Sanibel Vacation

July, 2002
 

Sanibel Island, Florida

Tuesday 09 July 2002

At long last, here I lounge in the promised land. One solid week in a comfortable, spacious condominium resort on the beach at Sanibel Island, Florida. What a long, strange trip it has been getting here. I don't want to talk about the stresses and strains of work just now, nor do I even wish to count the days until I have to go back. I want to savor them. I want to BE HERE NOW. I'll only backtrack to yesterday...

Monday the 8th of July

What would a flight to Florida be without a shrieking child across the aisle? Read my trashy novel on the way down (just finished it – fortunately, I've brought another). Got the rental car, which seems to have Sticky Trunk Syndrome, and headed southwest toward Sanibel-Captiva. Thanks to some buddies on rec.arts.disney.parks, I located the Publix supermarket on Summerlin Road and stopped in to stock up. My condo has a fully appointed kitchen.  I was overjoyed as I paid the $3 toll and sped across the Causeway.

Thing is, when you finally set tread on Sanibel, you are immediately forced into slowing down. Literally. The speed limit is 30 MPH. Also, can't get a cell phone signal here to save my life (oh, boo hoo, my life is over because GigaFirm cannot reach me!).

The resort is on Middle Gulf Drive, directly on the beach, kind of on the east end of the curved part of the island. The island is sort of boomerang-shaped, with the outside curve of the boomerang facing south into the Gulf of Mexico.

I checked in and fairly bounced down the steps back to my car, then drove around to my "one bedroom, partial Gulf view", managing to get lost on the way. There is new construction going on, and I turned into a driveway that terminated rather abruptly at a half-finished building. After some navigational corrections, I finally found my building and a prime parking slot under a tree, right off the elevator! Doesn't this day just get better and better?

Three trips to the third floor later, and I was able to take a proper look around. A galley kitchen opens over a breakfast bar into a dining area, into a living room with sofa, loveseat, comfy swivel chair and TV, which opens, finally, onto the screened terrace. All the floors are ceramic tile, including the terrace. The swivel chair stands before the terrace, in order to take advantage of that partial Gulf view, which is magnificent. The first thing I did was fling open the curtains and go one to the terrace. I'm on the end of a U-shaped court.

The rest of the condo consists of a huge linen closet with stuff like mop, broom, vacuum cleaner, extra blanket and pillows, a full bathroom with heat lamp, a walk in closet with a safe inside, and a carpeted bedroom with floor to ceiling windows (but no door) to the terrace.

Once I realized that the terrace was screened, I shut off the air conditioning and opened the sliding glass doors to let in all that delicious heat and humidity. I then started putting away the groceries and was pleasantly surprised by the presence of a gift basket in the fridge. Fruit, cheese, salami, crackers and a bottle of chardonnay, which was immediately opened. I supped on the basket, too tired even to make my beloved pesto. I unpacked and put on my pajamas. I flipped on the tv and caught The Horse Whisperer. Crashed circa midnight.

Today:

Ah, now we're back to Tuesday. Awoke to the sun in my face. Made coffee (yes, I ground my own Starbuck's Breakfast Blend and brought it down with me). I had coffee and yogurt. Showered and slathered myself head to foot in SPF 20. Suited up, grabbed trashy novel and towel, and headed for the beach, a short walk away.  Ah, the Gulf! It was a bit overcast, but I had the umbrella guy set one up for me anyway. Checked cell, still no signal. It was 10:34 am.

The beach was busy but not overcrowded. Brave in my SPF, I did not use the umbrella until coming out from my second dunk in the Gulf. I went back to the condo at about 1:45 pm, and upon preparing to shower, realized that I was sporting quite a sunburn. My SPF claimed to be waterproof - I now know this to be a lie. Fortunately, I'd found a bathing suit with a very high neck, so all formerly radiated skin was covered. I may be stupid enough to believe in waterproof sunscreen, but I'm not THAT stupid.

