing the "same old, same old." Today, apparently, is one of those days.

It's almost 3 PM in my corner of the Sunshine State; outside, the temperature is 88℉ (31℃) under partly sunny skies; with humidity at 63%, the "feels-like" temperature is 98℉ (36℃). It's warmer than it should be on Halloween; this heat feels like it's late August or early September rather than the last day of October.

Not so long ago, I used to go for walks around East Wind Lake Village, the condominium in which I lived from February 1978 till I left Miami in April of 2016. From May of 2010 to July 19, 2015, I'd wait till around four or five in the afternoon to go on my constitutional, for that is when my mother's home health aide, Margarita, would arrive at our house. During South Florida's wet season (May to November), I preferred to go out after five because the sun was coming down and the heat of the day was also coming down. In the drier and cooler months, of course, I'd leave the house as early as I could; being cooped up all day with an elderly parent who suffered from various elements was difficult, tiring, and depressing.

Another view of the lake, this time looking east from the far side of the lake (relative to my old house). I used to live on Fifth Terrace, which lies somewhere behind the townhouses in the center of the photo. (Author's photo.)

Most of the time, I'd just walk around East Wind Lake's central block, which consisted of a ring of townhouses along NW 97th Place (on the east side of the eponymous man-made lake) and NW 98th Court (on the western side) clustered around the body of water from which the Village gets its name.  One circuit around the "block" usually took me 12 minutes if I walked at a fast pace, longer if I stopped to talk with one or more of our neighbors.

Satellite view of East Wind Lake Village, as seen on Google Maps. There is, of course, no restaurant called "Vaca Frita" (Fried Cow) in the middle of the lake. (Google Maps)

If the weather was pleasant enough and I knew Mom was in good hands (and if my older half-sister was not there), I'd grab one of my many books and go to one of the two pools and read while reclining on a deck chair.

A view of the "Big Pool" on the west side of East Wind Lake. I snapped this shot on my first smartphone on June 26, 2014, a year before my mother died. (Photo Credit: Alex Diaz-Granados/own work)  

I also got into the habit of snapping pictures of the neighborhood with my smartphone's camera. I did it because I thought I might someday need a visual record of my time as a caregiver; little did I know that only a few years later I'd be gone, living in another town and in another part of Florida.

The funny thing is that while I consider myself lucky to be where I am and with the family that literally scooped me up and took me in, there are times when I feel...I don't know...sad.

Sad because I have a half-sibling whose actions and words have caused me a lot of grief over the years, even before our mother died.

Sad because I miss the neighborhood where I lived for most of my life (38 years!), even though I admit that I don't exactly miss my former townhouse or dealing with the Homeowners' Association (HOA).

Sad because I am so dependent on others here, even though I am extremely grateful that I have people who care about me more than my closest blood relative.

This, too, shall pass. Life will go on, and even though I'll always miss some aspects of my old life, I will adapt.