There’s nothing like a good massage, and this was nothing like a good massage. Okay, that may be a little harsh. It actually had all the elements of a massage, so there’s that. This was my first time at this particular spa, and I was looking forward to redeeming my Christmas present – an entire hour of stress reducing, muscle loosening relaxation just for me.
She asked the usual questions – problem areas, physical limitations, etc. Did I want essential oils? I said no to that. When I told her that I broke my shoulder a year ago and though it is fully recovered, if she should move my arm a certain way, I might wince, but no worries. I do that myself once in a while. I just didn’t want her to freak out if it happened.
That appeared to alarm her despite my insistence that I was fine. I thought about arm wrestling her to prove my point, but that seemed a bit much, and I didn’t want to cut into my hour.
Then I added, “You should know that I am at times prone to vertigo and a trigger for me is lying flat on my back. Elevating my head slightly helps. I’ve been asymptomatic lately, so that probably won’t happen either.”
She seemed to take this in stride, so much so that she asked if I wanted to start out on my back. Of course I said no, for what I thought was an obvious reason. Finally she left me alone to get situated on the table.
I climbed on and put my face in the cushion which allows you to breathe and not turn your neck, thus requiring additional massage to get the kinks out of that. I was immediately greeted with a musty odor. This was not going to do.
When she came in and I was lying there with my head sticking up like a turtle from its shell, I told her the issue. It turns out they keep their linens in a cabinet with essential oils. Now I had to explain to her in more detail that certain oils and fragrances dry out my eyes and give me headaches. She left in search of an unscented pillowcase and maybe a couple of Advil for herself.
When at last she returned and I settled in for my massage, I commented that by the time she finished with me perhaps she, too, would need a massage. She chuckled politely and got to work on me.
She started on my shoulders, which is my favorite place to hold tension. Every time she would rub them and move her hands up my neck, I heard a crinkle sound, kind of like somebody opening a bag of chips. It didn’t take long to realize that she was wearing gloves. Since she didn’t have a mask on, this was even more of an unwelcome surprise. It’s like getting a massage through a plastic bag. I had been asked if I wanted a male or female masseuse, but there were no questions regarding gloves or not.
My mind wandered to Sandy. Sandy is the woman who I would usually go to if I wanted a massage. She is half German matron and half physical therapist. She helped me so much when I was recovering from my shoulder injury. I missed Sandy. I kind of felt like I was cheating on her, and this was my punishment – being massaged through plastic-covered hands like a butcher would use to hand out deli meat, with just a hint of essential oils.
When I checked out and was asked how everything was, I told them about the crinkle. You might say I took the gloves off, but with kindness. They seemed to have no idea that there were gloved masseuses behind the lobby doors and rewarded me with a gift card for a discount off my next massage, which was very kind. I’m conflicted about using it though. I don’t think I can do that to Sandy. I’d just feel too guilty.
Maybe I’ll take a tip from Winnie the Pooh and try something altogether new to unwind.
I have an unhealthy fascination with bears. We live in Central Florida, practically spitting distance from the dreaded Interstate 4, so you wouldn’t think we’d get much interaction with them; but we do.
Florida black bear (Ursus americanus floridanus) sightings have ramped up in the last 12 or 15 years. The cuddly-looking creatures are being squeezed out of their habitat. I understand how that works, but I don’t understand what is so great about my backyard. For some reason they like to stop by here and destroy my bird feeding station. It wouldn’t be so bad if they did it when I could observe them and maybe even give them a wink as they tear things up, but they wait until I’m asleep and then – BAM! Birdseed and feeders go flying all over the place. Sometimes they knock over the birdbath. They are none too careful.
We have replaced the station several times and it is now outfitted with a stand which they can simply knock over instead of breaking the metal pole in two like a toothpick. They’ve knocked it over twice in the last few months, so I think we’ve got that angle figured out. Knock on wood.
Even with all the expense and clean-up they have caused us to undertake, I really want to see the bears. I have a high-powered flashlight to aid in my pursuit of even a glimpse. We have dubbed it the bear flashlight and it has been used to spot raccoons and opossums, but so far, no luck in the bear department. I have seen bears in our former neighborhood and in my son’s neighborhood, but here on the home front, I just see their path of destruction.
All that to say, when David Martin of our local Fox 35 news reported on Bearadise Ranch in Myakka City, which is just east of Sarasota, I knew I had to check it out. Here was a family who had dedicated their lives to bears and transformed the property which their home sits on into a bear preserve – truly a bear paradise.
