Florida and the Dreaded No-See-Um

Last week I returned from a quickie trip to Florida to visit good friends. They have a place down in Palm Beach Gardens and enticed me with a few magic words. You know the ones – Beach. Sun. Ocean. Oh, and let’s not forget that happy word: Shopping.

I was tempted, but not enough to pack my bags quite yet.

But when they uttered the ever-magical phrase, no dog-walking required, I couldn’t find a flight fast enough.

Did I miss Vince and Maggie Minx and Twinks and Jinx while I was gone? Oh, you betcha – especially Vince. But it was nice to have a few days of downtime. I didn’t have to do a single load of laundry. I didn’t have to worry about doggie poo bags. And best of all, I didn’t have to figure out what to fix for dinner or purchase the fixings or, well, do the actual fixing.

The most taxing thing I had to do was decide which bottle of wine to open for happy hour.

That’s my kind of chore.

I was gone just long enough to recharge my batteries and I left Florida just before Susan and Jeffy rescinded the Welcome mat.

I always remember my mom telling me that guests, like fish, start to smell after three days. Which conjured up a horrible image and I almost missed her point. And while my mother never pretended to be the author of that quote, she said it was a good philosophy to have about being a welcomed guest. Or maybe about being a guest who would be welcomed back.

Of course, with any good battery recharging getaway, there is always the chance of a downside. Like missing your connection. Or getting dragged off an airplane (!) Or arriving just as monsoon season hits.

Fortunately, none of those things happened. No, the worst thing that happened to me was the attack of the dreaded no-see-um. Aptly named.

Because I didn’t see-um.

But my ankles and wrists looked as though I had caught the plague. I had little red welts all over me and, boy, did they itch! For such a little bug, no-see-um bites sure do pack an itchy punch.

Sadly, I realized too late what was happening and by the time I finally applied a little bug spray to my exposed parts, the damage had already been done.

But the good news was that it WAS the last day of my visit and I was heading back home to Ohio’s unpredictable weather. Which meant that all those little red welts would mostly likely be hidden under layers of clothing and no one would be forced to take a cautious step away from me out of fear of catching whatever contagious virus I had.

And even better news is that my husband had a magical fix for my bug bites much like the father in My Big Fat Greek Wedding had with his bottle of Windex.

Except Vince’s potion is Oil of Oregano. Have you heard of this stuff? Let me just say…it stiiiiiinks! I mean, it seriously stinks.

Vince has been using Oil of Oregano for pretty much everything the past couple years. He pats it on his face. He uses it as an antibiotic. I think he even gargles with the stuff, but don’t quote me on that. He may have stopped that practice when I refused to kiss him goodnight because of the smell.

But I’ve gotta give the man his due – he applied that oil of oregano to my no-see-um bites and they never itched again – not even once. Which is amazing because I’m the kind of person who will hang on to an itchy bug bite far longer than the average human.

So anyway. I had a wonderful visit with my friends and I did, indeed, recharge my batteries. So I’m back to walking the dog and carrying doggie poo bags. And I’m back to figuring out what to fix for dinner. But it all seems a little less taxing.

Best of all, I’m back at home with my Vince. Where I should be.

And, happily, those dreaded  no-see-ums didn’t follow me back to Ohio.

Spring Break with Zelda and her Two Darling Daughters, Agatha and Noreen. Part II

Yesterday I was fondly reminiscing, er, okay, just plain reminiscing about my spring break vacation with Zelda and her little girls, Agatha and Noreen. But I realize that I left the story unfinished.

I mean, we’d barely arrived when I stopped writing about the trip. Now, perhaps that would be the smart thing to do since Agatha and Noreen are on Facebook and might actually read my blog. And they might never speak to me again.

Nah. That’s not possible, is it? I mean, both of them have children of their own now. They probably know that on a rare occasion, children can be a trial and a handful – don’t you think? Or maybe their children never EVER get bored and kick the back of the driver’s seat such that the driver spends the majority of the trip either glaring in the rearview mirror at the culprit or glaring at their mother for having had the nerve to reproduce.

Oh, wait. Nowadays people with kids drive big SUVs or mini-vans and the kids can’t even reach the back of the driver’s seat with their little feet. Not only that, but they’re strapped into car seats these days until they’re at least – what? – fifteen? Plus, vehicles that transport children now come equipped with DVD players – a truly blessed invention – to keep children mesmerized throughout the entire drive.

