Last Saturday I flew with my parents to visit my mom's parents in Naples, AKA the old people capital of Florida. The plane ride, most trips in my grandparent's van and about an hour every night when I walked around the community where they lived were scored by my iPod set to shuffle the playlist I'd made of my four and five-star songs. While every month I make CDs of new songs to listen to, sprinkled with old favorites and songs which have recently popped into my head, it had been far too long since I immersed myself in the music which means the most to me. I've always attributed memories to songs: the first time I heard them, notable experiences the lyrics harken to and the moods which certain melodies put me in. The good and the bad. My time in Florida was above all reflective and when, at the airport Saturday morning, walking to our terminal, I switched on my iPod I was sure I'd set in motion the vacation of mediation I'd been hoping for.
I absentmindedly agreed to a seven-thirty AM flight time when my mom was buying the tickets, not really thinking that would mean waking up somewhere around five to allow for ample time to get through security. I prided myself on traveling light: a pair of shorts, a handful of t-shirts and several books and notebooks. Alongside my shoes in the tray of personal holdings at security sat my belt, wallet, iPod and phone (email notifications intentionally turned off). This was all I wanted to have with me as I intended to spend the next five days in a state of solitude.
Our first activity upon arrival was a trip to a nearby nature preserve that I recognized from our last visit in 2005. A wooden dock extends out over the marsh and through the forest, winding back for something like half a mile and ending in forcedly-climactic setting: a pond which is almost guaranteed to provide a wild alligator sighting. I was preoccupied with several opportunities to sketch some selectively detailed drawings in my notebook. I wouldn't call myself talented when it comes to illustration, but I enjoy it all the same. This vacation was going to be about doing what I wanted, damn it! Along the path were numerous signs depicting much better representations of local flora and fauna than I was attempting. Their example of the nature of humanity was more interesting than the plant life surrounding me. That's not to say I didn't amuse myself with the possibility that we were witnessing an otter splashing in a shallow pond or touch my hands to an enormous palm tree and marvel at how long it had survived, and thought how it would surely outlive myself.
We were invited to a sermon Sunday morning in a park near downtown Naples. My parents joined them but I opted to walk to the beach on my own. It was my first time of the year in flip-flops and shorts. My weekly custom of listening to Paul Simon's Graceland was not sacrificed and made the perfect accompaniment to a cool, bright morning standing knees-deep in the Gulf of Mexico with nothing but water before me. After our Sunday rituals, the five of us had a delicious streetside brunch. That afternoon we took a trip to a local weekend flea market where I picked up a couple cheap DVDs: the fantastic Evil Dead and hopefully atrocious Frogs.Monday we visited the Naples Zoo. I fantasized about working with animals; not particularly as a trainer (I later talked with one of the zookeepers and he remarked that the field was so competitive the likelihood of becoming one was on par with the chances of becoming a professional athlete) but simply on the grounds. The connection to nature is an obvious draw. I thought about being mindful of and appreciating the animals' natural routines. I remembered that I was supposed to be on vacation and the inclination faded as the day grew hotter.
My grandpa woke me up early Tuesday morning to go on a bike ride with him and his friends. The bike I borrowed was unlike my own, with wide handlebars and coaster brakes, though it was pleasantly tall. I regretted not wearing long sleeves as the cold air bit at my exposed arms. Our path took us down several miles of "green way" (a bike path off the main roads) and ended at Good Times diner. Seven AM wasn't an early morning for them and retirement wasn't losing them their interest in the world around us. We chatted about the conflict in Africa and the American plane that had "crashed" that morning. I regretted my ignorance of the whole situation yet sat humbly impressed by the sharp minds surrounding me. "We've got a coffee drinker, here" observed the waitress, as she poured me my third cup.
We arrived at the airport well before our flight time on Thursday, and after unloading our luggage at the curb I thanked my grandparents for allowing me the opportunity to relax. The sunburns would turn to tans and the responsibilities that I'd let slip away would soon be back. I was thankful that I had several days of weekend ahead of me before returning to work. I had spent my vacation thinking deeply about myself as well as my friends, and I felt anxious to talk to each one of them again. Vacations are great things, but in the end they're only temporary. Best not to get too caught up in them.
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