Sorry, delayed. Had to get over a little computer virus
January 20. Home we go with not so skippy feet. Still not that perfect family in the Disney commercials, walking in slow motion, trailing pixie dust. Walking in slow motion, yes, but trailing bits of sand, pop out ibuprofen wrappers and used Kleenex. We rise early, clean up the condo and stuff the last bits of junk in any available niche in the suitcases. We take a last walk on the beach where we see dozens of small sand pipers fishing in the tide sands. There is even an Osprey following the shore line. We hope he will dive for something but he just calmly floats on the thermals to the North. The kids scoop a bit of Cocoa Beach sand into a bag with a few angel wing and clam shells. This is a tradition for us. We have a collection of sands and shells from beaches we have visited. We do not take sand from any protected beach. I would love to have some Castaway Cay sand or some sand from St James, but we left these beaches as they are. I remember people talking about the millions of sand dollars that could be found on Castaway Cay. There is not a one to be found now, others have not been as careful. We try to leave these manufactured beaches or beaches that cannot take the loss alone. Each sand goes into a jar, shells sprinkled atop, surrounding a small candle. We light the candles on cold January nights and remember days of sun and turquoise waves.
We say goodbye to Cocoa Beach and head to the Orlando airport. Whistler makes a last purchase of a soft Pluto in the shop at MCO. We buy some sandwiches to eat on the plane and board. Long way home. Boy am I sick of lay-overs in Atlanta necessitating crossing the whole airport for our connection. Careening, rickety cab back to our house. It has not burned down. Our birds are healthy and desperate for affection.
Last thoughts. We are surprised, as we unpack, to realize that the ship ornament is signed by the Captain. There it is, but on the front of the ornament, not on the back, as before. Duh. I love putting on the Caribbean topaz jewelry. The topaz is that wonderful golden pink, like sunsets over Southern seas. The Larimar is also a joy. It is the color of the pure sea over reefs worth snorkeling on a glorious sunny day. That turquoise color you see when flying over ocean islands so near, so far. Whistlers Pluto is soft; he strokes him and takes him to bed to be the favored cuddler of the week. I cannot resist stroking Pluto, either, after I stroke Whistlers soft sunburned cheek as he sleeps. Gameboy wears his shark tooth necklace to school and is the envy of all, especially the kids who will never get to take the kind of wonderful trips he does. I tell him how lucky he is, but to not talk about it too much at school. One of his friends at school was jealous over the last trip, and not a friend anymore, he felt we should have taken him along. A nine year-old's simple explanation, we are rich, he is not, we could have afforded it. Ah, if only it was that simple. Gma wears her emerald ring with satisfaction, what is the point of making it to 86, hurting all the way, if you cant buy something your heart has always desired? Rack pours over the digital pictures. We sit in our jammies the next week-end and watch the videos. Then immerse ourselves in the long From the Earth to the Moon saga to escape the grey snowy days.
And I plot to figure out how to swing the next vacation, the sooner the better. No one will have the same vacation schedule for the next four years, Whistler in tracked grade school, Gameboy in a conventional junior high, Peter at a University. Man, Colorado is cold and colorless in January.
And I dream of pink sand beaches and aquamarine surf.
Carla
January 20. Home we go with not so skippy feet. Still not that perfect family in the Disney commercials, walking in slow motion, trailing pixie dust. Walking in slow motion, yes, but trailing bits of sand, pop out ibuprofen wrappers and used Kleenex. We rise early, clean up the condo and stuff the last bits of junk in any available niche in the suitcases. We take a last walk on the beach where we see dozens of small sand pipers fishing in the tide sands. There is even an Osprey following the shore line. We hope he will dive for something but he just calmly floats on the thermals to the North. The kids scoop a bit of Cocoa Beach sand into a bag with a few angel wing and clam shells. This is a tradition for us. We have a collection of sands and shells from beaches we have visited. We do not take sand from any protected beach. I would love to have some Castaway Cay sand or some sand from St James, but we left these beaches as they are. I remember people talking about the millions of sand dollars that could be found on Castaway Cay. There is not a one to be found now, others have not been as careful. We try to leave these manufactured beaches or beaches that cannot take the loss alone. Each sand goes into a jar, shells sprinkled atop, surrounding a small candle. We light the candles on cold January nights and remember days of sun and turquoise waves.
We say goodbye to Cocoa Beach and head to the Orlando airport. Whistler makes a last purchase of a soft Pluto in the shop at MCO. We buy some sandwiches to eat on the plane and board. Long way home. Boy am I sick of lay-overs in Atlanta necessitating crossing the whole airport for our connection. Careening, rickety cab back to our house. It has not burned down. Our birds are healthy and desperate for affection.
Last thoughts. We are surprised, as we unpack, to realize that the ship ornament is signed by the Captain. There it is, but on the front of the ornament, not on the back, as before. Duh. I love putting on the Caribbean topaz jewelry. The topaz is that wonderful golden pink, like sunsets over Southern seas. The Larimar is also a joy. It is the color of the pure sea over reefs worth snorkeling on a glorious sunny day. That turquoise color you see when flying over ocean islands so near, so far. Whistlers Pluto is soft; he strokes him and takes him to bed to be the favored cuddler of the week. I cannot resist stroking Pluto, either, after I stroke Whistlers soft sunburned cheek as he sleeps. Gameboy wears his shark tooth necklace to school and is the envy of all, especially the kids who will never get to take the kind of wonderful trips he does. I tell him how lucky he is, but to not talk about it too much at school. One of his friends at school was jealous over the last trip, and not a friend anymore, he felt we should have taken him along. A nine year-old's simple explanation, we are rich, he is not, we could have afforded it. Ah, if only it was that simple. Gma wears her emerald ring with satisfaction, what is the point of making it to 86, hurting all the way, if you cant buy something your heart has always desired? Rack pours over the digital pictures. We sit in our jammies the next week-end and watch the videos. Then immerse ourselves in the long From the Earth to the Moon saga to escape the grey snowy days.
And I plot to figure out how to swing the next vacation, the sooner the better. No one will have the same vacation schedule for the next four years, Whistler in tracked grade school, Gameboy in a conventional junior high, Peter at a University. Man, Colorado is cold and colorless in January.
And I dream of pink sand beaches and aquamarine surf.
Carla
