Sign of age: When you no longer think of icicles as magical, but as an indication of heat loss. Hibernation during the winter is my standard operating procedure. I don't get around to writing here much. This year is an exception because you're (un)lucky enough I'm posting my vacation journal. |
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Thursday--Preparations
Just left Riley at Donna's. Tough to do 'cause he's my best bud. But now I won't have to do it in a rush tomorrow morning. Packing for him is almost as bad as packing for myself. Bed, food and water stand, chow, carrots, apples, a blanket, a towel, his sock, his birthday card and present for "Aunt" Donna. Have the important items for myself packed now: books and chocolate in my tote bag. Friday--The Trip 6:30 a.m.: Why oh why didn't I get up when the alarm sounded earlier? Connie will be here in a couple hours to give me a ride to the airport. Where's my suitcase? Where are my summer clothes?? 8:45 a.m.: I'm off. And proud of myself because I remembered to grab my cell phone adapter from the car. I forgot it last time. But I shouldn't have vacuumed. No time for makeup now. The perversity of human nature. I've never been one to primp, but from, say, 18-27, I wouldn't have dreamed of leaving the house without my contacts in, each eyelash mascaraed, and an earring in each ear. Gilding the lily at an age when most of us were fresh, sparkling, and didn't really need cosmetic aid. Now that I could truly use the help, I crawl out of bed, grab my keys, and go--with barely a glance in the mirror. Contacts? Glasses work. Mascara? For parties. Earrings? Wonder if those holes are still there. 10:12 a.m.: Gotta love regional airports. The same gal who checked my bags reappeared at the gate to take tickets. Wonder if she was in the cockpit, too. Airplane with propellers. Oh well. At least I didn't have to bend over to walk down the aisle--just turn sideways. Midair: I'm planning on using SPF30 sunscreen so I don't fry. Too bad the bottle of it is at home in the half bath vanity and not in my suitcase. St. Louis Airport: I just put on my dab of makeup. Now I'm ready for the tall, dark, handsome stranger I'm past due to have seated beside me. As if I wouldn't become mute instantly if that happened. Note to Self: Tendency to walk with gaze directed toward ceiling signs happens in airports; but do glance down occasionally. Prevents tripping over rugrats allowed to crawl on floor. Sign of the Times: A couple in the airport chatting a blue streak. Not to one another, but each on their cell phone. Midair Again: I hate flying. It makes me exhausted and cranky. I cannot sit still. I swear someday I'm going to manage to afford first class to see if the extra room to wriggle around makes it more comfortable. Naples, Florida: Smooth trip. Thank God it's over. Sun had already set by the time I checked in, but I got barefoot and sleeveless fast enough to meander on the beach for a few minutes before complete darkness. Then made the hotel room mine. In other words, shoved all the advertising paraphernalia in a drawer and unpacked my bags. (Disappointment: I had nothing worth locking in the room safe.) Ruh roh. Judging by the scent, I think there was a moth proofer thingie in my seasonal clothes storage box. Saturday--The Tour Ordinary hotel room, but I'm only half a dozen rooms away from the beach. Can see a wedge of shimmering waves from my window--without standing on tiptoes and craning my neck! Can hear the crashing of waves, too, if I turn off the noisy a/c. But it gets stuffy quickly in here. Did some things I should've done before I left Elkhart: thoroughly cleaned out my purse and gave myself a pedicure. I'm ready for anything now. Think I'll take a guided tour of Naples to see how it's changed in the 21 years since I was here before. It's gorgeous here. Not just the beauty of nature, but acre after acre of fodder for Lifestyles of the Rich & Famous. Oooh and ahhh. Miami Vice come to life. Makes the ritzy neighborhoods at home look like tract housing. How can so many people be this wealthy??? So much perfection it's almost obscene. Although maybe that opinion's just because I don't own one of the homes. Trying not to imagine life with that kind of money. Starting my vacation with a severe case of envy wouldn't be good. So far everyone down here seems to be a transplanted Hoosier. The Hertz shuttle driver, the Vanderbilt Inn front desk man, the Trolley tour guide. Coming to Naples definitely makes me feel young. But these older people are sure energetic. It's like a steady parade of worker ants. Marching along the beach; marching along the sidewalks; they're on the move everywhere. There's a lot of traffic, but it's kind. No one seems to be in any hurry. It's even rubbed off on me. The 25 mph speed limit along Gulf Shore Drive is no hardship--makes it easier to gawk at the scenery while I drive. Mercy. Was actually leered at and told, "lookin' good!"