Depression struck next, when businesses went broke and tourism slowed to a trickle.
By the 1950s, land was selling again, but not to speculators. In a period of sane and responsible growth, shopping centers, housing developments, schools, churches, and condos went up, all intended for families and retirees seeking a pleasant life. Sarasota would not see another overwrought speculator-fueled boom until Myra Kreigle and her cohorts saw the opportunity to cheat people through fraudulent real estate deals. When I thought of what my grandfather would have had to say about Myra Kreigle, I had to grin. He was a man who could be persuaded to suffer fools, but not thieves. More than likely, he and Mr. Stern would have enjoyed each other’s company.
I pulled into Mr. Stern’s driveway that afternoon around the time retirees in Florida start crowding into restaurants for the Early Bird Specials. As I started up the walk, a three-woman cleaning crew came out the front door lugging a vacuum cleaner and a plastic basket holding supplies. The woman carrying the vacuum was young and obese and weeping. The other two were thin and older, and were murmuring comforting words to her. They passed by me with barely a look. I suspected that Mr. Stern had said something that had hurt the crying woman’s feelings.
Ruby opened the door with Opal balanced on her forearm. Mr. Stern stood behind her with Cheddar cradled in his good arm. They seemed to be in the middle of an argument.
Mr. Stern said, “If American GIs had stopped work every time they got upset, we’d all be speaking German.”
Ruby said, “She lost a baby last month. She got upset when she saw Opal.”
As if she understood what her mother had said, Opal’s bottom lip trembled and she wept for a minute. Ruby jiggled her and Opal hushed and closed her eyes. She probably thought it was the only way to stop being jiggled. I forced my arms to stay at my sides and not reach for her.
Mr. Stern said, “How do you know she lost a baby? Did she waste more time telling you about it?”
“I’ll finish the vacuuming, Granddad.”
Mr. Stern snorted and stalked off toward the kitchen. Exasperated, Ruby rolled her eyes and walked toward her bedroom, while Opal’s round eyes stared at me over Ruby’s shoulder.
I followed Mr. Stern to the kitchen where he took a seat at the bar and watched me shake dry food into Cheddar’s bowl.
He said, “Cheddar takes a chicken liver in his dinner. There’s a tub of them in the refrigerator. Don’t heat it. Just put it on top of the food.”
The contrast between the consideration Mr. Stern showed Cheddar and the lack of consideration he showed human beings was striking, but not shocking. Pets bring out the hidden goodness in the most hardened hearts, even if it’s only in tiny amounts.
I dropped a chicken liver in Cheddar’s dish, and Mr. Stern gave a nod of approval. Cheddar jumped on the food and gobbled it up while I washed his water bowl and filled it with fresh water. Mr. Stern’s gaze drifted toward a wine rack at the end of the kitchen counter.
I said, “Hard to use a corkscrew with one hand. Shall I open a bottle of wine for you?”
“A Shiraz would be nice.”
I opened a bottle of wine while Mr. Stern got himself a wineglass. I poured wine in his glass and left the bottle open in case he wanted more. Cheddar had finished his supper and was licking his paws, so I washed Cheddar’s food bowl and dried it while Mr. Stern sipped wine. Of the three occupants of the kitchen, Cheddar was the only one studiously not mentioning Ruby or Opal.
I got my grooming supplies and opened the french doors in the dining room. Cheddar came and stood on the threshold, half in and half out, peering into the garden as if he’d never seen it before.
I scooped him up, closed the door, and sat down in one of the deck chairs by the koi pond. Shorthairs don’t need daily combing, but they enjoy it and it helps keep loose hair from shedding on the
By the 1950s, land was selling again, but not to speculators. In a period of sane and responsible growth, shopping centers, housing developments, schools, churches, and condos went up, all intended for families and retirees seeking a pleasant life. Sarasota would not see another overwrought speculator-fueled boom until Myra Kreigle and her cohorts saw the opportunity to cheat people through fraudulent real estate deals. When I thought of what my grandfather would have had to say about Myra Kreigle, I had to grin. He was a man who could be persuaded to suffer fools, but not thieves. More than likely, he and Mr. Stern would have enjoyed each other’s company.
I pulled into Mr. Stern’s driveway that afternoon around the time retirees in Florida start crowding into restaurants for the Early Bird Specials. As I started up the walk, a three-woman cleaning crew came out the front door lugging a vacuum cleaner and a plastic basket holding supplies. The woman carrying the vacuum was young and obese and weeping. The other two were thin and older, and were murmuring comforting words to her. They passed by me with barely a look. I suspected that Mr. Stern had said something that had hurt the crying woman’s feelings.
Ruby opened the door with Opal balanced on her forearm. Mr. Stern stood behind her with Cheddar cradled in his good arm. They seemed to be in the middle of an argument.
Mr. Stern said, “If American GIs had stopped work every time they got upset, we’d all be speaking German.”
Ruby said, “She lost a baby last month. She got upset when she saw Opal.”
As if she understood what her mother had said, Opal’s bottom lip trembled and she wept for a minute. Ruby jiggled her and Opal hushed and closed her eyes. She probably thought it was the only way to stop being jiggled. I forced my arms to stay at my sides and not reach for her.
Mr. Stern said, “How do you know she lost a baby? Did she waste more time telling you about it?”
“I’ll finish the vacuuming, Granddad.”
Mr. Stern snorted and stalked off toward the kitchen. Exasperated, Ruby rolled her eyes and walked toward her bedroom, while Opal’s round eyes stared at me over Ruby’s shoulder.
I followed Mr. Stern to the kitchen where he took a seat at the bar and watched me shake dry food into Cheddar’s bowl.
He said, “Cheddar takes a chicken liver in his dinner. There’s a tub of them in the refrigerator. Don’t heat it. Just put it on top of the food.”
The contrast between the consideration Mr. Stern showed Cheddar and the lack of consideration he showed human beings was striking, but not shocking. Pets bring out the hidden goodness in the most hardened hearts, even if it’s only in tiny amounts.
I dropped a chicken liver in Cheddar’s dish, and Mr. Stern gave a nod of approval. Cheddar jumped on the food and gobbled it up while I washed his water bowl and filled it with fresh water. Mr. Stern’s gaze drifted toward a wine rack at the end of the kitchen counter.
I said, “Hard to use a corkscrew with one hand. Shall I open a bottle of wine for you?”
“A Shiraz would be nice.”
I opened a bottle of wine while Mr. Stern got himself a wineglass. I poured wine in his glass and left the bottle open in case he wanted more. Cheddar had finished his supper and was licking his paws, so I washed Cheddar’s food bowl and dried it while Mr. Stern sipped wine. Of the three occupants of the kitchen, Cheddar was the only one studiously not mentioning Ruby or Opal.
I got my grooming supplies and opened the french doors in the dining room. Cheddar came and stood on the threshold, half in and half out, peering into the garden as if he’d never seen it before.
I scooped him up, closed the door, and sat down in one of the deck chairs by the koi pond. Shorthairs don’t need daily combing, but they enjoy it and it helps keep loose hair from shedding on the
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