I decided to explore the resort, figure out where things were. I was also in the mood for seafood. I remembered where the grocery store was a picked up some scallops, which I brought back and sauteed in butter and lemon juice. Made a salad to go with. Put on pajamas. Finished aforementioned trashy novel. Sudden wind kicked up on terrace, lightening followed, so I bailed. Found out the hard way that if you use regular dishwashing liquid in an automatic dishwasher, it seeps suds. Remembered where the mop had been seen. Between mop and a bunch of towels, got mess cleaned up. Didn't get any calls from front desk, safe to assume no leakage to my neighbors downstairs. Decided to be honorable and take towels to the laundry room and clean them. Found a huge hamper full of dirty towels and a cabinet chock full of clean ones. Shrugged sunburnt shoulders, dumped wet towels in hamper, took some clean ones, and strolled out.

Well, don't look at me like that. I had no idea that you can't use lemon scented Joy in the automatic dishwasher. I don't have a dishwasher. You're looking at her!

The forecast indicates 80% chance of thundershowers for tomorrow. Since I am sunburned, I suspect that a massage is not in my future for at least 48 hours. Therefore, I smell a shopping day coming on!

Next up: Wednesday and a valuable lesson learned...

Thursday 11 July 2002

It was indeed a shopping day on Wednesday. But before I shopped, I learned a valuable lesson. See, I live in a little one story house with slanted ceilings in all of the rooms. So, whenever it rains, I know it, on account of hearing it pelt the roof. However, I am currently housed on the third of four floors, and therefore I do not hear it when it rains. The way found out on Wednesday morning that it had rained was rather jarring. I staggered out to the terrace, comatose, to wait for the coffee to brew, and sat down - in a puddle! Still in my nightie, I had to stumble (literally) back to the bedroom to change into something dry. So I've learned my lesson, no sitting on anything until I have determined the relative dryness of same.

Apparently, the storm during the night had high enough winds to blow the 'DO NOT DISTURB' sign a few feet from my door. The day was gray as I headed for Periwinkle Way. I browsed shops the entire morning. I bought a pair of jersey shorts with a drawstring in a color that can only be described as 'mango'. I got bracelets for my youngest nieces, but didn't see anything much appealing for the older ones. I got water shoes - now don't laugh, this here island is shelling Mecca, and they can kill your feet. I got a stronger sunscreen (SPF 30), also claiming to be waterproof AND sweat proof. Harumph. We'll see. I bought aloe for my poor red tummy. The lady who sold me the aloe told me about a place down the road where I could get good takeout seafood. I waited in the bar for the order. It was deserted, save for two guys nursing beers, playing the televised trivia game. I took them for locals. They kept missing. Finally, I couldn't stand it anymore, and chimed in supplying a couple of correct answers. They expressed regret when my order arrived bagged to go.

I had my meal back at the room and was just packaging the leftovers when housekeeping arrived. I took trashy novel #2 to the terrace, carefully inspecting the chairs as a precautionary measure. I don't really know when she finished, but I was glad that she liked the tip I left so much, she unloaded and reloaded the dishwasher for me and left some freebie dishwasher soap packets.

Halfway through General Hospital, I realized that the sun had come out, turning the Gulf its proper sea green. I slathered up with the new SPF, put on a long-sleeved t shirt, shorts with deep pockets, baseball cap and my new water shoes. I took my room key and locked my wallet in the safe, hiding the safe key.

(Does anyone want to know where one hides the safe key? Buried in a potted plant, of course! The valuable things one learns watching the soaps...)

Off I went down the beach, keeping my eyes peeled. I had decided to collect as many yellow cockles and scallops as I could lay my hands on. The tide was on its way out and the storm the night before had deposited treasures on the shore which were a tad unusual for this time of year. January is prime time for shelling on Sanibel and Captiva, because that is the typical time for storms at sea. I was fortunate enough to find a literal gold mine on my journey down the beach. In sizes ranging from as big as the tiniest baby tooth to about as big as my fist, I found all sorts of wonderful things. When I got them back to the condo, I looked them up in my Sunny Day Guide, which I'd picked up at the supermarket. I have several lettered olives, a banded tulip, a few fighting conch, and some baby whelks. Also a few purplish calico scallops, three small lace murex, and quite a handful of yellow cockles. Finally, one perfect yellow Ravenal's scallop.