Can you say day trip? Bob and I headed over there with visions of bear cuddling dancing through our heads. Alright, Bob had no such vision, but a girl can dream!
Monica runs Bearadise Ranch and gives close-up tours – not so close that you can get a bear hug or even touch one, but a good tour, nonetheless. The bears live on her property in several habitats, and they are clearly in love with her – and not like one loves apple pie. I can tell the feeling is mutual. She is so good with them and cool as a cucumber while interacting with these big fellows. She married into this job. Her husband’s family has been caring for bears since 1926. His grandfather was with Ringling Brothers and Barnum and Bailey Circus in the late 1940s.
These bears are famous. They have been in movies and on TV shows as well as commercials. They aren’t just ordinary black bears either, there are also brown bears, aka, grizzlies. It surprised me to see Monica interact with them in their own habitats. She has no fear. They clearly have a rapport with each other.
During our tour, she told us how the bears grieved when her husband died unexpectedly in 2017. It took months for them to get past that grief. She stayed right with them through her own grief, wearing her husband’s shirts as a means of comfort. They had to be cared for and she did just that. When she told her stories, I couldn’t help but feel admiration at what she does day in and day out. Monica is one amazing, hard-working lady, and she is dedicated to the wellbeing of each of her bears. It is worth the trip to Myakka to see her interact with her grizzly and brown bears. I highly recommend it but make a reservation first.
We’ve all had those time when we’ve taken a bath and the towel was just out of reach.
One potato, two potato. If you don’t eat it fast, you get no potato.
If you want to take a tour, contact Monica on her Facebook page, Bearadise Bear Ranch Preserve, or her website. You can also book lunch on the ranch. She has a cute gift shop as well as a pictorial history of their bears since their early days.
Monica is a wonderful hostess/tour guide/educator.
Nearly eight years ago, we moved into our current house. I was most excited about having a pool in our yard. We’ve lived in Florida since 1976, so this was a big deal for me.
Somewhere in the recesses of my mind I remembered diving into a pool. It was better than easing your way in as you got used to the water all at once. I recall looking at that water and thinking – I don’t want to. The stairs are fine. The stairs are good. I didn’t need to plunge headfirst or plunge at all to get into the pool.
I wanted to try to dive, and eventually I talked myself into it. I was pretty proud of myself. It felt good to know that I could do it. I’ll always cherish that memory, especially because that was the last time I dived in or will ever dive in. And, cherish may be a strong word. Perhaps remember would suffice.
Now I ease on in like an old(er) lady, and I’m okay with that. I choose to act like an old(er) lady when it serves me, like getting a discount at the movies or a seat on a bus. Mostly, I try not to, but I’m in my sixties so sometimes it sneaks out.
One such time was last year during our Hawaii trip. We were staying along the Kona Coast of The Big Island, which is the perfect place to go night snorkeling to see manta rays. Manta rays can have a wingspan of 12-14 feet. Bob was all about seeing them, and I figured, why not? When would I ever have the opportunity again? I was excited and only a little apprehensive.
It had been awhile since I’d snorkeled from a boat and I knew I’d have to gracefully get in the water. I also knew that I’d have on fins and a mask, so graceful might not be an option. I did it, though. One of the great things about being older is that you realize that people pay a lot less attention to you than you think they do. That seemed to be the case that night as I jumped, or rather slid off the side of the boat, into the water.
Once in the water the six of us positioned ourselves around a sort of customized surfboard that was outfitted with lights that pointed into the water. We hung onto the sides by rope handles. Bob and I had on our ninja snorkel masks, which were perfect and give a panoramic view. There is nothing to hold in your mouth – you just breathe normally via the snorkel that is at the top of the full-face mask. I highly recommend them.
We were instructed to get in a Superman position – hands holding the rope, arms extended, with a pool noodle under our thighs to keep us afloat and out of the way of the feeding manta rays. They wouldn’t bite people, but they are big and could bump you.
It took no time at all before the lights attracted plankton, which, therefore, attracted the manta rays. From our viewpoint, we were looking into the mouth of the ray while it came from the depths to feed. They would filter out a mouthful of plankton and then do barrel rolls right below us. It was incredible for about 15 minutes until the rays moved on to another feeding area. No worries, though, we would move, too.
