As our jet touched down at Cyris E. King Airport in Charlotte Amalie  (A-moll-yeh) in St. Thomas, my mind went back to our first trip 40 years ago when we taxied ashore on the beach in a 10-passenger seaplane that had skimmed over the waves from Puerto Rico.

What else had changed since we first visited this ruggedly beautiful island thrust in the South Atlantic half way to Africa? We would soon find out.

While Christopher Columbus was busy searching for a route to India in 1493 he discovered these lush tropical islands, and named them ‘The Virgins’ in reference to the legendary beauty of St. Ursula and her 11,000 virgins (it would be extremely difficult to find that many virgins  in the islands today).

Columbus called the people he encountered ‘Indians.’ In any event, nothing much happened until the Danish West India Company successfully established a settlement at St. Thomas in 1672 consisting of 113 inhabitants. In 1685 the Danish government established a slave trading post and early governors approved of St. Thomas becoming a safe haven for the “Pirates of the Caribbean” (seems as if this would make a good movie — perhaps with several sequels). Their rationale was that this would benefit the local merchants.

The Virgin Islands remained under Danish rule until the United States purchased part of them in 1917 for $25 million in gold. Consequently, St. Thomas, St. John, and St. Croix became the U.S. Virgin Islands.

The Virgin Islands chain is mountains that rose from the deep, eons ago. St. Thomas has the most precipitous terrain of all and runs east-west for approximately 15 miles and is approximately four miles at its widest point. The south shore faces the Caribbean and the north shore — which is sparsely developed — faces the Atlantic Ocean.

This little bit of paradise is swept by 1,500 miles of trade winds that originate from the west shore of Africa — the same trade winds that brought explorers from the European Continent, pirates of the Caribbean — and one of the most ideal climates in the world.

Year round temperatures vary from the high 60s to the high 80s and the gentle Caribbean breezes keep the bugs at bay. Most of the restaurants and other public buildings do not even have exterior walls.

We rented motorcycles during our first trip and enjoyed exploring the remote bays and inlets. We could park our bikes, don our snorkel masks, and enjoy swimming among the most exotic coral reefs, vegetation, and sea life that exists anywhere. Unfortunately 40 years of development and the resultant traffic makes this all but impossible today. Driving your own vehicle is not recommended. The combination of left hand drives with right hand drive vehicles mostly from the U.S. (the worst of both worlds) — narrow curving roads barely wide enough for vehicles to pass each other — and the crazy native drivers all invite mayhem for the uninitiated.

Our group of 19 was picked up at the airport by a taxi driver, who would become our chauffeur, historian and confidant. Oniel Mullaly is descended from slaves, as are most of the native inhabitants of the islands today. I asked him how he came to be named Oniel — he retorted, “Oh mon, I guess my mama just felt Irish that day.” He showed us the original West India Company building, long abandoned, as our van twisted and turned through miles of mountain roads that led to our rented condos. This was just a dirt road during our first visit.Bolongo Bay is but one of dozens and dozens of bays and inlets that dot the perimeter of St. Thomas. The family-operated Bolongo Bay Resort offers all the activities that our active group (which encompasses three generations) all love to do. We scuba-dived to explore an ancient shipwreck, went on a deep sea fishing venture (one of our young bucks almost snagged a shark), snorkeled in waters so clear you could see a pearl in 30 feet of water, hiked in mountain terrain, and just relaxed on the pristine white sand beaches.

The Miller clan started these bi-annual trips to exotic places a decade ago with the first “MilleRennium” in Jamaica, at the turn of the 21st century. St. Thomas would be our fifth “MilleReunion.” We spent the last night together at the top of a mountain, accessible by cable car. Paradise Point is a funky restaurant and night club that overlooks the bay of Charlotte Amalie. Watching the sun go down and listening to the steel drum band and the native’s boogying down with rhythm and fluid movement just put a cap on our wonderful vacation.