When I got back from the shelling expedition, I stoppered the kitchen sink and washed them all. Then of course I had to be anal about it and arrange them all on paper towels across the breakfast bar, grading them according to type, color, and size.

I hit the terrace for a good read again, after liberally coating myself with the aloe I'd bought. When it became too dark to see, I came inside to continue reading on the couch. Chilled owing to the sunburn, I grabbed the extra blanket from the closet and continued reading. Somewhere around midnight, I woke up and put myself to bed.

This morning, Thursday, I arose late, for me. After all the walking yesterday (shopping and shelling), I guess I needed some extra. Not to mention that the wine bottle in the fridge is emptying, so maybe that has something to do with the nodding out on the couch. Else, the faeries or some lurking gombeen man is draining the bottle whilst my back is turned...

I made coffee stronger than usual and put the extra in the fridge to chill for later. Put on a new suit that mimics those sleeveless mock turtlenecks ( with a zipper down to THERE, if I desired), slathered up with my new friend SPF 30 and headed out. Dragged a chair to a secluded spot, flagged down the umbrella man. He's got this neat cordless drill with a 1 foot long corkscrew on it. He drills down deep in the sand, opens the umbrella and spears it into the hole he's dug. I parked myself under it, but it was difficult to gauge where precisely it was throwing shade, since the day was again quite overcast. I pegged away at my trashy novel, third in a trilogy concerning the trials of three witches who live on the fictitious Three Sisters Island off the coast of Massachusetts. Perfect beach reading. I took one short swim and scurried back to the umbrella.

At about 1:30 pm I came back to the condo and finished the seafood from the day before. The cole slaw was especially good, and I nuked the dinner roll and had that as well, spread with honey butter. I tuned in the soaps and tried my confused best, since I don't really have much time to keep up, to figure out who is married to whom, who's been divorced and is now sleeping with what's his name, which multiple personality shoved Ben out a second story window, and counted the number of long lost and heretofore unknown cousins/twin sisters/daughters/fathers that have come out of the woodwork to invade the towns of Pine Valley, Llanview and Port Charles. And I cooked. I cut up boneless, skinless breast of chicken into strips, breaded and browned them in olive oil to make chicken fingers. They are best cold, and stolen idly off the plate while hanging on the refrigerator door looking for something to knosh.

After General Hospital was over (Sonny found out that Alexis is pregnant, while Courtney's being blackmailed into becoming a stripper in order to keep A.J. out of jail for DUI - oh, my!), I went shelling again, coming back with another pocketful of yellow cockles, more tiny spear like snail shells, and one more perfect yellow Ravenal's scallop. Came home, same shell cleanup and sorting routine as before. I find shelling to be such a soothing and contemplative type of activity, even the endless arranging and rearranging of them afterward.

Sitting on the terrace, racing through the home stretch of the third trashy novel in the witch series, I mused that patterns of behavior aka routines, emerge whether we're trying to establish them or not. Suddenly, my cell phone beeped at me. I've been able to actually get a signal all of twice while down here, so the familiar tri-tone indication that a message was waiting for me was a real surprise. It was Jason, looking for some business advice. He must have been at the end of his rope to have interrupted my vacation. The call had actually come in quite a bit earlier in the day, but the lack of signal prevented the phone from ringing, so it went straight to voice mail. I'll ring him back in the morning.

I have a massage appointment tomorrow at 11:00 am. I'm not tired yet, which must mean I have not properly consumed sufficient quantities of wine. Only one glass with dinner. I've been keeping several wine glasses chilled in the freezer. Oh, and I made my own version of a Starbuck's mocha frappacino with the leftover coffee (coffee, Hershey's chocolate syrup, milk, ice, in the blender!). Maybe that's why I am not sleepy yet.

Anyhow, about patterns. We indulge without realizing. If we are smart, we eliminate the non-productive ones and accentuate the highly successful ones. We can even consciously create a pattern that furthers some goal. But we can become slaves to a routine. Instead of running the routine, it can end up running us. So, we go on vacation to get away from routines, an d what do we end up doing? Establishing routines! I supposed we can't help it. Being organized is the key to accomplishing goals.

