Okay---I think it's time we got a new groundhog. The one we have now is obviously not doing his research---or he's too old---or maybe he's just lost his enthusiasm for the job----whatever. He needs to move on. Boy did he ever get it wrong! This has been the coldest spring break I can remember. Here in the Sunshine State, we have only had two days of warm weather this whole week. The rest of the time, it has barely gotten above 50 degrees-----in Florida, that's the same thing as freezing.
It's no fun being house-bound now that Carolina is out of the NCAA tournament. I'm still keeping an eye on Duke---and I would really like for them to win the whole thing because I always want a team from North Carolina to bring home the national championship title. Nevertheless, the games are fewer and fewer now, spring break is rapidly slipping away, and the temperature has just today started to warm up to where it should be.
It was so windy last Saturday, my neighbor's American flag flew away, along with an Uncle Sam plaque he had attached to the wall underneath the flagstaff. I'm telling you, if it wasn't nailed down last Saturday, it was gone. And after hearing the weather forecast for the coming week, I could see all my plans for spring break blowing away, too, just like that flag. They were predicting a good day on Monday---but the rest of the week would be "unseasonably cold" until Friday afternoon, when they thought it looked like we might be coming into a warming trend.
I flipped on TCM and, wouldn't you know it, my absolute favorite spring break movie was playing---"Where the Boys Are." I know the storyline is considered outdated and silly by today's standards, but I miss those days---it seemed like people had more respect for themselves---reputation was valued---your word was your bond---and it was dishonorable to break it---a commitment was not meant to be taken lightly or to be considered "temporary"---and a commitment was not just to the one you were in love with---it was also a commitment to your parents, to be the person they had raised you to be---a commitment to finishing college and taking a productive role in society. In those days, it seemed like we all had expectations of "being somebody." I guess every generation feels that the one that follows theirs is less principled, much more lax and overindulgent, and will surely be the ruination of the planet. Hmmmmm---now that I think about it, it seems like I've heard my depression-era parents say something along similar lines on a number of occasions as we were growing up in the 50s and 60s.
Anyway, one of the best things about "Where the Boys Are" is the theme song. I love the way the intro of the song builds musically, in a stair-step kind of way---to where, when you get to the very top of the stairs, the incredible, dynamic voice of Connie Francis overwhelms you and envelopes you and draws you in to a melody and lyrics that are both plaintive, yet joyously hopeful---and also, trusting--believing that true love will happen---because, in the end, that's the way it's supposed to be. It's a great song---and there's no point in anyone else recording it, because nobody could sing it like Connie Francis. In fact, if I could pick anybody in the whole world to sing like, it would be Connie Francis. My gosh, what a voice!
The second best thing about "Where the Boys Are" is the clothes. The clothing of the 50s and 60s is so neat! To this day, I love watching Audrey Hepburn, Grace Kelly, and Doris Day movies just for the clothes! "Where the Boys Are" has the same appeal. I love the crinolines that made your skirt float around you like a cloud---Bermuda shorts---shell tops---ballet flats---shirtwaist dresses---crisp oxford blouses with Peter Pan collars---dress suits with pencil skirts and boxy jackets that had three-quarter sleeves---dress gloves---coordinating handbags---pillbox hats---and dress shoes with a moderate heel, suitable for walking. In the movie you can see that, in those days, there was an etiquette for dressing---depending on the time of day it was and where you were going. If you're into vintage clothing, you'll enjoy "Where the Boys Are." It's a history lesson in fashion.Anyway, seeing the movie just put me in the mood to go to the beach---and by Monday morning, I figured, if I was going, I'd better go on that day because the rest of the week did not look good. The closest beach to me is Melbourne Beach. I had heard that it was a real nice family beach. I checked it out on the internet---driving directions and places to eat when I got there---and decided to go for it. My friend Ana is pretty spontaneous---I thought she might want to go, too---plus she lives in St. Cloud, about an hour away from me, and would have plenty of time to get ready before I got there. I called her and asked her if she was up for a road trip and she said, "Absolutely!" She said that the beach was a straight shot from her house, 45 minutes down the road. I plugged her address into my GPS, pointed the Cruiser toward St. Cloud, and an hour later, picked her up---and 5 minutes after that, we were on our way.
It's open highway all the way from St. Cloud to Melbourne---topography that is as flat as a pancake---nothing but lush pastureland, palm trees, and live oaks for about 60 miles. It really is a beautiful, peaceful drive---the perfect atmosphere for conversation. Since teachers rarely have the opportunity to socialize during school hours, and after school time is usually spent preparing for the next day, Ana and I took advantage of the situation and caught up on all the gossip. The time flew by and the next thing we knew, we had arrived at the town of Melbourne.
The day had warmed up nicely. The sky was clear as a bell, cloudless, and brilliantly Carolina blue (for you folks who don't know, the sky is Carolina blue even when you're in Florida). At the stoplight before crossing the bridge over the intercoastal waterway, I put the top down on the Cruiser and we started looking for a place to eat lunch. Since we were at the coast, we wanted to eat seafood. I had seen the Beachside Cafe on the internet. It looked interesting, very beachy, with grass tikki umbrellas out front to sit under. But when we found it, it was closed on Mondays. Ana looked in the window and said she didn't want to eat there anyway because it didn't look clean. By this time, we were really getting hungry---and we didn't want pizza or fast food, which was all we could see from where we were. There was a fish taco place in a strip mall across the street, but it didn't have the atmosphere we were looking for---we wanted not only good food, but a we're-having-lunch-at-the-beach-dining experience, also. Next door to the Beachside Cafe was The Black Dog Bait and Tackle Shop.