All agreed that St. Thomas was our best vacation – yet – but it won’t be our last.

When the leaves turn red and gold, when the geese migrate south, setting down briefly on Owasco Lake to feed and gaggle all night long outside our bedroom window, and when the boat is snuggled under its shrink-wrapped winter blanket, that’s when Janet and I abandon our deck chairs at lake’s edge and drive our automobile—laden to the roof with suitcases and junk—to paradise in Juno Beach, Fla.

Thousands upon thousands of us snowbirds commute from our homes in the Northeast to our homes or condos in the Southeast every autumn, only to return the next spring. It is a uniquely American ritual that may die off with the 55-plus generation because of the rising cost of owning and operating property in Florida and other southern vacation states.

We enjoy the drive but other snowbirds prefer to ship their cars and fly back and forth. When you see the humongous car carriers unloading in front of the condos, then you know the “season” has begun. Likewise when you see the car carriers picking up their loads in the spring, you know that the “season” is over.

Instinctual need—The human animal has not evolved much beyond the geese, whales, sharks, or other mammals that are driven by unknown instincts to seek shelter from the snow and cold of winter.

Our routes of travel include Route 81 through Pennsylvania and Virginia to Route 77 in North Carolina, Route 26 in South Carolina, and finally hooking up with 95 that travels through Georgia and Florida. The most beautiful segment of our journey is Virginia, in my humble opinion the most beautiful of all the 48.

The rolling hills and lush landscape of this Colonial state highlight the vibrant colors of autumn as well as the verdant greens of spring upon our return. Our route hugs the mighty Appalachian Mountain chain. Starting in Front Royal Virginia—opposite Washington D.C.—Skyline Drive melds into The Blue Ridge Mountain Parkway and then The Smokey Mountain Parkway and finally ends in The Great Smokey Mountain National Park in Tennessee.

The parkways generally follow Route 81 and ride high over the mountain ridges. Occasionally, when weather permits and the mood is right, we will drive the Blue Ridge Parkway from Roanoke to Fancy Gap, Va., which intersects with Route 77 just south of the intersection with Route 81. This beautiful byway takes only a few minutes more and rewards with spectacular views of the Virginia landscape.

Breath-taking view—Some of the scenic overviews overlook 100 miles to the horizon. The driver must be continuously vigilant for the occasional deer or bear that sometimes meander onto the highway from the nearby woods. Oh, and if a passenger is prone to motion sickness, forget the whole idea.

Charlotte, N.C. is the halfway point of our journey and our stop-over point. It is a beautiful, modern, cosmopolitan city totally unlike typical laid-back southern cities like Savannah, Ga. This year, we discovered a new upscale Holiday Inn that, likewise, is totally unlike the typical mom and pop motel. This attractive high-rise hotel features plush rooms with every modern ammenities including a large flat-screen TV, an inside pool, and a steakhouse restaurant off the lobby. We would have expected to pay over $200 a night for such accommodations in a major metropolitan area, but instead, thanks to off-season rates and deep discounts as a result of the recession—our rate was $89.

In spite of the enjoyable trip, we were happy to arrive at our southern home. Florida is worlds apart from Upstate New York but we welcome the change of venue. Several of our friends and neighbors in Auburn join us, some introduced to the area by us. Additionally, we have acquired many new friends from other places in the Northeast. Janet is even able to continue her weekly bridge games with the same Auburn group, unabated.

Florida has undergone a sea of change since the crash of 2008. The explosive growth that produced condominiums on every square foot of beachfront and practically every street corner—or so it seems—has come to a complete halt. Many housing projects as well as commercial building projects were halted in mid construction. Many retirees on a fixed income have seen their investment income greatly reduced, while their mortgage is upside down.

The resultant chaos has reduced property values by up to 50 percent in some cases. This situation is likely to continue for the foreseeable future and while it produces opportunities for some, it has created hardship for others.