We were instructed to hold onto the handles while the boat dragged us several yards to another location. Picture this: The boat moves forward. People who were once perpendicular to the surfboard when it was relatively stationary tend to lose their perpendicularity and move closer to the surfboard. Of course, this is temporary, a mere few minutes, and if you do not have vertigo issues, it likely would not bother you.
I am not one of those people, so when we found the rays again, I was feeling a little unwell (to use a current term). I was able to hold it together and enjoy the antics of the rays, all the while reminding myself that it was only a 40 minute tour.
They were amazing to watch – so acrobatic, especially given their size. They had no fear of us and more than once one swam so close to me as to nearly brush my mask. Bob did have one touch his leg, but he was on the end of the row while I was in the middle. All in all, I’m so glad I did this. It’s worth doing once, if you’re me, or over and over again, if you’re Bob.
When our in-water guide told us it was time to get back on the boat, I was happy and relieved. Not only was I feeling a tad queasy, but this was the biggest workout I had given my shoulder since breaking it eight months earlier. Basically, I was weak and tired and ready to get on shore.
The captain had Bob get on the boat first. “Yea,” I thought, “I’ll be next.”
Not so. He went the other direction so that meant I got to hold on the longest. Isn’t that special?
Well, no, it was not. If you have read prior posts about this Hawaii trip, you’ll remember that Hawaii was wearing me out. This might have been the pinnacle of my exhaustion, but it was almost over. Everyone had gotten on the boat except me. Finally I put my hands on the ladder to climb in, but the rest of my body would not cooperate. I had no strength in my weak little arms to pull me in.
That’s when the captain said, “We have gotten too close to another group, everyone hold in place while I move the boat.”
What he meant was, “Hey, you slowing me down on the ladder, hang on while I move the boat.” I couldn’t believe my good fortune to have this extra little adventure tagged onto our trip! Thankfully the in-water guide was with me in case my strength gave out completely.
When at last he stopped the boat and said I could climb in, he was wrong, and very wrong. There was no way that I could climb in. I was on empty. The sweet young lady who was our in-water guide had to heave ho on my rear end to boost me up the ladder. This time, unlike my entry into the water, I’m certain everyone noticed; and I didn’t care.
These were the nicest people. Clearly Bob and I were decades older than all of them, but they didn’t make me feel old or injured or weak, just cared for. And a little embarrassed. But that’s okay.
Bob rented a GoPro for our adventure. When the trip was over they gave him a thumb drive that had our 40 minute excursion compressed down to about a minute and a half. He was able to capture a few stills for me. They are a poor representation of what we saw, but I hope you enjoy them.
One of my favorite scripture verses is Psalm 37:4, “Delight yourself in the Lord, and he will give you the desires of your heart.”
My thoughts on that verse have changed from when I was a young Christian. My emphasis initially was on him giving me the desires of my heart. That sounded like a great deal, but truthfully, I had no idea what it meant to delight in him or what I should desire, and I was often guided by my emotions or felt needs.
In later years I realized that as I got to know Jesus, he changed my heart’s desires and gave me new ones that would bring me closer to him and actually be good for me – unlike some of the weird things I had asked for in the past, most of which I cannot even remember.
Today is my blogging anniversary. When I started this blog 12 years ago, my desire was to highlight the lighter side of life, which of course includes at the top of the list – Jesus. He is the light of the world. I also wanted to make people smile or laugh – lighten their load for a moment. I wanted to offer something fun, humorous, or interesting and definitely non-sad. (Is that a word?)
Not long before I launched my blog, I went to Honolulu to visit my daughter and her family who were working there for several months. (My sweet husband was moved to send me there when he saw how much I missed them all. As grandparents, you do what you have to do!)
The kids took me to beautiful Hanauma Bay for a day of sunshine and snorkeling. I was captivated. I took lots of pictures that day, but one stood out to me as the embodiment of pure delight. That was my five-year-old granddaughter Ella enjoying the day while floating in her pink inflatable ring. I needed a picture for my blog header and this one filled the bill for me.
Now Ella is 17 and getting ready to graduate from high school. She is no longer that carefree girl but a lovely young woman. Among her senior pictures was a shot of her in her happy place – on the horse that she loves. It took me back to that little girl over a decade earlier because the face was the same – pure delight. It brightened my day and I am sharing it with you as I mark 12 years of blogging.
