I originally wrote this post back in February of 2012, when I was transitioning from living alone in Arizona to moving back to Michigan to help my dad take care of my mom who had been diagnosed with dementia. I knew life was going to get difficult, and this vacation in Florida at the time was a welcome hiatus. Having family close when life gets tough is priceless.
I awoke to the steady, almost deafening, drumming of rain on the metal roof of the beautiful rental we were calling home for the week.
I know its February, but I thought it was supposed to be sunny and warm in Florida.
I left Arizona for this?
Ah, yes, because there’s something else here of more value to me than the mountains and desert and sunshine and heat of Arizona. Although, come to think of it, those are really, really nice things.
As I began to collect my thoughts, I heard the muffled sounds of the television emanating from the other room. Sounded like my grandsons Noah and Luke were watching cartoons again.
After washing my face and getting dressed, I wandered downstairs to find some life-giving coffee. My daughter was busy reading a book, and the boys were running around still in their pajamas.
After a while the rain let up, so I braved the front porch, perched on the porch swing under the safety of the roof, and listened to the birds. They were quite busy breakfasting on small red berries. I’ve never seen so many robins perched together in a tree before, and a small one at that. The sound of their constant twittering and the whoosh of their wings was calming, and I smiled.
I watched as the gray clouds skittered across the sky and patches of blue began to peek out. I sipped my coffee and sighed a deep sigh of contentment.
Maybe the rain would stop soon and we could go for another walk to gather pine cones again.
Here we are in Florida gathering pine cones. Seems like a funny thing to do.
It was like a scavenger hunt, or trick or treat, finding the pine cones. We found some discarded plastic bags and the boys and I loaded them up. Along with a few sticks and acorns. But mostly pine cones.
We took turns holding hands and running and laughing.
It really doesn’t matter what the weather is doing when you’re with family, does it?
Of course, when I’m in Florida, every day is a bad hair day. This I have come to accept. Frizzy hair is what I have there and that’s just the end of it. I can fuss with it all I want, and within minutes – poof – back it goes to frizz again. I just give up after a day or two, knowing that I look a bit wild. I avoid mirrors.
The boutique shops are always fun to poke around in. I don’t usually buy anything, but virtual shopping is satisfying in a virtual sort of way. I really liked the brightly colored skirts and tops, but I didn’t like the price tags attached. So, that was that.
When it looked like the rain was done for the day, we made our way across the street, down a wooden walkway, and found the Gulf in all of its majesty right there at our feet. The sight made you stop and drink in the view. The water was gorgeous. The blue-green waves with their ruffles of white lace stretched to the horizon and met with the grays of the sky to frame the pictures I kept snapping. I kept some of the soft white sand in the photos too for contrast and context. Lots of memories.
The wind was whipping up pretty cold coupled with the continual crashing sound of the waves as they met the sand and then receded only to gather themselves again and fling their combined droplets forward, stretching, stretching. The mark the waves leave in the sand is temporary. No matter how loud and how strong. Only temporary. The next wave washes away the evidence over and over and over.
The only things left behind are small shells and bits of driftwood. And those are picked up and carted off.
Do you think the ocean gets frustrated? All that effort and nothing much of lasting significance to show for it?
He can be content in knowing we hear and see and enjoy the show. The sights and the sounds mesmerize us. The sand tickles our toes and transports us back to childhood again, as we dig and build sand castles and write our names with sticks just out of reach of the next wave.
Hopefully, I’ll have left some lasting impressions when my waves are finally stilled.
Like collecting pine cones and holding hands and laughing. 
Yeah, I think that will be ok.