Meanwhile, Florida remains a haven for those of us who love to be outdoors practically every day of the winter, to swim, and play, and exercise. In my estimation, it can add 10 years to your life and make the golden years shine.

Tony Funicello is an amazing guy. At age 67, this trim, muscular athletic man is an accomplished race car driver and one of the leading racing instructors in the country. During the summer season he commutes to Upstate New York from his Florida residence to conduct race training at Watkins Glen International Raceway.

His training sessions are animated with illustrations, demonstrations and war stories from his racing experiences.

One of his favorite demonstrations is to call a student to the front of the class and ask him to raise both arms above his head and clench his hands together into a fist.

Then Tony instructs the student to “Try and resist my pushing your arms down.” He is always able to push the student’s arms down. Then he has the student raise his arms again and says: “Do your best to keep me from pushing your arms down again.”

This time the student stiffens his resistance and is able to keep his arms upright.

Tony explains, “The first time I asked him to try and resist; the second time I told him to do your best. The first time his brain was wired only to try; the second time his brain was wired to release adrenalin to his muscles – and do it!”

According to Tony, this demonstration never fails. I have witnessed it and can attest to its effectiveness, thus acknowledging the human mind’s incredible control over the body.

Racing cars is a young man’s game. Perhaps no other sport calls for faster reflexes and greater concentration. However, age does not take much of a toll on reflexes — it does take a toll on concentration.

In the major leagues of racing, a race car driver is old at 50. One notable exception was Paul Newman, who happens to be my role model for more than just being a major league race car driver. Newman was never caught up in his fame and fortune and dedicated much of his life to helping others. His creation of the “Hole-in-the-Wall Gang,” a camp for youths with terminal cancer, is but one example of his inspirational life. His last race was the grueling 24 Hours of Daytona when he was 79. Incidentally, Paul’s race car proudly displayed the number 79.

I started racing at age 69 and proudly display that number on my race car.

Racing is one of the greatest challenges of my life and after almost a decade of racing it is still a challenge — more so than being an airplane pilot.

The most difficult aspect is the tremendous concentration that is required. While racing, at up to 150 miles an hour (not to mention the 200-plus MPH speeds that an Indy car driver achieves), you must be aware of what is going on all around you, while at the same time concentrating on the road ahead, and being prepared for a possible emergency around the next corner.

Tony says that if you divert your eyes into the cockpit (to check instruments for example) it takes two fifths of a second to refocus on the road ahead. At 150 MPH that is half the length of a football field.

After a few hours of racing it is not hard to understand why your concentration wanes. Racing is 90 percent mental and 10 percent physical. More than any other sport, it illustrates the tremendous capacity of the human brain for mind over matter.

The point of all this is that aging is as much a mental condition as it is a physical condition.

I have written many times in this column about people who retire to their easy chair, let the world go by and prepare to die.

Usually, their mind precedes their body to the grave.

There is ample evidence to suggest that aging can be controlled and extended by exercising the brain and the body. The brain is much like a muscle: if you do not exercise it regularly, it will atrophy.

Studies have shown that those who regularly do mental exercise, such as cross word puzzles, word games, and even watching Jeopardy, are much less likely to suffer dementia and Alzheimer’s disease.

To this we add racing as an exciting, rewarding and challenging mind exercise. Not for everyone but for the few of us old frogs who get a kick out hearing from our fellow racers — “you’re how old?”

Hank owns a family operated ski resort in New Hampshire but spends his winters in Florida. Thirty years ago he had a ski accident that left him paralyzed from the neck down—he couldn’t even wiggle his fingers.

Gradually Hank regained control of his upper body and through the use of leg braces and a specially designed walker with tricycle wheels and handle bar, he has been able to escape the prison of a wheelchair.

Most any day you can see him awkwardly hobbling and lurching around the gym where we go, and working out on the machines that will strengthen his arms, legs and torso. His positive attitude and indomitable spirit lights up the place and serves as motivation for the rest of us (what do we have to complain about?)

