Funny, how I keep island hopping. Tasmania, an island off the island country and continent Australia, North Island of New Zealand, to Manhattan, to Key West (AKA The Conch Republic since it seceded from the mainland of Florida), and little ole Wilton Manors.
This tiny, tidy town is surrounded by three rivers, cutting it off by bridges from Greater Fort Lauderdale in sunny Florida. Hence the moniker Island City.
No, Wilton Manors is not the name of a nursing home, though many of us semi-retirees are not far off from moving into one. The village is populated by mature or ailing ex-New Yorkers and ex-Denverites, many of whom I knew when I lived in those states. In a sense I came here because I was ailing - for the ocean, the seabreeze, the sandy shores. Taking my scooter to the beach every day is my idea of paradise. And I'm feeling better just after three months of imersion here.
Stay tuned for tales of my next Island Dee-Tour: Little Torch Key in the middle of the Florida Keys.
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