Yes, Virginia, There Is a Florida

Make no mistake: there is a Florida attached to the upper 47. It is a peninsula forever threatened by water; water everywhere. One of my friends said that the entire state is a landfill. Harsh. Sometimes seemingly true. There is an east coast. (Think monster hurricanes on doplar radar.) There is a west coast. (Think monster hurricanes stewing in the Gulf.) And there's a land in between already filled with interstates and travelers heading north and south, but not by train. Nothing moves by rail anymore. Wal-Mart trucks, Inc. carry all: from cattle, chattel, to junk from China and environs. Back to Florida. There are six churches to every person. Most of them in Pasco County. Is it truly a religious haven? Do I dare think that tax exemption is at the heart of this spirtual phenomenon? Someone advised me to get my Doctorate of Divinity on line, then I can touch people. Then I can rent space in a strip mall and call it a church. Then I can take offerings and pay zero taxes. You can't deny there is some spirit to that! The churches. Mostly fundamentalist. Some traditional. Some in a room of their own. I don't mind being amongst all these churches. Don't get me wrong. I just miss the cathedrals. The grandeur. But, I understand, it's difficult to build a cathedral on a slab.
Consider Florida before air conditoning. Don't consider mosquito coasts and malaria. They've moved south to the lower Americas.
Florida: once Red, now temporarily Blue; just itching to turn Red and rebel once again.
It is where I live. I find the book stores, the theaters, the people I enjoy. It is a diverse state. Though there aren't a lot of Main Streets. Travel Highway 19 on the west coast and town melds into town. You have to watch for the "Entering Holiday" sign stuck in front of a strip mall. But New Port Richey does have a Main Street. There's a central park of sorts. And an abandoned old home where Gloria Swanson used to live during the heyday. And on Moon Lake Road there's a windowless, stone building said to be Al Capone's hideout. No historical marker there. Just legend, imagination, sanctuary when bullets flew over Broadway. Sanctuary. Almost sounds hallowed.