When possible, he swims in the ocean buttressed on one side by his wife and on the other side by a friend. Although Hank’s exercise routine is not always comfortable, he absolutely refuses to give up and let life pass him by.

Charlie was 85 but he didn’t look a day over 60. He had been widowed for more than 20 years and would have been quite a catch for the many widows who also attend the gym.

However, he was content to live alone as long as he could socialize and exercise with his many acquaintances (not to mention a few girl friends). Just talking to him was a tonic for most. He had heart problems for many years and we lost him last year to a stroke. Most of us still feel the void. Still, he extended his life for years because of his exercising and daily visits to the gym.

Don, who never smoked, contracted throat cancer last summer “up north” (as us snowbirds refer to our summer sojourns to our homes).

He had a rough go with chemo and radiation and was a little late arriving at his Florida condo, but immediately after arrival Don resumed his daily exercise at the gym. He realizes that his exercise routine is even more important now in order to keep his immune system strong and fight off any cancer cells still floating around in his blood stream.

What you have here is a profile of an enlightened group of seniors who realize that in order to enjoy life in retirement, it is necessary to make an investment in daily exercise—every bit as important as our financial investments—in order to insure that we can continue to enjoy the golden years.
A study published in the Health Psychology journal states that seniors like to work out together. The study also states that people trying to change a lifetime of unhealthy habits need something more than will power. Joining a group helps. The study also indicates that after eight weeks of regular exercising many people can settle into a long-term habit of working out.

Incidentally, we interact with the young bulging biceps bunch very nicely—acting as a role model to them, as they act as a role model to us.

One of America’s greatest health problems—particularly among us 55-Plusers—is a sedentary life style. According to another study by Stanford University, only 48 percent of Americans say they meet the federal recommendation for exercising half an hour four to five times a week. Actually the number of people who meet the minimum requirement for daily exercise is probably far less then the reported numbers.

I hate to exercise! It is totally boring and an interruption to my busy schedule. However, I like active living much better than I hate working out at the gym, and exercising in general. After my bout with cancer I started chemotherapy but could not tolerate the poison that invaded my digestive track. The doctor told me that my only defense against the return of this horrid disease was to strengthen my immune system, and this required proper diet and a healthier lifestyle, including regular exercise.

Actually my favorite is swimming, which we do almost every day of the year since we live on Owasco Lake in the Finger Lakers region during the summer, and on the beach in Jupiter, Fla. during the winter season. Our second favorite exercise is bicycling, which we can also do almost every day of the year.

Health statistics show that regular exercise that raises your pulse rate will extend your active life by at least 10 years. Most of the group we hang out with are in the 75‑85 age group and I can tell you from personal experience that the formula works.
Old Chinese proverb: “The trip of 10,000 miles starts with the first step.”

It is a serious, and sometimes deadly, biological disease that will strike an estimated 33 to 35 million American adults at sometime in their life. Depression is often a genetic disorder that runs in families, as it did in mine. Few seek medical treatment because there is a stigma associated with mental illness that produces feelings of guilt and inadequacy.

Of those that do seek psychiatric treatment, anti-depressant medication is the therapy of choice in most cases.

The greatest movie ever made about depression is the Academy Award-winning “Ordinary People” (1980) starring Mary Tyler Moore, Donald Southerland, Timothy Hutton, and Judd Hirsch. This powerful drama chronicles the devastation of a family trying to return to normal life after the attempted suicide of their surviving teenage son, who blamed himself for failing to save his brother’s life after a boating accident.
Conrad (Timothy Hutton), tormented by depression, guilt, and trauma, has recently been released from a psychiatric hospital, and is alienated by friends and family. His mother Beth (Mary Tyler Moore) always loved the elder son more, and blames Conrad for his death. Father Calvin (Donald Southerland) awkwardly struggles to connect with his son, and is falling out of love with his wife because of her coldness and rejection of Conrad. At this point, Calvin decides to see Tyrone Berger (Judd Hirsch) who is a psychiatrist.

