No Wait for Cabanas

I usually pack far too many clothes, with attire suitable for every occasion and all seasons. On occasion, I decide that reform is in order and am ruthless with a targeted packing job. Not surprisingly, I have odds and ends I've picked up all over -- a hairbrush from Lisbon, a favorite water resistant fleece jacket bought on an unremittingly cold and rainy day in  St. John's.


I packed a light suitcase in about 10 minutes on Wednesday evening: sweatpants, jeans and a sweatshirt were among the rejections. Yesterday, I wore my little Minnesota Vikings windbreaker (perfectly adequate in San Francisco in November) and am now sitting in our room in my light long-sleeved cotton shirt, picked up at over the noon hour at Target a few years ago when I underdressed on a cold spring day.


The system that suspended play at Doral Cadillac Golf Championship yesterday gave us cold and windy weather yesterday. We had a light supper at Bermudas, an onsite restaurant and I almost expected to see my breath when we walked through the hotel grounds after our meal. Bob wanted to stop and listen to the music from a bench outside the Sharktooth Tavern, but I was freezing and couldn't stay long.

I may be passing on my morning swim (48 degrees just before 8 AM). There is no mad rush to the cabanas on the beach, and I think we'll drive up the coast and explore the Clearwater area. The sun is shining and though the warm-up starts today, I may be picking up a sweatshirt on our junket -- none of the usual worries about an overstuffed suitcase.