Thanks for reading. My blog has changed over the years, but so has my life. When I began, I had no idea Bob and I would travel so much, so it has come to include my travel diary. (There will be more of that in the future, too.) We’ve increased from 5 to 8 grandchildren. We’ve moved from the house where we raised our family for over 30 years, and now my mom and sister live with us. We’ve been through happy times and sad times, but Jesus has been faithful through it all. I appreciate each of you and hope you’ll keep following my journey and even have a chuckle or two.
In 1982 things around Orlando got a lot more magical and for sure more futuristic. That is the year the EPCOT opened.
I unearthed the proof of the best Disney deal I ever heard of when I went through my dad’s filing cabinets after he passed away in 2017. An unused pair of Keepsake Tickets to the EPCOT Center Adventure was tucked away safely and in mint condition. This ticket entitled the bearer to three-days in either EPCOT or the Magic Kingdom. They were the only two Disney parks back then. I remembered my dad buying them and I also remembered encouraging him to use them. Dad liked memorabilia, and he liked it much more than waiting in lines.
Their value was approximately the current price of a 3-day park-hopper. I tucked them away for safe keeping. Also in Dad’s files was a stack of unused A-D tickets. If you know what I’m talking about, then you will not be surprised that no E tickets were in the stack. Way back in the olden days of Disney, your ticket consisted of an entry ticket and tickets ranging from A to E. The A tickets were for a ride like It’s a Small World, while an example of an E ticket would be Space Mountain. These tickets were phased out in 1982.
Bob and I had planned on getting annual passes to Disney after he retired. We already had one, which Bob had won in a work raffle back in 2000 – it was made of paper and was more like a voucher. At that point, we still had four kids at home, all teenagers, so one free ticket was not going to get us far. We put it in a safe place, and quite remarkably remembered where that place was when we decided last November that it was time to cash in.
Since we’re locals, we went to Disney Springs Customer Service with our stacks of paper consisting of:
Two 40-year-old Keepsake Tickets to the EPCOT Center Adventure
One 22-year-old voucher for an annual pass
A small stack of A – D tickets from the 1970s, which we assumed would have no value
The perky, pleasant young lady who got us at customers had her work cut out for her. Disney doesn’t see a lot of paper tickets in our digital world. She remained undaunted for the hour and a half that it took to go through several binders to look up each thing we brought her.
The keepsake tickets were easy. Three days is three days – no matter that Disney has added two more parks since EPCOT opened. They did garner some attention though. Every employee wanted to see the artwork on the 40-year-old tickets, which were older than most of said employees. These tickets were transformed into three-day, no restriction park hoppers, which are no longer available to be bought.
The voucher for the annual pass was a little more challenging. I’ll spare you the many details of converting that to my Disney World Annual Pass – no blackout dates and parking included. They no longer sell this ticket either.
As for the small stack of A-D tickets, thank you, Dad, that you never threw anything away. These were worth $61. Amazing. Paper does keep value.
Thank you, Walt, for making good on old, unused tickets. Bob and I came away with an annual pass for me and a Florida Resident Pixie Dust pass for him, which can be used only on weekdays and has some blackout dates when we wouldn’t want to go there anyway. Our out-of-pocket was way lower than it could have been!
So, bring on the magic. We have been enjoying EPCOT, Animal Kingdom, and the Studios. I am a Star Wars fan, so the Studios is my favorite.
I especially wanted to see the Magic Kingdom at night before the 50th anniversary celebration ends, so last Thursday night, Bob and I went out to dinner and headed to Disney. We would enjoy the magic more accompanied by grandchildren, but for one night we just wanted to see the 8:15 Disney Enchantment, a 50th anniversary nighttime spectacular with fireworks and projection effects on Cinderella’s castle.
We had plenty of time. We boarded the monorail at 6:45. There was a glitch with the train ahead of us, so we sat and waited for a few minutes. We would be in place by 7:30.
Finally, we were on our way. The monorail stops in the Contemporary Resort before reaching the official entrance to the park. That is where we sat on the train for almost an hour before being forced to reverse and go back to where we started. As we left the train, the youthful Disney cast members said, “Have a magical day!”
Everyone on that train wanted to see those fireworks. We were told to take the ferry or a bus. I asked a cast member (employee) about the bus. He replied, “There are no buses available. You’ll have to use the ferry. Have a magical day!”
