Re-Entry
Ft Lauderdale, Florida
January 4, 2018
This is the day the tree came down…
…that we woke to find the sink piled with dirty dishes and the carpets stained with red wine and cigarette butts…
…that we stumbled down the stairs, spread two fingers into the blinds, and gazed in bewilderment at empty bottles and total strangers strewn across the lawn.
We rubbed our eyes, pulled our glasses to the end of our nose, and examined (and re-examined) the bill.
This is the day the cruise ended.
That is regrettable for us, but merciful for you, the unwilling victims of these daily missives.
I now understand, despite how enjoyable and informative her travel notes are, why my mother sometimes expresses apprehension at sending regular updates on her travels.
How presumptuous must I be to assume anyone would care about what amounts to a family photo album without the pictures?
Altho’ my mother requested periodic emails informing her of our progress and activities, it was I who went overboard (so to speak) with the length and number of updates, then compounded the offense by inflicting my musings on all of you.
Whether you humored or cursed me as you read or deleted these ramblings, know that I enjoyed using them as a way not only to chronicle this voyage for our own future reference, but to enhance the journey by including you vicariously.
Spending yesterday morning basking beside the impossibly turquoise waters off Half Moon Cay, Bahamas, we lifted anchor an hour early in anticipation of ominous clouds building over the Atlantic.
A final happy hour and dinner followed, and last night’s show featured encore performances by George Casey and Natalie Toro, who redeemed herself with more excellent singing but less intermittent yapping.
As we turned out the lights, the Caribbean remained so vast, the horizon so far, that it seemed Ft Lauderdale could not possibly appear outside our window this morning.
But, after a fitful sleep while crossing inordinately rough seas, there it was: its skyline of beachfront high-rises and its nearby airport, just beyond the rumbling of cargo equipment passing between the ship and the grey terminal building in which long lines and government functionaries beckoned.
The morning felt as if we were rushing to catch a train I was hoping to miss.
As it was, we had plenty of time.
We cleared customs by 9:45 this morning, and our flight does not depart till 7p.
We killed the interim by spending a couple hours among hordes kept by snow from returning to the northeast, and being relieved we weren’t among them.
Rather than rot the day away at the airport, we decided instead to check our luggage and hop a cab to downtown Ft Lauderdale.
There we ate lunch at Roccos Tacos, strolled Los Olas for thirty minutes, grabbed some coffee, then returned to the airport, where we now wait an hour to board our flight.
We called the Amsterdam home for two weeks, and it is remarkable what one becomes accustomed to in such a short period of time.
Actually, as I think about it, it is really quite unremarkable, but some un-learning will certainly be required upon re-entry.
We must banish from our minds the now deep-rooted expectation that bottomless vats of fresh coffee and endless banquets of hot breakfast will await us as we rise each morning.
We should expel from our thoughts the notion that we can make our bed and clean our bathroom simply by vacating them for half an hour.
This afternoon, I reached instinctively for my room key to pay for lunch at Rocco’s Tacos. Apparently, that also no longer works.
Further, we will not return home from work to find dinner buffets or dessert cornucopias spread miraculously before us.
And, since I brought it up, I suppose there is one conception we must re-introduce: that of going to work.
Actually, perhaps that is for the best.
Much as we like to lie around while liveried attendants slowly wave palm branches over our head and drop grapes in our mouth, we also think it important to make an effort every once in a while.
Maybe tomorrow.
JD
