last year at this time...

...we were in Florida, south of Naples on Marco Island. Some friends invited us to spend a week at their timeshare with them. Our friend was here last night, standing in the kitchen eating chili. We're supposed to have a big blizzard today, so we were reminiscing about our trip. Dang, that was fun. Wish we were there now.

Jay in the ocean

something I wrote last year after we returned:

We loved Florida in December. It was amazing, gorgeous, WARM. The fluttery blowing palm trees… sparkly water. It’s absolutely another dimension, stunning, peaceful, and pleasantly dull. Jay and I hung out, walked to the store holding hands, ate fish at a restaurant in our shorts and sandals where the doors were wide open to the warm rain pouring outside.

He went on long fishing trips with his friend and I killed time, soaking up sunshine, knowing I won’t feel that warmth again until next May--sat on the patio near the pool and read a book about Princess Diana that read like a textbook. No gossip tale that. I finally checked the author—some British historian!! Good Lord! Too many old houses and too many fancy cheating Brits all backstabbing each other.

The first night, there was much talk about the tree lighting ceremony next door. Whatever. This place could not feel less like Christmas, but whatever. Later that night we wandered out along the balcony/veranda… (I’d call it a porch) while the ceremony was going on. I could hear Bing Crosby singing White Christmas, and I was glad I had my glasses on so I could take it in… the whole lawn was filled with lawn chairs and people in summer clothes, children running around the edges in the dark, chasing each other, kind of like the 4th of July back home.

The tree was fully lit and the stage next to it was decorated with pine boughs and lights and little kid ballerinas danced on the stage, twirling in unison. In a little while they sang jingle bells, and dashing through the snow sounded so funny under palms, but the breeze was balmy and sweet and Jay was nestled against my back in the dark.

I do love palm trees. I had no idea before this week that there are different kinds! Tall, short, all different swirls of leaves…fronds, whatever they are. There’s one kind I like the most that reminds me of the cowlicks on a guinea pig. I’m glad to be through with the guinea pig stage of life. (God bless you Nibbles, Rusty, and Marty, Felicia, Amy, and Patrick, warm comical pigs all. Mweep.) But those trees did kind of tug me by the heart.

We went to a restaurant on the edge of a marina and ate dinner with our friends in the dark by the bay, all you can eat fish and chips. Well all I can eat is not a lot, but it was perfect there, tiki hut over the bar, Christmas lights. They had live music, some guy with a guitar singing Roger Miller when we came in, “Trailers for sale or rent. Rooms to let—fifty cents. No phone, no pool, no pets. I ain’t got no cigarettes…” He sang Bob Dylan, “Everybody’s got to get stoned,” while he made balloon animals for the little kids dancing near his booth. I sneaked up and asked if he took requests. He seemed surprised, “Yeah! I do!” (Rod Stewart, what else would I ask for?) He played Have I Told You Lately That I Love You. That one is written by Van Morrison, so that gets extra points.

I watched a sweet curvaceous mom dancing with a boy on her hip, probably about four years old with a blonde Beatles haircut and long bare legs. She dipped him low on “…you fill my heart with gladness,” and he clung to her shoulder and laughed. So did I. His little-bitty pot bellied sister was next to them, swinging her little diapered hips to the music. Could have hugged them all.

Which brings me to the family vacationing next door and one floor down… their stubborn preschoolers arguing about trivia and juicy baby girl with the Michelin Man arms and legs and swirl of fluffy curls on the top of her head made me feel so connected to home. They were from Ohio. I don’t know who they are, but the baby girl’s name is Paige… and the obstreperous brother has red pajamas and his hair twirls to a point at his nape, right where I like to plant my nose on my own pointy-nape sons. I’m so glad they were there. I liked listening to them down below.

Another night we went to the Irish Pub for supper, and our waitress asked where we were from. I told her Minneapolis. She said she’d spent a Christmas Eve in Minneapolis many years ago, then bit the edge of her lip and looked away, grinning. When she came back with the Guinness I asked her what she’d been doing in Minneapolis at Christmas? Did she have family there? She laughed. Nooo. She was traveling with a rock band. She was 19 then and her parents were most unamused. (I suppose they were!) But it’d been a beautiful Christmas, a great time. What a cute lady.

the canal

Friday Jay and his bud were gone fishing with some guide for like 12 hours. (His friend lived for this piece of the trip.) By suppertime I was climbing the walls, with only the Princess Diana tome left for amusement. I’d walked all around the town, been in all the stores one last time, sat by the pool for hours… COME HOME. Finally I called at 5:30. They were just getting out of the boat, still in Naples, an hour and a half away!

our friend, removing a catfish

I teased him, “Well. Just so you know. Cheri and I are completely drunk.” (She’s the other guy’s wife, very reserved, spent the whole week quietly working suduko puzzles. God bless her, she is definitely easy-going company.) Anyway, they got a big laugh out of that. Har de har har. They finally arrived back and fried the fish. I walked in the dark to the store for oil and salt, summery wind on my arms. Afterward, as our friend snoozed on the couch and his wife poured over suduko, Jay and I sat on the balcony in the breeze and drank some wine, looked out over the water and houses beyond, Christmas lights in their cabanas.

And then we came home. After this very quiet week, we drove home on a drab overcast day, MN gray freeway…Then I opened the door of my house, and a huge burst of warmth and color hit me—the shiny maple floors and enormous Christmas tree, the giant Welcome Home poster the kids had made, all the friendly cluttery scene that is my house, flowered curtains and rugs, and a herd of happy children, bouncy dogs. My house. My life. It felt so good.

Dan and his dog drove over directly, and John and Dannell and t.c. (and the dog, Sophie) were not far behind. I never did even get my groceries carried in (I went to get the stuff for cooky baking right away when we got home.) until about 11pm. It was wonderful, the laughing and arguing, wound up little kids running through, dogs wrassling and stealing the rawhides from each other.

In the evening we were home, there was more conversation, teasing, loud laughter and hugging than I had seen in a week. Gosh, I felt like a lucky woman…a perfect vacation followed by the completely honest realization that everything that makes my life amazing and bright with love is right here in an old house in a boring neighborhood in a freezing cold city. We find life where we do… which is a version of growing where we’re planted, all those stupid clichés, but seriously look around. Either you’re where you are for a reason, which you must embrace….or you’re not, and you should figure out where you belong instead. Sigh.

But along the way I wish you lunch with your sweetheart in the dark in the rain, ballerinas under palm trees, a cool waitress and easy going friends, funny children and squeezy babies, and everyone you love eager to welcome you home when you get there. Love, Val