Bob and I were near the front of this mass of people heading to board a ferry. We could see that one had just left minutes before we got there. We could also hear screaming – blood-curdling screaming which cut through the night air like a knife. It was horrible. I thought maybe a child was throwing a tantrum, but when we got to the boarding point, an unfortunate woman was shrieking at the top of her lungs. Then she went quiet and passed out. Several cast members appeared and got the reluctant and now revived woman into a wheelchair and whooshed her away. I don’t think she was having a magical day.
As we boarded the ferry, we were told to, “Have a magical day!” I hope the traumatized little girl who watched all of this would have just that. Maybe the fireworks would take her mind off that poor woman who was so distraught.
It took several minutes to load the ferry. By now we knew we wouldn’t make it for the 8:15 start time, but we were able to lean over the railing of the boat and see some of the fireworks as we crossed the lagoon. We disembarked at 8:25 to wishes for us to “Have a magical day.”
If you’ve been to the Magic Kingdom before, you know that when you get to this point, you have not yet gone through the entry to the park. We got in line as fireworks continued to burst through the air just out of our sight. Trouble again, we did not have a reservation. We were under the impression that we did not need one after 2 PM, but that perk doesn’t start until next month. A helpful cast member waved her wand and got us through. She also said, “Have a magical day!”
We finally got to the main street looking up at the castle at 8:35, just in time for the finale. For us it wasn’t a big deal as we live here, but I felt bad for the folks who had one shot at seeing it. It looked fantastic and we will go see it soon when our grandchildren are down. We will arrive hours ahead of time and we’ll take the ferry.
Our magic wasn’t over. We weren’t going through all of this for two-minutes of fireworks. It had been ages since we were in the Kingdom so we headed upstream to Tomorrowland like salmon fighting the current of people exiting the park.
Monsters Inc. is a great show – very funny. I highly recommend it. Next we went on the Tomorrowland Transit Authority PeopleMover for an overhead view of the land. The moveable inclined sidewalk (think escalator with no steps) was not working, so we had to walk up this squishy walkway to get on the ride that was also delayed a little because of a technical issue. It wasn’t too bad though, and we were wished a magical day.
We figured we had one more ride in us, so why not check out the Carousel of Progress and see how they’ve updated it. We got inside and the first stage greeted us. At that point a song is supposed to come on and the audience becomes a carousel ride to the next (stage) point of progress. We just sat there in the dark as a cast member told us in a muffled voice that there was a problem. I’m not sure she said for us to have a magical day, but I’ll bet she did.
Finally the lights came on and the floor abruptly shifted left and right, then the lights went off and the ride began again. This time there were no problems, but I have to say, it didn’t feel very magical.
By then the crowds were thinned and we could stroll through the castle and enjoy some of the 50th anniversary decorations. It was approaching 11:00 as we left and one more time, were told to “Have a magical day.”
It struck me so funny that we heard this time after time on a day when everything was more malfunctional than magical. That’s when the magic began for me. Finding humor always does it.
Each February, for four specific days, people from around the globe take time to go outside and count birds – hence the name, The Great Backyard Bird Count. GBBC helps scientists better understand and protect birds around the world. I have to say, it’s pretty cool to be part of an online citizen project.
This type of thing is referred to as community science. For me, it’s just a lot of fun doing what I love to do on a higher level.
The GBBC is sponsored by the Cornell Lab of Ornithology and the National Audubon Society. This project began nationally in the USA in 1998 and went global in 2013. I participated several years ago, before it was so techy. The counting, of course, is the same. It’s the reporting that is different. And, the best part, the tools for counting are amazing.
If you have any interest at all in birds, you need to download The Cornell Lab Merlin app, but be warned that it will turn you into a birding nerd. It’s free and will look like this on your phone:
This magnificent app is the perfect tool for identifying birds. I’m not too shabby at it as far as our local birds go, but the sound ID is a game changer. It listens for the birds and creates a wave file. As soon as it hears a bird, it comes up on a list. My list grew and grew on Monday morning as I did my bird count. My backyard is a cacophony of beautiful bird music anyway, so I wondered how it would track so many at once.
No problem! It highlights the ones singing, sometimes more than one at a time. It’s so addictive that even Bob has put it on his phone. This morning he turned on the sound ID when he was taking the recycling to the curb and reported his findings of a red-bellied woodpecker, northern cardinal, and brown-headed cowbirds. It’s a beautiful combination of technology and nature!