--by a senior citizen bag boy. Who insisted on taking my groceries to the car for me, opening my door, caressing my hand in farewell, and holding it to compare my pale complexion to his bronzed tones. If this was my share of T,D, & H, he was kinda short. But at least my fridge is stocked now. Sunday--The Art Show Hard to believe 25 years ago I was the type who seriously feared getting lost. Now I'll take off with the sketchiest of directions. Figure if I get lost I'll either ask someone to direct me, buy a map, or find my way back to where I started. Found the art show (bought a map). Some beautiful things, but very little I could afford. Looked over the first two-thirds of the show thoroughly, but hit melting point and just skimmed the last third. Wish I handled direct sunlight and heat better than I do. I bought a photograph by Peter Hans Strueben. Lovely; but even more, it's a photo of something lovely created from very little. A visual lesson on beauty not being dependent on monetary worth. A first. I walked out of a restaurant because of lousy service. Another lesson for life: I shouldn't have been in a Denny's anyway when I was in tony Naples. I like their Grand Slam breakfasts though. I was seated by the most droidlike hostess I've ever encountered--glum expression, barely verbal. She did manage to bring me a glass of iced tea. Which was the extent of the service I received. I finally left, stopping at the register to tell her that since I apparently wasn't going to receive further service, I was ready to pay for my tea. She muttered a response, which I had to ask her to repeat, "Go ahead." So I had horrible service and got a free glass of tea, but no one seemed to care. America being a melting pot is great, but I wish there was a better balance between retaining ethnicity and not becoming homogenized but yet adapting to and learning the language of the country in which you've chosen to live. The posting of signs in Spanish everywhere in Indiana nowadays makes me furious. (I don't see the signs in Italian or Polish!) But on the other hand, while I'll admit it does make travel less complicated and more predictable, it's rather sad we've melted so much in some ways that many local and regional differences have virtually disappeared. I remember childhood family vacations in Arkansas each summer were tantamount to visiting a foreign country. Now you can fly anywhere in the country and still shop in the same stores, have dinner in the same restaurants, and watch the same tv stations that night as you would have at home. The mysterious aura surrounding travel seems to be gone. Sat on the beach and watched the sun set. I know. I'm easily entertained. But I wasn't the only one satisfied with simple pleasure. The sunset had a large audience. The pelicans, flying high and then catching sight of dinner and torpedoing straight down into the waves, backlit by the setting sun was very dramatic. Pelicans make me think of 747's. Such a lumbering appearance you wonder how they become airborne. They also make it easy to imagine flying dinosaurs. Monday--Paradise There are snakes in paradise. Saw one. My patch of shade on the beach was disappearing and I was inching closer and closer to the clump of sea grass and seagrape providing the shade--until he slithered by about five feet away. Alrighty. Time to go. Brought my walkman along for the beach. Doubt if I'll use it. Love the sound of the ocean. Drat. Wish I had a laptop. Longhand journaling is a mess. |
Tuesday--Another Day in Paradise
After all the scallop and cockle shells I pick up, I just knew an unbroken conch shell was going to wash ashore at my feet this morning, and that it would be an omen of wonderful things to come in my life. Unbelievably, within half an hour it floated in! Unfortunately I'm still trying to decipher God's message since the wee creature was still in residence in his shell, and I had to restore him to the depths so he wouldn't be beached. Waaay too easily amused. I must've spent an hour sitting on the beach watching the seagulls tend to their morning grooming. Started out by just admiring the constantly shifting black/gray/white pattern of the preening flock. Laughed at myself when I realized I'd graduated to trying to discern how many different types of gulls there were (five I think) and wishing for my bird book. Artists' renditions of seagulls as a "V" seem simplistic, but they're accurate. However they can't capture the true beauty of the sun glinting on those V's gliding above the waves. I'd describe the conversations a few daring gulls ventured close to have with me, but I can't find words to do justice to their raucous, unbirdlike sounds. I'm still worried about what we're not teaching our kids today. While I was watching the gulls, a young man from the cabana rentals began setting up umbrellas and chairs for the day. And proceeded to block my view with a setup directly in front of where I was sitting on the empty sand; so close I could've touched him. I didn't get the impression he was intentionally being rude; just that he was totally oblivious to how his actions impacted anyone else. Wednesday--Just Another Day in Paradise Had breakfast this morning with a friend who lives in the area. He knew of a quieter beach than the one directly outside my hotel. So after I got back from breakfast, I tossed a few things in my car and headed for the state park a few minutes north. The beach there really is quieter--75 people in my immediate vicinity instead of 225 (no, I didn't really count). Better yet--there's shade until mid-afternoon instead of just mid-morning. Yippee! Know where I'll