A Vist from the Parents – Sarasota and St. Petersburg
How do you remedy homesickness? The glib answer is to just go home. But it’s a big world with lots to experience and staying home just isn’t for us. That doesn’t mean we don’t get the longing and depression that comes now and then when remembering the people you left behind and the places you used to frequent.
A great way to shake off the homesick blues is to open your home to family and friends who’ve traveled far to see you. Quality time can be well spent with a tour of the town, a taste of the local fare, and plenty of moments spent together living, laughing, lov…I have got to stop cutting through the home decor department of Walmart.
Christa suffers the homesick ills more than I because she’s more attached and I’m more aloof. But, though I may not always feel homesick, when faced with a visual reminder, I come down with the sentimental hogwash, too. So I was almost as happy as she when her parents arrived from Pennsylvania for a visit.
Her parents were staying only five days. We didn’t want to fill up the precious time with a lot of traveling here and there, because together is our favorite place to be—Dammit, Walmart.
We’d rather relax around the house and stay local. But we did put one day aside for a whirlwind tour of the region and I anchored it with food because nothing enhances the spirit of camaraderie among family and friends more than gathering over a meal. You got a slogan for that?
We thought it would be a brilliant idea to spend one of their five days here on an express circumnavigation of Tampa Bay with a visit to Pinecraft, Lido Key, then a crossing of the Sunshine Skyway Bridge on the way to Mazzaro’s Italian market in St. Petersburg,. We knew it could be done, regardless of whether it should and though we were worn and weary afterward, we all had a pretty good time. My shoes would dry out several days later.
Christa’s father had spent some time in Pinecraft back in his younger days and was curious to see how the village had changed over the last 50 years as well as to see how the Pennsylvania (Ohio, Indiana) Dutch got on in sunny Florida.
We thought that Lido Key would be a nice destination to experience a little beach action due to its proximity to Pinecraft and then we figured a nice finish to the tour would be to circle through St. Petersburg on the way home to visit Mazzaro’s Italian Market for a variety of supper vittles. Christa’s parents considered our plan and agreed. Those poor saps.
I was tasked as the driver because I had familiarity with the roads and local driving habits (their complete disregard for turn signals and fast-lanes blew her dad’s mind more than it did mine) and because Roy was fairly beat from the trip down from Pennsylvania. This could be dangerous—I was bound to turn tour guide and my ability to talk and drive at the same time leads much to be desired from a traffic safety point of view.
Nevertheless, I took the wheel and steered us south to Pinecraft and a return to Yoder’s Amish Village for Dutchy brekkers to fuel the day. I should have known it would result in less than hungry tums by the time supper rolled around.
Yoder’s was a hit with the parents as we expected. They marveled at the massive sweet rolls. After we ate, we ventured next door to the produce market and deli. Roy drives a truck for a food distribution company in Pennsylvania that happens to deliver to Yoder’s and he got a kick out of seeing many of his company’s products at a store a thousand miles from home.
We poked around checking out the little tidbits of home and once again bought nothing. Mom and dad had already brought from home three boxes of Good’s in the blue bag for Christa and a log of Kunzler sweet bologna, so we didn’t need any of those. I did ask the staff for saffron, but they didn’t carry it. How you gonna make pot pie without saffron?
As we walked behind the restaurant back to the car we passed a pallet loaded with goods awaiting the attention of Yoder’s staff. We had a good laugh–it was a delivery from Roy’s company. While we had been eating inside, one of his long-haul coworkers had dropped off some victuals from home.
We next drove to Detwiler’s Market another store that Roy’s company supplies. It was a similar store to Yoder’s market but on a larger scale. There were lots of bulk foods, fresh produce, dry goods, canned provisions, and more. That breakfast was still weighing heavy on the guts; we didn’t feel compelled to buy anything here either.
That advice to eat a good meal before grocery shopping rings true. Even if our cupboards were bare we’d have left empty-handed, we just couldn’t find an appetite for consumption. Though as I type this I wish we’d bought some pretzels and mustard. And farmers cheese. And shoofly pie. And apple fritters. And schnitz for knepp.
After our fruitless shopping tour, we drove through Sarasota to Lido Key. A window-shopping walk around St. Armands Circle was wisely rejected in favor of spending more time on the beach.
As per our usual beachy activities of late, we stuck to walking in the surf and checking out the scenery. Christa’s parents weren’t in for the whole beach blanket thing and were quite content with the short visit. We kicked off our shoes and waded knee-deep into the Gulf of Mexico before some clowning around and then returning to the car.
Back on the road, we headed up Rt. 41 to take the Sunshine Skyway to St, Petersburg. The view was magnificent as always and I shared the tale of the deadly Summit Venture crash of 1980 as best I could while focusing attention on driving the car.
We made our way up I-275 to Mazzaro’s and I regaled further with a second story; this one about our first visit in November.