The first time I went shelling here on Sanibel, it was spontaneous. I sat down in the surf and started examining the rubble at the shoreline, delighting in each tiny treasure I found. It was so peaceful - making it a successful pattern of behavior. Now I'm doing it in a goal oriented manner. Should this worry me? As long as I'm getting pleasure out of it, I guess not...

Next up: Friturday, or how the days become a blur.

Saturday, 13 July 2002

Yesterday evening (Friday) we were treated to the fussy sort of rain that falls heavily into the thickness of a warm, airless night. Tropical rain.

Friday was massage day, followed by shopping, soaping, shelling and reading. See what I mean about patterns? Except for the massage, it was really no difference from Wednesday! I made up little chants/rhyming charms as I searched, a la the witches in the books I was reading. Also sang "Molly Molone" incessantly to myself as I went along. I actually learned that song a million years ago in my pre-teen years, from a book called A Tree Grows In Brooklyn. I learned the words to that one and "Annie Laurie" long before I knew the tune, on account of that novel. I think I learned the tunes when I finally saw the film version of the movie.

This morning (Saturday) was beautiful but windy enough for the resort to impose a mortorium upon beach umbrellas. I only stayed from about 10:00 am until noon on the beach, one hour on each side. Took two swims in the choppy Gulf.

Here I sit in the comfy swivel chair listening to the reggae band by the pool with their Carribean-flavored offerings of "Me and Bobby McGee" and some Cat Stevens tune that promptly reminded me of my ex-husband. I've got the air conditioning on low and the terrace door flung wide open. The breakers are frothing sooner and farther out than usual, enormous for the Gulf. As they pound the shore, I am gleeful for I know that they bring new bounty to the shores. I'll watch the tide from here and as long as there isn't any thunder and lightening, I'll be out there come low tide to plunder the littered shoreline.

Darkish clouds have moved in from the north and have stalled over the island, bringing cooler and heavier winds that rattle the palms loud enough to drown out the sound of the surf pummelling the sand. From my vantage point I've watched the broiling bodies scurry for cover, snatching up belongings and children, swarming toward their rooms as though Radar O'Reilly had sounded the battle cry, "Bug out!". Now the rain comes, in large, noisy plops. The beach is abandoned.

Hmmmm, time to go shopping? I think so!

Oakdale, Long Island

Monday, 15 July 2002

Saturday after the rain and the shopping, I hit the beach to continue the shelling quest, and I found a specific spot where I hit the mother lode. The Sundial Resort buildings sit on over a mile of Sanibel's south shore beaches. Along the way, there are various spots on the beach where tidal pools develop as the tide pulls out. And then there are spots where a tidal pool WOULD develop, if the tide were to actually pull out that far. What you get instead is a shelf, over which the Gulf's relatively placid waves cannot quite push all the treasures. These shelf places catch all manner of stuff, and with some combination of eagle eyes, quick reflexes and luck, one can catch quite a haul.

One such shelf spot I found on Saturday. It is precisely where the Sundial ends and the next resort east begins. There is a very tall pine growing between the resorts, and I used that as my landmark to find the spot again on Sunday. I now understand what the little nets on the end of sticks are for. It can be quite maddening when you see a shell rolling madly down toward the sea, but the next wave comes with a cloud of sand and obliterates it before you can make the mad plunge to catch the prize. I can see where it would be a lot easier to net the thing, yet I can also see where some of the satisfaction of the prize would be lost if captured by "technology" rather than by hand. Also, when you are plunging, invariably another wave comes and smacks you in the butt. And sometimes, the plunge is successful, except that you can't notice a shell is broken when it is careening toward the sea - all you see if a flash of orange rolling down the sand, and you get really excited - and if you end up having to throw it back, that's maddening too. Another method is to just scoop a handful at random and examine it. A handful of big stuff will yield bigger treasures, while a handful of smaller stuff will yield the tinier treasures. It takes real patience to pick at a handful of the small stuff, but then you find something tiny and perfect and say the thank you prayer to the Mother, and watch the pignoli jar fill up, and life is very, very good!