Stepping out of the story line, in my mind, the hero of this drama is Berger and the best actor is Hirsch, who plays the deeply caring psychiatrist that becomes a friend and mentor to Conrad, and by sensitive mental therapy saves his life. Berger characterizes what psychiatry should be—but often is not—in today’s world.
Berger does not coddle Conrad, and often their therapy sessions are stormy. At one point Conrad, in a suicidal mood, calls Berger in the middle of the night and they immediately meet at the doctor’s office.

Finally, Berger is able to draw out the fact that it was Conrad’s older brother Buck who convinced him to go sailing in the stormy lake by their home, and when the sailboat capsized Buck insisted on swimming to shore after Conrad begged him to stay with him and cling to the boat. Berger convinces Conrad that Buck was reckless and irresponsible, and Conrad was not responsible for his brother’s death. Eventually Conrad is cured of his depression and reconnects with his family.

Many of us carry the seeds of depression within our minds, just waiting to be triggered by an incident. In my case it was the belated result of the death of our oldest son and a series of business problems piling up.

When depression hits, life goes on “hold” and it becomes a struggle just to get out of bed and face the day. I tried psychotherapy but the doctor only wanted to put me on tranquilizing drugs that made me sleepy, and did nothing to lift the listless feeling of depression. At that point, I discontinued the medication and started to do some research.

The biggest revelation was learning that depression can be a genetic disease, and that my father had been affected by depression. Gradually, continued reading and research enabled me to talk my way through this debilitating situation, and one day I “snapped out of it” vowing never to let the demons invade my mind again. That was over 20 years ago.

The February-March edition of 55 Plus carried my article, “Dealing With Depression: Snap Out of It.” It received critical acclaim, mostly from the psychiatric community, challenging the concept of “snapping out of it” and warning that it could be dangerous to suggest to a depressed patient that he or she just snap out of it.

Certainly, not everyone can research and talk their way through depression, but my personal experience proves that it can be done, and therefore it must stand as a viable alternative to drugs and the suffering that depression brings

Down in Washington D.C. the bureaucrats are trying to draft a document that will take care of all of us from cradle to grave. The original Constitution was written on a just a few pieces of paper but we didn’t have as many lawyers then, and so the first draft of this proposed legislation is 1990 pages.

Problem is, no government programs or entitlements will resolve the problems and there is not enough disposable income in this country to cover the true cost of health care.

Until the medical community changes the way it operates (pun intended), and until people develop a healthier lifestyle, we will never be able to control health care costs.

Dr. Marc Pietropaoli, who founded Victory Sports Medicine in Skaneateles, is one of a new breed of doctor and surgeon who someday might change the way the medical profession functions in America. Example; six years ago I fell down the stairs and tore my quadriceps tendons. It immobilized me and “Dr P.” scheduled surgery. The night before going under the knife Doctor P. called me to say; “I have been studying your MRI and believe you can recover the use of your knee without surgery. The therapy will be long and arduous but I know you have the discipline to do it.”

Today my knee is functional and pain-free.

“Dr P.” employs a conservative approach to medicine, which includes doctor, therapist and patient. Consequently, he operates on about 10 percent of his patients while the average orthopedic surgeon operates on about half of their patients.

Recently, I asked Dr. P. what he thought about the proposed government health care reform legislation. He answered, “If we wish to reduce the cost of health care, first we must reform medical practice to include preventive medicine, healthier lifestyles and therapy. The ever-increasing cost of obesity and smoking will cause medical expenses to rise faster than any proposed saving in medical care itself. Beyond all of this, we need to overhaul the health care system. Doctors are not adequately compensated for consultations on preventive medicine, healthy diet, exercise or therapy programs. Most doctors are trained and paid to operate, and when a scalpel is the prime tool — everything looks like it needs an incision.”