Speaking of Bob. He’s been retired for a year now and has a new hobby that involves nature. Since we feed the birds, we also feed the squirrels, but not by choice. We have invested in a feeding station that won’t allow our huge squirrel population to climb the pole and empty the feeders. There is plenty for them on the ground and they feast and bury nuts constantly. Plus, right now during winter migration, we are going through 40 pounds of seed a week. Thank goodness for Costco’s reasonably priced seed!
The squirrels are plenty entertaining as they chase each other around and try to climb our birdfeeder pole. I can tell when there’s a new one in town as the regulars know this is futile. I do love watching them experience the frustration of trying to jump from the tree that is just out of reach. But, in my humble opinion, they are rats with a fluffy tale – though not as disgusting. They’re destructive and occasionally like to chew our screen or the corner of the house. They also love to eat the blossoms of my camellia bushes. They make me crazy when they do that!
Our friend, Al, told Bob he had been trapping squirrels and relocating them. Thus began Bob’s Great Squirrel Relocation Program (GSRP). So far, after 24 hours, he has captured two and released them by the neighborhood lake. That only leaves about 50 more, though I’m not into counting them like I do birds.
Meanwhile, regarding the GBBC, I came to the counting game on the last day and almost missed it. Thanks to my sis-in-law, Beta, who made sure I was informed, or I would have missed out. That was a close one!
At 8:30 on Monday morning, I sat outside on my pool deck and started my count. The GBBC folks ask that you commit to at least a 15-minute period. I had to tear myself away after an hour. You count what you see and what you hear, just like on The Big Year (a favorite birder movie starring Steve Martin, Jack Black, and Owen Wilson).
Here’s a list of my morning findings in case you are into that sort of thing:
Birds seen:
21 brown-headed cowbirds
4 red-winged blackbirds
5 northern cardinals
2 common grackles
3 tufted titmouse
1 mourning dove
1 palm warbler
1 mockingbird
Birds heard:
Carolina wren
Blue-gray gnatcatcher
European starling
American robin
Carolina chickadee
Cedar waxwing
One time counting was not enough for me, so I went back out at 5:30 pm for half an hour.
Birds seen:
4 tufted titmouse
1 red-shouldered hawk
4 northern cardinals
2 mourning doves
2 red-winged black birds
3 common grackles
2 American crows
1 mockingbird
48 brown-headed cowbirds – Yes, it’s tough to count so I gave a conservative estimate, but that lets you know why I’m going through so much seed. These guys are not the prettiest in the group, but they have a lovely song which fills the air.
Birds Heard:
Downy woodpecker
European starling
Cedar waxwing
Carolina wren
Red-bellied woodpecker
So there were 14 species in the morning and 14, slightly varied, in the pre-evening.
It’s definitely spring in Florida, and we still have lots of migrating birds here who are avoiding winter up north. It’s a wonder I can get anything done with all of these beautiful distractions!
In my last Hawaii post I told you about our trip to Haleakala National Park. What I didn’t realize 22 years ago was that there is another entrance to the park that is only accessed on the Road to Hana, after you pass the town of Hana. Within that more remote part of the park was the other main reason why I wanted to return to Maui.
The Pools of ‘Ohe’o have been more commonly referred to as the Seven Sacred Pools. The National Park Service and the state of Hawaii are trying to teach us the actual name, but you know how we are. Also, there are many more than seven pools, especially depending on how rainy it has been. Legend has it that they got their familiar name in the 1940s from an employee of the Hotel Hana-Maui to market this then-secret place to tourists. I must say – it worked!
I first heard about this special location in the 1994 movie IQ. Meg Ryan dreams about going there on her honeymoon. She muses that swimming in the Seven Sacred Pools is said to feel like “a million kisses on your skin” because of how aerated the water is. That does sound special, and the definition of the word “‘ohe’o” just happens to be “something special.” I suppose the actual name Pools of ‘Ohe’o would not exactly have rolled off Meg’s tongue in the movie dialogue, but my interest was piqued, so I’ve been wanting to see this area since 1994. (Not enough to figure out how to see it in 2020, though. I blame that on having teenagers at home, limited brain space for planning, and eternal fatigue. Plus, there were no iPhones.)