I digress. Having demolished the two books I brought with me, I was regretting that I had not made room in my suitcases for a third, but reasoned that had I done that, I would not have had room for souvenirs and would have been forced to use the fold-up bag that I always bring along for such purposes. It sucks having two carry-ons these days, on account of they search you when coming through the xray machines and two bags means twice the "fun". So I wanted to avoid the extra searching and just brought the two Nora Roberts books, aka the trashy novels. So the shopping expedition during the rain on Saturday afternoon included a visit to the local bookstore for a good browse. I selected Toni Morrison's The Bluest Eye. The book store is a cozy place, with a couple of comfy chairs for reading and clerks that don't constantly bother you with a lot of "can I help you" stuff. Only a book lover can successfully clerk at a book store. They know how annoying the constant "can I help you" stuff is when you are browsing books.

Also went to a newly opened high end sunglasses shop on Periwinkle Way. Several years back, it became apparent to me that I needed highly polarized lenses, else sun glare ended up actually hurting my eyes. This is usually not so much true of brown eyed people as it is of lighter eyed folks; however, I read somewhere that there is a study going on of brown eyed people who have been through chemo, and how the chemicals changed their tolerance of bright light. So years ago, I took my chemo-ed self and my brown eyes to the high end sunglass shop at the South Street Seaport in lower Manhattan, and explained myself to the guy working there. He took a selection of sunglasses outside and directed me to try them all while looking at the East River. The Maui Jim sunglasses won the race hands down, and I purchased them. I've had them for years, but recently the bridge of the nose cracked and they were pinching me. No amount of Super Glue was holding them back together. Down in Orlando in March, I had gotten cheap sunglasses that were sort of doing the job, but there were adventures revolving around those (see Disney trip report on rec.arts.disney.parks for details). Well, on Sanibel I finally decided I'd had enough of the cheap Disney glasses and the pinching old Maui Jims. Have gold card, will purchase! The shop owner was delighted to chat and help me select a pair, and we got to talking about how he maintains his own website for the shop and sells over the internet too, and how to secure and patch the website and where all the good security conventions are being held, etc. Walked out with a new pair of Maui Jims, wrap-around types that require a little adjustment while driving (have to turn my head a bit more to compensate for the wrap at the periphery of my vision), and he cleaned my old pair as well. He also advised me to send them back to the company for repair of the frames, as it is always good to have a backup pair, and gave me instructions on how to do that. Nice chap.

Shelling on Saturday evening was done primarily in the rain, with only a few other stalwart souls, and that's when I found the shelf spot and looked for the landmark so I could find it again on Sunday. Ate cold pesto on a bed of romaine lettuce, with marinated artichoke hearts, chick peas, and roasted red peppers. MMMM good, and a glass or three of Santa Margarita pinot grigio. Repeat performance of the couch-nodding routine.

Sunday hit the beach early, 45 minutes on each side, a few hours under the umbrella with The Bluest Eye. People were doing evil things on Sunday. First off, boats kept coming from elsewhere, mooring on the water, and the people were swimming to the shore and taking up the Sundial's chairs. The poor umbrella man had a tough time of it, patiently explaining that these facilities were only for Sundial guests. Then, someone came ashore excitedly, holding about a dozen live sand dollars. There is a well-publicized local ordinance that forbids the taking of live things from the beaches and waters (except for actual fishing), and it pissed me off when masses of clueless tourists headed for the waters lemming-like to haul in their own prizes. Then some woman started walking around explaining to everyone how to prepare them to take them home. Enabling the carnage. They are actually brown when they are taken live. The ones you see in the shops are bone white. Taken live, they have to be boiled alive for fifteen minutes to kill them and any bacteria (which would cause one's luggage to reek), then laid out in the sun to dry on both sides, turning them white. Two teen-aged girls hauled in a large live cockle and screamed with delight and horror when it opened and started pitifully trying to ped its way along the very dry and very hot sand. Assholes. Finally, a boy of about ten caused great excitement on the beach when he hauled in an enormous starfish. The thing must have been a foot in diameter, and it was pathetic to see it reach and stiffen in the broiling sun, desperate for water.