Nearly one third of all men, women and children in America are overweight or obese, and the percentage is rising at an alarming rate. Obesity in children almost guarantees the development of diabetes and heart disease in later life. Furthermore, obesity has reached epidemic proportions in our country. Coming back from a recent trip to Europe, we saw more fat people at Kennedy airport than we saw for three weeks in Europe.

There were 440,000 deaths last year from smoking. This is merely the tip of the iceberg from a health care cost standpoint. Smoking triggers cancer, diabetes, heart disease and COPD (emphysema).

I saw my father, sister and aunt die, gasping for breath, from emphysema — it’s not pretty.

A person who smokes a pack of cigarettes a day has an 80 percent chance of dying from cancer or the other related diseases. They can almost automatically deduct at least 12 years from their life.

The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention report that less than 10 percent of all students eat a balanced diet. Families no longer eat together where mother can prepare a nourishing meal. Fifty percent of all meals are eaten outside the home, usually in fast-food emporiums like McDonalds, which will gladly sell you a ‘super-sized’ burger and fries just dripping with fat.

Oh, and hardly anyone gets any exercise — too busy chasing the American Dream.

All-in-all we have become a nation of fat, lazy people looking to the government to give us the good life. If only we could afford it.

Of course true depression is not a laughing matter but there is wisdom in Lucy’s suggested remedy. We have known of depression and have dealt with its kills and its cures. Seniors are particularly vulnerable as life throws its inevitable curve balls and nature breaks down our bodies and our minds. Retirement can be a minefield of depressing incidents and can be triggered by a myriad of maladies, including diabetes, heart disease, stroke, cancer and PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder), which often is triggered by the loss of a spouse or other loved one. Another cause of depression is just plain boredom, which many elders experience because they have not filled their life with activity, which gives them plenty of time to dwell on their aches and pains.

Clinical depression, usually, is a chemical imbalance in the brain and, like alcoholism, is very much an inherited condition. When the demons invade our mind they can reside within us for months, years — or a lifetime. They bring with them:

• Agitation, restlessness, and irritability
• Dramatic change in appetite, often with weight gain or loss
• Extreme difficulty concentrating
• Fatigue and lack of energy
• Feelings of hopelessness, and helplessness
• Feelings of worthlessness, self-hate, and inappropriate guilt
• Inactivity and withdrawal from usual activities, a loss of interest or pleasure in activities that were once enjoyed (such as sex)
• Thoughts of death or suicide
• Trouble sleeping or excessive sleeping

According to the National Institute of Mental Health, depression affects approximately 14.8 million American adults (6.7 percent of the adult population) in a given year. It is our country’s leading cause of disability.

Because of the stigma associated with this debilitating condition few people seek treatment and those who do, more often than not, receive inadequate care.

The days of lying on the couch and talking things out with your friendly psychiatrist is largely a thing of the past. Changes in psychiatry, the influence on both patients and physicians of drug industry promotion of medications, and the greater comfort of doctors in prescribing these medications, have led to antidepressant drug therapy as being the major tool of the psychiatrist. Prozac or Paxil are usually the drugs of choice.

However, unless depression is severe there is little evidence that antidepressants work and in most patients it results in a zombie-like existence.

Let’s return to Lucy’s method. Depression is not a physical condition — it starts and ends in the mind. You can talk yourself into it and, there is ample evidence to prove that a person can talk their way out of it.

The mind is like a bucket — if you fill it with a depressing thoughts there is no room for a positive thought. The trick is to fill the mind with positive thoughts and actions, and not give negative thinking a chance to fill your bucket. The demons often strike at dawn. If you lay in bed and think of all the potential problems of the day, you might want to pull the covers over your head — Alcoholics Anonymous calls it ‘stinkin thinkin.’

On the other hand, if you rise with a positive attitude for handling anything that comes along, the problems usually melt into the sunrise (my favorite time of day). You need to get your mind off your own troubles — real or imagined.