I said, "That place looks like it's been here a while. I bet somebody in there knows where there's a good place to get some seafood around here." The place had a little bit of a fishy-smell. The ceilings were low and it was kind of dark. Every inch of available space, walls, countertops, and rafters, was covered in fishing merchandise. I never realized there were so many different ways you could catch a fish. This place seem to have anything you could possibly need to entice even the most discriminating and persnickety of fish. A tall man was at the counter, talking to a younger man who was in the back, digging in an old, galvanized drink box cooler.
The tall man looked like somebody who might be going fishing, so I asked him if he was getting bait. He shook his head and said no---and about that time, the young man raised up from the drink box with a pan full of beautiful, fat, fresh shrimp. They were perfectly pink---so, I'm thinking they might have been cooked already and had been kept on ice. While he was wrapping the shrimp in freezer paper, I asked the young man if he could recommend a good place to eat seafood around here. He grinned and said there was no such place in Melbourne Beach. I knew he was pulling my leg---and I said, "Oh, come on, now---were at the beach---there's bound to be a good seafood place somewhere close by." He thought at minute---the tall man suggested the Hilton---I said no hotel food---then the young man said, "Are you wanting 'white-tablecloth' or 'beach-food?'" I said, "beach-food." He told us to try Sand on the Beach, just around the corner, on the left, we couldn't miss it.
Since the Beachside Cafe was closed, we decided to leave the Cruiser parked where it was and walk---it was such a lovely day and the boy said it wasn't far. Almost immediately, we could smell charcoal-cooking coming from somewhere, and that made us hungrier than ever. We followed the directions the boy gave us, but we didn't see Sand on the Beach anywhere. We decided we couldn't wander around much longer---neither of us had eaten since early that morning and it was already going on two o'clock---we were hungry---and Sand on the Beach, as delightful as it sounded, might have to be saved for another time. Across the street was a pink building that advertised a bikini bar, breakfast, lunch, and dinner. We thought, what the heck.....why not....
It turned out it was Sand on the Beach! And the charcoal smell was really wood chips burning, coming from a meat smoker in front of the restaurant. It's an open-air place---you can sit at the bar or out on the covered deck. There were a lot of people there, but the waitress quickly found us a table close enough to look out at the ocean, but far enough back to be out of the breeze. Sixties music was playing in the background with a little K.C. and the Sunshine Band (Florida's own) thrown in the mix every third or fourth song. The setting was perfect---exactly what we were hoping for.
The menu offered a variety of seafood selections, reasonably priced---I think the most expensive item was something like $14.95. I wanted some kind of fish sandwich, but when I saw they had a crab cake sandwich, I thought, ummmm, that sounds good. I asked the waitress if it was a Mrs. Paul's-type of crab cake---she assured me that it was real crabmeat and they made them up, fresh, there on the premises. It came with a remoulade sauce that I didn't particularly want. I told her that I had tasted that before and I was pretty sure that I didn't like it that much---that I would prefer tartar sauce if it was available. She said it was, and that she would bring some tartar sauce and that she would also bring some remoulade sauce "on the side" so I could try it again if I wanted to. That sounded good to me, so I ordered the crab cake sandwich, fries, and coffee---Ana got the same.
Oh my gosh, it was so good---I had to take a bite before I could even take a picture of it!
Ana and Margaret chowin' down at Sand on the Beach in Melbourne Beach, Florida
The restaurant has a staircase from the deck down to the waterfront. From that vantage point, you can see the pristine, white, sandy beach stretching for miles in either direction---and, closer to the shoreline, I couldn't help noticing that this same Atlantic Ocean that has a gray color to it at the North Carolina coast, was a lovely, inviting blue-green hue here in Florida.
We didn't get in the water---it was still a little too cool for us to be that adventuresome---although there were a few kids there brave enough to give it a go. Instead, we sat down at one of the umbrella picnic tables---and after shivering through the last couple of cold days, it felt so wonderful just sitting there in the shade and burying my bare feet in the warm sand.
Since we were this close, I wanted to drive out to Cape Canaveral, which is about 20 miles north on the beach highway. We needed to check it out because, once our school gets a little more established, hopefully, we can go on a field trip to the Kennedy Space Center. So we took one last picture, jumped in the Cruiser, and headed for the launch pad. On the drive up to the cape, you will pass through Cocoa Beach, which appeared to me to be much more touristy than Melbourne Beach---lots of souvenir shops.
We tried to stop at the Ron Jon Surf Shop, but it was to hard to park, so we gave up.
Driving through Cocoa Beach, Ana and I recollected that this was where Captain Nelson and Jeannie lived on the I Dream Jeannie TV show that was so popular back in the 60s. Turns out they've even named a street after the show.
Before you get to the NASA Space Center, you'll pass the Port of Canaveral where all the cruise ships depart.
This is where the roads got a little crazy---there were a whole lot of interchanges going to the ships and other NASA places---in other words, you kinda had to know where you were going---I didn't have the GPS on, so I was just guessing which road to take, checking the compass to make sure I was still going north---and I got on the wrong road. We could see the space center in the distance, but couldn't get there from where we were. We ended up at a place called SpaceX that. according to the sign, is the Air Force Space and Missile Museum.
This was where the road ended for us---to go any further, we would have had to have some kind of pass or security clearance. Besides, it was five o'clock---time to start heading back home. We'd have to save the Kennedy Space Center for another day.
We turned the Cruiser around and drove back south down US 1-A. We caught Co.Rd. 520 out of Cocoa Beach to Nova Road. Nova Road is 26 miles of rural Florida serenity and solitude that goes all the way to St. Cloud---the perfect way to end a splendid day that began in defiance of an incompetent groundhog, nostalgia for a wonderful old movie---and fond memories of youth and other spring breaks now long gone.
Until next time,
Peace and fried chicken........
Margaret
