The vacationy feeling just won’t stop. Coming home was so very sweet–good coffee, good bed, and oh my GOODNESS was the baby always so adorable???–but part of my mind is still stuck in vacation-world. I find myself with a little thrill of excitement, a voice in the back of my head saying “oh goody goody goody goody goody”.
I think it’s spring coming. Going on a vacation right before spring comes is such a special feeling. You can really luxuriate in it, you can enjoy the immediate treat and the long-term treat. Now, fall is my favorite season and I love the holidays, but springtime is when I’m happiest. It feels like the whole world is on vacation, when you can leave windows open and sit outside in the sunshine and see flowers growing again. Oh boy. Midwestern winters are brutal.
South Beach was a special little vacation. We needed it so badly. We did almost nothing, I tell you. We plodded out to the beach two or three times, but it was too windy, so we beat it back to the still courtyard with its heated pool. We went to a fancy restaurant every day, but we ate every other meal at the deli across the street. No pressure to find something “different”. No pressure have an “experience”. Just sitting outside, eating sandwiches and drinking lattes, enjoying the warmth and the sea air and the little dramas that unfold in a city (we saw a Chevy van rear-end a Porsche; the drivers looked for damage, found none, shook hands and drove away). Then back to the hotel for a long day on the pool deck, alternately reading and bobbing in the warm water, no pressure to be touristy or go on excursions or even entertain each other much. We would even go to the hotel room to lounge around and watch TV when the sun got to be too much. Ahhhhhhh.
Our own bed and coffee and baby, but on that little verandah in warm sun and salty air. That’s my idea of perfect.