Read Online Year in Palm Beach by Pamela Acheson, Richard B. Myers - Free Book Online Page B

work until the end of the day, then take another walk. Many nights we go out. If we stay home, we usually cook a pasta sauce or grill something by the pool and dine outside.
    So far, we have both managed to get our work done while sharing an office, though at times the lack of space and abundance of paper do become tiresome. It helps there are other places to take our work, like out by the pool or in nearby parks.
    Both of us like to walk, and so far, it has been our main form of exercise in Palm Beach. I don’t think I’ve walked so much every day since those years we lived on Peter Island, when I followed the island’s notoriously steep “Five-Mile Walk” every afternoon just to stay sane.
    In New Smyrna we belong to a gym and we’d meant to join a gym in Palm Beach long before now, but the house problems slowed us down. There’s one just a few blocks from the cottage, but I’m somewhat afraid it might be snooty, out of our price range, and as it’s “in town,” probably way too busy.
    However, it makes sense to check there first, so today Dick and I walk over and meet Craig, the owner of Palm Beach Fitness, who’s a walking advertisement for the benefits of working out. His rates are surprisingly reasonable, the atmosphere is casual and friendly, and, according to Craig, it’s rarely crowded at the times we plan to use it. We happily join.
    We leave the gym and take a long walk through the residential part of our neighborhood, never seeing another person and only rarely encountering a moving car. It still surprises me that so many of these beautifully maintained houses are empty. There are no cars parked in the driveways, no signs of activity, no people about.
    Many of the houses have definite personalities, like The Invisible Man’s House, so we have started giving them names. Piano House features a white grand piano through a picture window. Horse House boasts a full-size, colorfully painted statue of a horse in the front yard.
    There’s The Ruskies, which for some reason Dick thought was owned by Russians. It’s not. Dick talked to the owner, who had flown in for a weekend, and he’s as American as Derek Jeter. The name sticks though. We still call it The Ruskies.
    Orchid House always has an artful grouping of Phalaenopsis orchids in the living room window. Car House is on the ocean and invariably has five or six expensive automobiles in the driveway. Then there’s The Thug’s House, so named because the man who lives there looks like Luca Brasi in
The Godfather
. I’m sure there will be many more to come.
    Saturday, October 17
    We’re walking on Worth Avenue. A couple is coming toward us, pushing an old-fashioned pram, its collapsible hood covered with little blue bows. They stop, and soon three women are gathered around looking in, oohing and aahing.
    â€œMust be a tiny baby,” I say.
    â€œAnd they must be grandparents,” Dick says. “They’re a bit old to have a newborn.”
    We reach the pram, and I peek in. The baby is an English toy spaniel, dressed in a frilly blue party dress covered in little blue bows.
    â€œThat was a first,” Dick says.
    We turn off Worth and walk toward home.
    I’ve been curious about a store we often walk by called The Church Mouse. Dick and I can’t figure out what it is. Today we go in. It turns out to be a resale shop for the Bethesda-by-the-Sea Episcopal Church. Everything in the store has been donated, from clothes and books to furniture and fine china.
    Dick sees a cedar chest, the kind that’s low to the ground and opens from the top. “This would be perfect to hold towels and blankets and stuff for our guest cottage,” Dick says. “It’s only fifty-five dollars.”
    â€œSold,” I say. I go find a salesman, and we pay for the chest. The salesman says, “It’s pretty heavy. If you drive your car over to that side door, we can load