Happy New Year!
Well, it turns out, that despite all instincts to the contrary, I didn't off myself during the holidays. The blur from Thanksgiving to New Year is in the rear view mirror, and I couldn't be happier about that. There's something relentless and unkind about the holiday season, and I can't put my finger on it. *Shiver*
On the tremendous upside, we did take a great vacation over winter break. We cruised (why not? We've got the sour acrimony of 80 year-olds) all over the Caribbean. Far, in fact. I know you want to hear about it.
First, we had to drive to Fort Lauderdale, Florida. That is approximately 725 miles from where I sit right now. In metric, that converts to effing far. So, on the first day of break, my true love gave to me: an appointment with Sam's endocrinologist, subsequent X-rays and blood work, lunch on the causeway, and that was the first four hours of the day. We made it to Tallahassee and then slept.
On the second day of break, we made it to Fort Lauderdale. The kids were more or less good, and the driving more or less easy. For the record, though, Florida is WAY bigger than it looks on the map. It's never ending. We ate at a fantastically fun kitschy German restaurant in Ft. Lauderdale, and rested up for boarding.
The next day was easy. Geriatrics are always concerned about their hips, so they generally move away from aggressive pushing. We engaged in a long chit chat with the agent who wanted to be sure to tell me to enjoy my boys before they were all grown up like hers. Though her intentions were probably good, you never want to tell a woman who's spent 12 hours in a car with her kids to enjoy them. It's just not prudent.
M bought a prepaid $100 beverage card for me to facilitate my hard earned alcoholic binging. I don't know if he was optimistic or if he was naive, or if I really misunderstood, but I blew through that sucker in a day. It's vacation. And drinks with fruit and umbrella garnish aren't free.
The first port of call was Holland America's privately owned island, Half Moon Cay. M and I have been there 3 times, at least, over the past 10 years. Once we went with our friends, EM and WB and had one of the best days EVER. In fact, for whatever reasons, the absence of EM and WB on this trip really struck me.
The kids thought the tropical water was too cold, and I didn't care. Because Holland America has recently built a rather cute pirate ship sponsored by none other than Captain Morgan. They served up all kinds of fun stuff in there, and the kids enjoyed playing in the sand while I "supervised."
A day at the beach turned out to be too much for sweet little E, though. After being in the heat, and playing in the water and sand, he probably had a touch of sun stroke. At least that's what we called it when we were kids. It may not be an actual "diagnosis," but he's had it before. He skipped dinner, and went to bed.
At 11 o'clock that night, I was awakened to the most horrible sound known to human kind. It sounds like whatever the opposite of sucking is. Blowing? Spitting? As I jammed on the light, the odor hit me. Hard. Like a wall of stink. E puked ALL over. His bed. The floor. The table.
It's a 100 square foot cabin. He pretty much hit all of it.
I scrubbed the kid, and M summoned the cabin steward, who opened the door into the wall of stink, looked at the mess, and visibly wished he was back in Indonesia, surfing a tsunami.
M and our steward cleaned and scrubbed as best the could in the middle of the night. But the stink was there. Embedded in my nose. On me. All around. I didn't sleep.
For the next 4 days, our steward shampooed the carpeting, disinfected, ionized the air (as if that's gonna help) and febreezed. But long after he gave up hope, there was still the distinct cutting edge of puke in cabin 1122.
After the puke, resting in the cabin was no longer an option. I spent more time on deck, working on the $250 beverage card M bought after I drained the first one. The air was warm, the sun was bright, and the margaritas sparkled in it all.
The absolute highlight of the trip was a few days later in Curacao. By absolute coincidence enjoyed only by the 1%, my sister and her husband were vacationing there. We trundled up to their hotel and waited for their arrival. While it was only a short visit, it was a much needed visit, and I'm glad for it.
We snorkeled and sailed in the Dominican. Free Rum Punch. We toured endangered mangrove forests in Bonaire. (No free drinks.)We took a 4x4 trip off-roading through Aruba. Free beer. We snorkled in Curacao. We visited the oldest synagogue in the Western Hemisphere in Curacao. Nothing draws crowds like a 400 year old shul. You think I'm joking. Let me remind you: the ship was full of 80 year old Jewish folks who like nothing more than finding Jewish stuff, even if it's on a tiny Dutch Island in the middle of nowhere. They sat in the pews, and fanned themselves, complaining of the heat. I swear, I wish I were kidding about that.
My favorite non-family moment came when I was chatting with the guide in Aruba. He asked where we were from, and I grudgingly confessed the truth: Alabama. And my favorite response EVER. "If you are from Alabama, you might have heard about that unfortunate business about that Holloway girl."
I wanted to say that if I lived in a box under a trestle in New York City, and did nothing but meth and crank all day, and thought a pair of shoes I found in the gutter was god, and were deaf and blind, and completely incommunicado, I STILL would have heard about Natalee Holloway. And how her dumb, drunken friends left her 18 year old drunk self alone in a bar in the arms of a mass murderer, who just happened to be the son of the most powerful dude on the island.
"Yes. I think I recall something about that."
And, thank you. I will enjoy another free beer.
No comments:
Post a Comment