be the rest of the week. Dolphins. Omigosh. I saw dolphins. Not in a tank. In the ocean. Right out in front of me. Wow. Thursday--Ditto Blast. I'm not a crispy critter, but I'm definitely sunburned. I'd been limiting my time in the sun and using sun screen, but the thrill of being able to stay on the beach in the comfort of shade so long yesterday made me forgot to put on sunblock. So I'm off to the beach--wearing jeans so my ouchy legs won't catch any more rays. Walked down to the pass where the pleasure boats enter the Gulf. Lots of large, luxurious boats. Lifestyles of the Rich & Famous again. As usual, my pockets were full of shells by the time I got back to my towel. They may only be a couple miles apart, but there is more of a difference in the two beaches than just population. Down at the hotel, it's a more sleek, polished crowd and most of the umbrellas sprouting on the beach are the trim, uniform, green ones rented by the day. Up at the state park is the crowd with the mismatched 10-year-old beach towels and a whole rainbow of umbrellas popping up like flowers in the sand. I don't think anyone bothers to suck in their gut up here. One thing that's great on both beaches is people watching. Both for watching people interact and for chuckling at the living proof that swimsuits are actually sexy looking on very few people. I kinda envy the people so comfortable in their own skin, or with such a plentitude of chutzpah, they have no qualms about letting it all hang out. The group of people beside me today was speaking French. Such a fluid, melodious sound. Friday--Shopping Interesting change of pace to see signs posted that say "Evacuation Route" rather than "Snow Route". I've been a slug most of the week. It's been great. But I better get my rear in gear. Down to the wire for buying souvenirs. Procrastinated because I detest shopping. Not that I'm an inexpensive woman. On the contrary. I usually gravitate toward the most expensive items and am not averse to spending money if it's available. This season Spiegel rewarded me for my frequent business with a hardbound copy of their current catalog. It's the actual shopping process I abhor. It boggles my mind to hear someone discuss an upcoming shopping trip in which looking at and trying on things "just for fun" is planned although the purchase is already decided. I enjoy a deal as much as the next person, but the game of "Search for a Bargain in the Haystack" isn't my idea of a good time. And window shopping? Total frustration. If I see something I like, I want to be able to buy it--not just admire it and walk away. Made a trip down memory lane. The little hotel in Old Naples where I stayed last time is still there all these years later. Looks exactly the same. Also walked out on the city pier a block away from it which then so enchanted me. It still has charm, but the wall-to-wall fishermen that inhabit it now greatly detract from its appeal. Drove through the popular shopping areas: The Village on Venetian Bay (way cool shops); Fifth Avenue South (attitude required); and Third Street South (classy, but funkier). Snap judgments since I just drove through those areas and didn't stop. Ended up at Tin City. Looked more likely for today's goal. Found a great t-shirt shop and also bought a small Caribbean tin wall hanging. The crisp white and bright blue of Bill's Pier on Fifth lured me in for lunch to celebrate an end to shopping. Watching the boats go up and down the Gordon River from my table by the window, the clean, simple decor, and excellent service made it a pleasant lunch. Well, ick. Pleasant has an insipid tone. Don't mean it that way. Started putting things back in my suitcase. Packing dirty clothes is so much easier. Wish room service delivered something as simple as a hotdog. Saturday--Don't Wanna Go Home! Glad I got up early enough to spend some time on the beach. Would've otherwise missed a "now I've seen everything" event. A wizened, old man; apparently so determined to run on the beach he was using poles as he ran, like he was cross-country skiing. There's a tv advertisement that shows a man in a rental car who has forgotten something and backs over those spiked strips. That ad has had a negative impact on me. Now when I return a rental car, I always wonder... I got to the airport way too early. With time on my hands, the Fort Myers airport gift shops were enticing for even me. Major damage to the budget. And though I hate carry-ons my bags were already checked, so a tropical watercolor by Doris Schroeder and a shopping bag to carry onboard. The trip home seemed so long. No sense of anticipation to keep me going. The horribly long layover that is typical for the dreary St. Louis airport seemed never-ending. Of course, hand-carrying home a piece of artwork too large to fit in a suitcase in addition to juggling the added gift shop booty isn't conducive to carefree travel. Picked up Riley as soon as I got home. I haven't been gone that many times in his life, and that was probably the longest stretch I've abandoned him. I think he was glad to see me. I know. It most likely sounds like a dull, boring vacation. But-- No alarm clock. The beach. Reading. No guilt feelings about all the things I should be doing because I couldn't be doing them. A slice of heaven. |