Before you pretend to get in our rented jeep with me and see the sites – a little background on the parks. In 1916 Hawaii National Park got its official designation. It included Haleakala on Maui and Hawaii Volcanoes on the Big Island. It took until 1961 for them to figure out that this was just weird and that’s when they were separated into two distinct parks.
On October 3, we climbed into our yellow rental jeep and began our journey. Maui’s Road to Hana meanders roughly 60 miles. Once on the road, you turn left, then right approximately 617 times before you arrive in Hana – about three hours later. There are many blind turns and 56 bridges, several of which are one-way only. It is not for the faint of heart or those who easily get car sick. But it is amazingly beautiful.
As soon as we got on the road, it began to rain, and it continued all day. Bob and I had done this part of the trip before, so that lessened the disappointment. We downloaded the shaka guide, which kept us on point as to what we were seeing. He tells you when to stop and when to drive past and gives some history mixed with Hawaiian music along the way. He makes sure you get banana bread as this seems to be an integral part of the trip. This is a current version of audio tours – quite an improvement over the cassette tape we had in 2000.
I chose to do my sightseeing mainly through the car window, but Bob would get out and do short walks. The waterfalls were fully on display due to all the rain, so there’s that.
The sea was rough that day (as seen through the car window).
We had a (required) reservation at Wai’anapanapa State Park, which is just a few miles from Hana, from 3-6 PM. Thankfully, the rain had stopped. Wai’anapanapa means glistening waters. It is home to one of the famous black sand beaches and has stunning views. Among the beauty on display there was a Hawaiian monk seal. He was going through the molting process so he wasn’t too energetic. He was guarded but fine to pose for pictures.
Years ago mongoose were brought to the islands to combat the rat problem in the sugarcane. The problem was not solved as mongoose are diurnal and rats and nocturnal.
Water shoes are obviously necessary here as the black sand and volcanic rock don’t exactly squish between your toes.
The dry weather that was forecast for the following day, magically appeared and we were ready to embark to our much anticipated destination – the Seven Sacred Pools Pools of ‘Ohe’o. Staying in Hana for the night is a good idea if you want to do the entire loop in daylight.
This sign reflects the island mentality. No matter that it’s leaning. It’s all good.
We stopped for coffee, Hawaiian style and began the ten-mile drive to Haleakala National Park.
We heard rumors that we would not be able to complete the entire road because of the rains from the day before. Undaunted, we climbed into our trusty jeep
Pipiwai Trail is said to be one of the most beautiful trails in Hawaii. We decided to do it second. All energy available must go to seeing those pools! After we saw the pools, we headed onto the Pipiwai Trail. This is what it looked like – so beautiful and so many roots to trip over. We happily turned back in keeping with our main goal of not injuring ourselves.
The first glimpses of the pools were captivating, and it just got better and better as we walked along the water’s edge. Here we spotted another Hawaiian monk seal enter the water from the beach. Here I just wanted to sit and be still while I took in all the beauty. You must go there if at all possible!
When Bob was able to pull me away, we slowly walked back to the trailhead and wandered through the park. It’s magnificent. When we left the park, the ranger told us that the road was out ahead, but you never know, it may be fixed before we got there. We were game. We passed several fruit stands along the way.
Our inevitable end of the road soon appeared. We did a u-turn and headed back the way we came. It was disappointing but it was hard to be too upset given all the beauty we had seen on the Road to Hana. Plus, with this being a sunny day we could stop and see the rainbow eucalyptus at the Keanae Arboretum. We had seen them 22 years prior and they continue to stand out as one of my favorite Hawaiian things.
It is so grievous to deface these lovely trees, but I wanted you to see a close-up of how beautiful the colors are.
Take time to smell the eucalyptus!
We were near the end of our journey and the Shaka Guide told us to pull over one more time. This is a beach where women’s surfing competitions take place. Parasailing and windsurfing, as well as regular surfing, were all happening as we cast our eyes down the beach.
And there were turtles – green sea turtles, or honu, which is their Hawaiian name. This is the largest of the sea turtles. We were there toward the end of nesting season. There must have been 20 or more of them.
So ended our Road to Hana. We did not expect to see so many turtles or a Hawaiian monk seal. We did think we’d make it all the way around the loop, but that’s the thing about nature and weather – things are subject to a change in the elements and that’s okay. We’re thankful.
