Year in Palm Beach by Pamela Acheson, Richard B. Myers Page B

says, “Well I guess I did a bit more than check it out, but you should have seen it. There were bins of fresh fruit and vegetables everywhere. I got grapefruits and oranges and tomatoes, bunches of carrots and beets with the greens still attached, lettuces of all kinds, a pineapple, bananas, and apples.”
    â€œA little more than just checking it out,” I say. “It is just like the farm store I went to as a kid,” she says, “and all this stuff cost less than twenty dollars.”
    Tuesday, November 24
    It is now two days before Thanksgiving, and the Shiny Sheet informs me the police were called to a north end home because of a dispute about ficus trimmings being left in a yard. A ficus trimmings dispute? I’m wondering if it could be gang-related.
    Our morning walk is to Worth Avenue, which is completely closed to cars today. Workmen are repainting all the curbs and parking space lines. We weave our way through, wander about for a while, and head toward home. Turning onto our street, we almost run into a man squatting at the curb next to a bucket of bright yellow paint. He is hand-painting the no-parking curbs along our street. His companion has a bucket of white paint and is hand-painting the parking-allowed curbs. Another man on a ladder is coating the lampposts with glossy black paint.
    â€œPretty soon there won’t be a cracked sidewalk or a faded street line or street curb in all of Palm Beach,” I say.
    â€œIt reminds me of getting a house ready to put on the market,” Pam says.
    â€œThey’d better not be selling it,” I say. “We just got here.”
    Wednesday, November 25
    The alarm gets us up before dawn. We dress, fill a thermos with breakfast tea, grab our beach chairs, and we’re off to watch the sunrise. The street is peacefully empty. We set up the chairs at the ocean’s edge. It is a bit early for animated conversation or probably any conversation at all, so we just sip our tea and be.
    In the few months we have been in Palm Beach, we have seen more sunrises and moonrises and spent more time stargazing than we have in many years. I feel it’s giving us a better perspective on what’s important. Whatever it’s doing, I like it.
    The show begins. Slowly, the sun rises out of the Atlantic. Slowly, the night becomes a new day. Slowly, the sun warms the sand. We sit for a few minutes enjoying the new morning, then pick up and head home.
    When lunchtime rolls around, I suggest Victor’s. Walking out, Pam says, “The street is still quiet. There are no trucks today, there’s no commotion. Strange.”
    As we approach South County, we hear cars and even a honking horn. “I can’t remember hearing a car honk in Palm Beach,” I say. “Wow, South County is crazy. Look at this traffic.”
    We continue on to Worth Avenue, and Pam says, “Look at this.”
    â€œWhat the hell happened to our quiet hometown street?” I say. There are people everywhere, people and dogs. People driving with dogs in their laps. People walking with dogs on leashes. People carrying dogs.
    The scene could not be more different from yesterday or any day so far. It’s like a B movie. I live in a quiet, empty little town, and suddenly the entire population of Greenwich, Connecticut has somehow dropped in overnight. I’ve sort of been waiting for this, but I’m not sure I’m going to like it.
    â€œVictor’s? Lunch? Not today,” I say.
    Returning home on South County, I see Amici is busy inside and out. Maurizio is nodding his head and smiling. He gives us two thumbs up and laughs.
    Thursday, November 26
    Pam and I are excited. My daughter Samantha is flying down from New York for the Thanksgiving weekend. She arrives today. Her mother lives across the bridge in West Palm Beach, and her grandmother lives in Palm Beach Gardens, about twenty minutes north of us. The logistics of the weekend should work out