The best therapy is to help a dear friend or relative or mentor someone who has gone astray. You can readily find someone who has a worse problem than you. Volunteering for medical aid at a hospital or nursing home soon puts your own petty problems in perspective. My wife Janet spends time, almost every day, checking with and visiting friends who are ill or infirmed.

In the final analysis, it takes the same effort to be happy, as it does to be melancholy — you choose. When the demons try to return just remember Lucy’s wise words; “Snap out of it.”

It works for me.

Snowbirds are a unique American institution. Nowhere else in the world do so many families migrate from north to south for a winter vacation. Oh, it’s true that many in the north of Europe escape to the south of France or the Italian Riviera — but only the wealthy. In America, the middle class (if they are so disposed) can retreat to a southerly clime when the leaves begin to fall. Florida is the snowbird capital, but the species may become endangered if present trends continue.

The perfect storm began about five years ago when the bodacious bureaucrats in the taxation and finance division of Florida’s inept government decided to let those “damn Yankees” pay for their crumbling infrastructure and inadequate schools, among other things. Thus, property taxes for snowbirds were systematically tripled over the next three years while taxes for “homesteaders” were held to their maximum 2 percent increase per year. This started an exodus of retirees and others with fixed incomes, who could no longer afford their condos. In effect they started killing the snowbird that laid the golden egg.

Concurrent with this, property values soared and a building boom ensued. In 2005, property values in Palm Beach County (the epicenter of all this madness) increased 24 percent in one year. The average price of a home or condo was $350,000 (today the average has plummeted to $242,900). A prime example of this feeding frenzy was a truly ugly 30-story condominium/ yacht basin, built by the Blue Herron Bridge in Riviera Beach. Before construction was complete, a large banner was hung on the building saying, “Sold Out.” In reality, greedy realtors had bought up most of the apartments at pre-construction prices and financed them by mortgage, hoping to flip them at a huge profit (today that condo is mostly empty).Then, the tsunami hit Wall Street, and Americans were forced to relearn the painful lessons of the Great Depression.

Property values plunged precipitously, and millions of homeowners could not pay their mortgages, which were much higher than the value of their property. The tidal wave hit Florida harder than most areas of the country because of its over-development and a unique aftershock.

My friend Chip Davis sells Porsches for Braman Motorcars of Palm Beach. He has a customer who has a residence in Palm Beach (among others he owns all over the world) and buys a new Porsche every year. Two years ago his customer called and cancelled his order, saying, “When I called my broker for my usual monthly stipend of $100,000 he informed me that my account was zero-zip-zilch.” The broker had invested all the money with the Madoff Investment firm and Bernie had “made-off” with his $50 millions of life savings. This scenario was played out with hundreds of the rich and famous from Florida and elsewhere, including Norman Braman, owner of Braman Motorcars.

While our country is recovering from the recession, Florida languishes in a deep slump. The Palm Beach Post reports; “The Great Recession might be over for the nation but Florida’s economy is still shrinking.”

Thousands of properties are in foreclosure and there are many bargains — that’s the good news. The bad news is that it’s a cash market. The banks are simply not lending money on condos — too risky. When you add the high property taxes that snowbirds will have to pay, Florida is no longer a cheap place to live or a cheap place to have a vacation home. Last year, for the first time in Florida’s history, more families moved out of Florida, than moved in. (Will the last legislator leaving the council chambers in Tallahassee, please turn out the lights).

However, as Alexander Pope once said, “Hope springs eternal in the human breast.”

As I sit at my word processor on this beautiful November day in Florida, pumping out this rhetoric, a colossal cruise ship is on its maiden voyage from Helsinki, Finland, where it was built, to Ft. Lauderdale. The Royal Caribbean “Oasis of the Seas” is five times bigger than the Titanic and 40 percent larger than the industry’s next largest ship. Some of the staterooms are bigger than the average condo and it will hold 6,360 Floridians (at per-person rates running from $1,299 to $4,829) who wish to sail the Caribbean, and forget their woes this winter.