And if all that fails, parents now routinely administer kiddie tranquilizers – don’t they?

(Perhaps I’m misinformed on that last thing.)

Ah, I’m just joshing here. We actually had a lovely vacation. (Other than the drive. Sorry. Just had to say that again.)

We spent hot, sun-filled days hanging out at the beach and relaxing and laughing at the girls’ antics. I recall a specific incident when we were at the beach and Noreen was happily munching on a slice of watermelon. She gave me a big, cheesy smile as I snapped her photo and then, seconds later, dropped her watermelon right in the sand. The look of shock and surprise on her little face when she picked up the sand-coated piece of fruit had me laughing so hard I couldn’t focus to take another picture. She even tried brushing off the sand – to no avail. Finally, her mother took it from her and threw it away. But it was definitely one of those Before-and-After/Happy one second then Sad the next Kodak moments.

Zelda and I even had an opportunity or two to go out for an adults-only evening while her father babysat the kids. Zelda loved seafood and I did not, but I tried shrimp for the first time in my life and remember being proud of myself for being so adventurous. And I vaguely recall dancing and bar-hopping one night with Zelda’s younger sister, um, Darcy. Darcy definitely knew the nightlife side of the area, but – y’know – what goes in Palm Beach Gardens stays in Palm Beach Gardens. Or something like that.

Our final treat was that Zelda’s father presented us with four tickets to Disney World. It was on our way out of town and, now that I think about it, perhaps it was his way of getting rid of us a bit early? No, I’m sure he absolutely loved having all of us under his cozy little roof.

No matter, we all had a great time hangin’ out with the Mouse before hittin’ the road again for home.

The comment that Agatha recently made that prompted this little trip down Memory Lane had to do with her mother ordering a Bloody Mary and nearly getting into a brawl with the bartender.

As the other adult in question during this trip, my first thought was, Where was I during this incident? I mean, I have absolutely no recollection of any such altercation. Shouldn’t something this memorable be readily retrievable from the memory banks?? Clearly, I need to speak with Zelda.

Perhaps I had more than my share of Bloody Marys by that point and was a little foggy myself? I don’t know. But what I DO remember about our return trip is that we had smartened up by then and drove through the night.

When one of the little angels asked their mother what time we would be getting back to Columbus, Zelda replied that it would be near dinnertime. Which was about 24 hours hence. (Zelda was, of course, padding the estimate a little as well as factoring in innumerable potty, leg-stretching and refueling breaks.)

MY thought was, Oh, it is SO not going to take that long – not if I have anything to do with it!

Zelda took the first shift and drove at a sedate, well-within-the-speed-limit pace. And then a short time later we made the first inevitable pit stop. (And don’t let Zelda ever try to tell you that the pit stops were only for the kids, either. She has a bladder the size of a pea.)

Anyway, at this first pit stop, I gassed up the car, loaded up on caffeine and a big bag of M&Ms, and commenced driving as if I were being chased by the very devil himself.

I drank Diet Coke and ate one M&M every 5 miles (to keep myself awake and sharp - and having to count tends to keep me focused). I stopped only when the gas gauge hovered around Minus E, something I don’t usually do but did so only because it was an emergency. As all three passengers were sound asleep, I quietly refilled the tank, emptied mine and bought more Diet Coke. I drove all night long and, when the car began to fill with morning light and everyone began stirring, we were (thankfully) near the Ohio border.

By this point, I was exhausted and Zelda was refreshed, so we stopped somewhere for a quick breakfast before Zelda took over the wheel. And we were home well before lunchtime, which was such happy news for me, I nearly kissed the ground when I got back to my peaceful, quiet abode.

Later that day, after a LONG nap, I reluctantly got back into my car to drive to the grocery store to stock up for the week ahead. The first thing I noticed as I neared my vehicle? Lots of little smeared handprints and crayon marks all over the back seat windows. Ah. What a sweet token to remember Noreen and Agatha by, huh? (PS, I hate cleaning windows, particularly car windows. And most especially, those hard-to-reach back seat car windows.)

And, okay, so my version of this story is filled with a bit of exaggeration. In truth, every single time I think of that trip, I smile. Because, despite my complaining about the drive itself, I really do love Agatha and Noreen – and I really did have a wonderful vacation with them.

But since that trip, I have never once suggested to anyone that we drive to Florida on vacation. No forehead flicking reminders required.

The End.