There were a few of us that were appalled. "Someone" went up to the courtesy phone by the pool, called the sheriff, and put an end to this nonsense. I'm not telling who it was. When the officers arrived, a small party of those in the know would quietly catch their eyes and point or whisper, "Check the guy with the orange towel!" Or, "Over there, by the yellow striped umbrella!"

Listen, it is one thing to take from the shores that which is already dead or empty, and receive it as a gift, with thanks. It is quite another thing to purposely hunt them, not for sustenance but for the thrill of the hunt and without regard to or respect for the life inside the shell. And this holocaust occurred in the face of a local law that was designed to protect this sanctuary. I always check a shell carefully to ascertain that no one is home, before I put it in my pocket. If it is live, I return it to the Mother (throw it back in the sea).

About 2:00 pm, I went back to the condo and did some lunch. Flipped on the tv and caught some of that Sandra Bullock film, the one where she is a techie geek being chased by evil techie geeks. Thought about beginning to pack. Called my parents to check on my Dad. Mom had a toothache and swelling of the gum, so being well versed in the area of faulty chompers, I gave advice on how to get it to erupt (it immediately feels better after eruption - these things always seem to happen to me on a weekend when the dentist is closed, so it is best to drag out the green tea and the ice pack and the naproxen sodium until such time as it can be attended to properly). At about five, I went back to my special landmark place and hit the mother lode in the area of whelks. Sizes ranged from small as fingernail to long as longest finger. I was blessed.

It was almost 8:00 pm when I returned to pack. Decided I had enough time and quarters to wash the clothes before packing them. How novel, bringing home clean clothes! The laundry room was located three doors down from my condo. The Robin Williams special came on HBO while I was packing up the shells, running back and forth to check the wash, checking each drawer and shelf three times - in short, "Bug out!" mode. I made everything fit into the original bags I came with, so no need to drag out the fold-up bag. Then, for the first time since I got there, I set the alarm for 6:00 am.

Monday I arose and did my normal coffee and yogurt routine. I showered and went into evac mode. Sat in the swivel chair one last time for a few minute, gazing at my beloved Gulf, then closed the curtains. I didn't want my last glimpse to be some hurried, random thing. I was checked out and on the road by 8:00 am. Stopped at a 7-11 along Summerlin Road to hit the ATM for cash. When I went through security at the airport, they noticed my flashlight in my carry on and asked me to show them that it worked. I guess the idea here is that people will carry a flashlight without batteries, and load it with something evil. I carry it because if the power goes out in a strange hotel, one will need a flashlight. It is small enough to carry around. Chase gave them to us during Y2K duty, "just in case", but we now know that the "Y" stood for "yawn".

The flight back was uneventful, and we got in about twenty five minutes sooner than expected. Gotta love JetBlue. The hired car guy, Dominic, was waiting for me and had a luggage cart ready. As we were leaving Kennedy airport, we saw a massive backup on the Belt Parkway, even though it was only about 2:15 pm, so we took Sunrise Highway to the Meadowbrook, and then down to Ocean Parkway. Driving along our own beaches toward my home in the east was a great treat, and I could compare them with what I'd left in Sanibel. See, I'm spoiled for the beaches here on Long Island. As beautiful as they are, it's the Atlantic Ocean, which is cold, cold, brrrrrr COLD by comparison. Nothing beats the Gulf, unless it is the Caribbean.

Tuesday I will pick up accumulated mail, transfer money into checking in order to pay the bills for this week of sloth and loafing, clean house. Wednesday I will visit my parents, get my hair color done (although I am liking all this blonde that the sun and surf have deposited!), see my voice teacher, go to the Wednesday night jam. Thursday I host a Girls Day at Aunt Erin's Little Chicken House. Friday, I am back on duty, but in stealth mode only - I put on my voice mail and email autoreplies for work that I would return Monday, but that's only so I have a chance to catch up on the five hundred thousand or so emails that I am sure have accumulated since I departed.

Thus ends the perfect vacation.