One of These Days . . .
|Siesta Key, Florida – photograph by Christina Claro|
My family spent the Thanksgiving holiday in Sarasota, Florida. My husband and I made the trip, along with our two daughters, to spend the holiday with our son and his girlfriend who live ten minutes from one of the world’s prettiest beaches. For me, a family-aholic and unabashed beach worshiper, it was the perfect vacation.
Reality struck today, our first day back home. Instead of waking up to a three mile power walk on the silken-sand beach, I huffed and puffed on the treadmill. Instead of mild traffic I sat in the usual Atlanta jam-up. And what happened to the balmy, 75 degree, sunshine-and-blue skies? Alas! Left behind in Florida. Today, Atlanta’s gray sky spit rain and the temperature never topped 54 degrees.
While listening to the swish-swish-swish of the windshield wipers and waiting for the interior of the car to heat up, I told myself that if I lived ten minutes from the beach I’d eventually take it for granted; that in a few weeks when the snowbirds descend on Sarasota the traffic won’t be so smooth; that even sunny skies get old when they occur one right after the other. Yes, I told myself, living at the beach would soon become a bore and I’d wish for a little rain and cool weather to offer respite from those blue, blue skies. I mean all that sun and sand must get old, right?
Yeah, right. And that chocolate torte I ate for dessert last week didn’t have any calories. Pfft.
I asked my son if he ever tires of wearing shorts and flip-flops, ever yearns for a solid day of rain just to break up the monotony of breezy sunshine days.
“Move down here and find out for yourself,” he urged with a smile.
One of these days, buttercup . . . one of these days . . .
See you next time –