Memories: Spring Break with Zelda and the Girls. Part I

The other day I was reminded of a long-ago trip to Florida I took with my best friend and her two little girls. The “little girl” who reminded me about it is now {mumble}30-something{mumble} and has children of her own. But when we drove down to Florida she was maybe nine or 10 and her younger sister was 4 or 5. I don’t remember their exact ages because, well, frankly, I’ve tried to block that particular vacation from my memory.

No, I kid. (Sort of.)

I was in my late 20s and still single and loving it while my friend was divorced with two little girls and living an entirely different lifestyle than I. Meaning that she was a responsible parent and I was still the carefree single girl. Well, except I was also working full-time and going to college full-time, so I suppose you could call me responsible, too – but in an entirely different way.

I definitely wasn’t responsible for raising children, other than an occasional overnight babysitting gig when a parent had to go out of town and recruited me for the job. But, heck, at that time in my life, I wasn’t even responsible for a pet – not a goldfish or a turtle or one of those other “pretend” pets that you don’t really have to do anything for except throw a little crumble of food their way now and again.

But, my friend – let’s call her Zelda to maintain her anonymity – decided we really needed to take a road trip to Palm Beach Gardens for spring break. It was expected to be a relatively inexpensive trip as we were driving (and gasoline prices were definitely not in the $3+ range back then). And we were staying at her father’s condo, so we wouldn’t have lodging costs to contend with. A little food, drink and gas money and we were good to go.

We decided to take my car as it was (a) only a year old and perhaps a little more “reliable” than hers, and most importantly (b) it had air conditioning and hers didn’t. So prior to our trip, I carefully cleaned the car inside and out, had the oil changed and fluids checked and even loaded up the seat pockets with coloring books, crayons and pencils and assorted little games, toys and treats to keep the girls occupied in the backseat for our long journey.

Smart, huh?

Yeah, not so much. Before we’d traveled beyond the outskirts of Columbus, all the games, toys, treats and coloring pencils were scattered all over the inside of the car – everywhere but stowed carefully inside the seat pockets. The little one (we’ll call her Noreen) was bored and alternated between kicking my seat and poking holes in the seat back with her carefully sharpened coloring pencil. And the older one – Agatha – was doing the classic kid thing and asking us if we were almost there yet and informing us every other minute that she was bored.

Egad, I thought to myself, I fear this is going to be a VERY long drive…

Only I probably didn’t use the word “Egad.”

And, boy oh boy, was it! I don’t think I’ve ever had such an arduous journey – and that includes the time my sister and I got stuck overnight in the Chicago airport after spending about eight cramped hours in an airplane returning from Paris.

I had no idea little girls needed only 3.2 minutes to go through a pocketful of games, toys, treats and coloring books before they were done playing with it all and would then be bored. Being bored is a major problem with little kids – did you know that? (Of course you did! You’re experienced at this sort of thing. I, on the other hand, was not.)

Plus, let’s be honest. It’s a L-O-N-G flippin’ drive to Palm Beach Gardens. When we finally arrived in the actual state of Florida and stopped near the border for the approximately 73^rd potty break, I nearly wept with joy. Inside, I was screaming, WE MADE IT, WE MADE IT, WE MADE IT!! (Unbidden, but somewhere still in my subconscious, was the thought Thank goodness. Now I don’t have to strangle two little girls.

(Sorry, Agatha and Noreen. I feel ashamed of myself. I was young and inexperienced in the ways of little girls. In reality, you were most likely darling little angels and I just couldn’t tell. Forgive me?!)

Of course, once I realized we still had about five more hours of driving to go before we actually arrived at our destination, I nearly wept real tears. And they were not the joyful variety.

To this day, I clearly remember standing in line to use the bathroom at Zelda’s father’s condo (waiting for Agatha and Noreen to finish up first). I looked Zelda in the eye and said, “If I EVER again mention that I’m thinking of driving to Florida, would you – after you flick me in the forehead for being so dumb – PLEASE remind me of this very moment?” She looked at me with the mascara smeared under my eyes, my stringy hair, my none-too-daisy-fresh clothing and replied, “Why, Jane…whatever do you mean?!” And then she laughed and laughed.

Yeah. Agatha and Noreen weren’t the only ones in danger of being strangled.

But after a glass of wine or two, I was starting to recover and thinking I might actually enjoy this vacation.

Silly me. Because what happens after an enjoyable vacation? The. Long. Drive. Home.

(To be continued…)