The Story
Before our relocation, we had been looking at rental homes in St. Petersburg. Unfamiliar with the area we had been using a combination of Zillow and iPhone map directions to bounce around the island to make appointments. I tried to schedule viewings for homes in the same area around the same time, but we still had to race 30 minutes away now and then when conflicts arose.
My cousin had tipped us about Mazzaro’s Italian Market, so we decided to try it for lunch. We drove the twenty minutes there, sprinted through the shops, ordered some sandwiches and pastries, wolfed down our food and left in a hurry to make the next appointment twenty minutes south. We had one more in St. Petersburg which we raced 20 minutes back north to make before our final appointment on the other side of Tampa Bay in Apollo Beach.
Running late we neared the home, we slowed to make a right turn. I looked at the business beside us—Banana’s Records and Movies—and got a serious case of deja vu. We rounded the corner only to be looking directly at Mazzaro’s again and the house we were scheduled to see was diagonally opposite. We had been standing 25 yards from the front door only 90 minutes prior.
We could have saved a ton of time and gas because one look told us we were not interested. Oh, well.
We were now approaching Mazzaro’s for our third time, but now with Christa’s parents. We found a space in the furthest lot and walked to the entrance as the sky spit at my forehead. Heavy clouds had rolled over us as we drove north and were beginning to leak. I was warned by my grandfather that these storms roll out as quickly as they roll in and I hoped it would pass as we shopped and ate our Italian vittles.
We walked through each department with nostrils flared and eyes agog at every aroma, color, and shape. From sanguine slabs of aged beef to alabaster chunks of aged cheese, to a dried pasta rainbow of spinach, squid ink, tomato, and semolina, to glimmering garnets and ambers of imported wines. Lush bouquets of basil and parsley shaded royal eggplants and onions.
My second time here was still spent spinning in sensory overload. I love cheese, but which do I buy? I’d love to sample the wine, but which do I choose? I’d love a cake, but which one do I bury my face into? From now on, we must form a strategy before shopping at Mazzaro’s. Lists. I require lists to organize the chaos and maintain control. Next time we visit, I will be prepared.
The third grocery store we visited that day would not be the third from which we left empty-handed, however. We were by now sufficiently hungry to get a few vittles to enjoy.
I guided my in-laws through to the coffee shop. The pastry cases were stocked with iced cakes, cream-filled cannolis and cocoa dusted tiramisus. Another case was a paint box of gelato. Baskets held long Italian loaves of bread, which rounds of Pugliese, and herbed focaccia. They declined a seat at the bar to enjoy a cup of joe and dessert but instead opted to select a sandwich from the deli counter and sit on the covered terrace.
Several menu boards hung over the hustling and bustling staff as they systematically took and filled the orders of the ticket-holding customers from behind a case that held all sorts of ready to eat salads and antipasto delights as well as heat-and-eat, take-and-bake, and ready-made meals and side dishes.
A second case displayed imported deli meats festooned with waxed balls of aged provolone and ruddy cured sausages girdled in butchers twine. We chose sandwiches from the menu board and a few sides from the case. While the crew on the hot line toasted our grinders and the crew on the cold line fashioned our subs, we went to the pastry counter to select a few sweet treats.
We took our food to the terracotta terrace and as we divvied up the bounty. Great booms and flashes issued from the battleship sky that ripped open and gushed a torrent of rain that pounded the pavement and blurred the form of everything beyond the wrought iron bars of the open patio. The wind whipped up a gust that sent potted plants crashing and street signs bending. We had finished our meal and I was going to have to get the car.
I made for the front door and gripping the minuscule umbrella my wife carried in her purse, ran the hundred yard dash over puddles, under trees, and around Cadillacs abruptly backing from handicap spaces. I reached the car soaked from the waist down but managed to keep my camera dry. As I pulled around the jug handle drive at the front door to retrieve my family, the cloudburst diminished and soon became a light sprinkle as we steered toward Rt. 92.
We hit Rt. 92 in the midst of rush hour and had a cinematic view of another thunderstorm rolling across the bay. The backdrop of lightning strikes while pelicans dove for dinner proved entertaining as we crawled toward the Gandy Bridge. We opted to take the Selmon Expressway home and it proved worth it. Though it is a toll road, it serves as an express tour of the East Tampa skyline and chopped a good twenty minutes off the free routes.
Once home, we relaxed on the lanai as the ground and my shoes dried out. It had been a whirlwind tour of good vittles, scenic spots, and quality family time. Our energy was drained and perhaps we crammed too much into one day, but the memories were etched in the grey matter.
It was a bittersweet day when we left Pennsylvania for the more agreeable climes of Florida. Christa’s homesickness persists, though this visit with her parents brought her some respite. We had a great time with lots of laughs, hugs, and the fun of shared new experiences.
If anyone else from back home gets the urge for some time away in the warmth and a little adventure with us, we’ve got a spare room. Drop in any time—we’ll lighten your dreary winters while you lighten our homesick hearts. And we’ll keep the whirlwinds to a minimum.
Thanks for reading!