It had been ages since we left Florida for Christmas but missing our grandchildren in Virginia was a force we could not fight. They are eight and four—more perfect ages of Christmas wonderment cannot be found. When Bob and I realized that the window of Christmas morning amazement through their young eyes is not going to be open much longer, we decided to venture north. North to the cold. North to the potential of snow. North to where you need socks every day. That is the pull of grandchildren.
Our other grands all lived close-by when they were young, so holidays were easy. This year we would celebrate four different days in order to encompass our whole family, beginning with the youngest grands and their parents on Christmas morning.
We headed north on I-95, which is always a treat. We chose to leave on the Wednesday before Christmas and take two days to drive there. We quickly discovered that we weren’t the only ones hitting the road. It was crazy crowded with a lot of stop-and-go. We reminisced about making the trip from Orlando to Maryland when we were raising our four kids. We would do it in one long shot just to avoid checking into a hotel. We have concluded that not only were we younger then, but there were less cars on the road – or is that our age talking? We can’t be sure.
We had a hotel reservation in Florence, SC, which should have been about a seven-hour trip. It took us ten. Side note: What is wrong with the South Carolina interstate road system? Everyone else has more than two lanes. Get with the program!
You never know what you will encounter on a road trip. We sure didn’t expect to find a Quincy’s Family Steakhouse across the highway from our South Carolina hotel. The last one in the Orlando area closed in the 1990s. Our memories of taking our children there were as sweet as honey butter, so resistance was futile. (Plus, they were the only open restaurant on the strip.) The big draw was their yeast rolls. I swear mouth memory clicked in as soon as I saw their sign. As we parked our car, I began to salivate. Would they still have those fluffy sweet rolls and honey butter? Are the steaks still mediocre? Does my mouth have a memory? Enquiring minds and hungry tummies had to know.
It looked exactly like the Florida ones of 30 years ago.
Quincy’s was a welcome beacon in Florence, which we guessed was a city that was on nobody’s foodie travel list. It was a restaurant that time and HGTV had forgotten. I was giddy with nostalgic delight.
The crowd was light, and technically not a crowd.
They advertised a Wednesday special, steak strips and peppers and onions, but they were out of it. The only steak they had was a ribeye, so that’s what I got. It was the skinniest ribeye that I had ever seen, but you pour A-1 Sauce on it, and you’ve really got something. A mouth full of memories. I haven’t poured sauce on a steak in years, but here in Florence, it was the right thing to do. So when in Rome, or Florence, ask for the A-1.
Yummy yeast rolls – worth it!
I think we beat the crowd or perhaps the crowd had come and gone and eaten most of the steaks before we arrived. Either way, we had a blast—a blast from the past—and great yeast rolls and a skinny steak. The staff was friendly in that Southern way that you can’t help but love, no matter how much you had to smother your steak in A-1.
That night as we slept in our warm hotel bed, the sky opened up and rain came down in torrents, which continued for the first five hours of our drive. We were grateful when it gave way to a light rain, but it turned our 5.5 hour trip into 8 hours. But four or five hours along the way came another restaurant surprise just in time for lunch.
We got off the road at Colonial Heights, VA, ready for fast food and needing to get out of the car. Chick-fil-A was out of the question. The line was looped around the building and intersecting in three different points with Walmart pre-Christmas crowds. This was far more dangerous than driving the interstate in rain.
We exited that line fast, and that’s when we saw it—another beacon of light in the form of fast-food delight. Arby’s. And not just your regular, run-of-the-mill Arby’s—the world’s largest Arby’s!
There was plenty of parking and practically no line inside, begging the question, why is everyone at Chick-fil-A when you can sit in a ski lodge setting with a hot roast beef sandwich? Granted, we waited in the short line nearly as long as we usually wait at the Chick-fil-A, but why wouldn’t we?
Check out the size of the dining room. This is only part of it.
Bob waiting in a short line that probably took as long as the Chick-fil-A line. But the roast beef and curly fries were yummy.
Yes, they even have a fire place. All us chilly Floridians wished it was burning.
Finally we reached our destination and were reunited with our son and his family. Warm hugs were all we needed at that point, that is until the temperatures plummeted and the pipes froze and I remembered why we moved to Florida. I had not experienced single digit temperatures in a very long time, not to mention the -15-degree wind-chill factor, which kept me from entertaining the idea of leaving their house. I’m pretty sure I went into a hibernation stupor that was only relieved by my son and sweet daughter-in-law providing me with a wearable blanket for the day and an electric blanket for night.
But it was worth it to see those faces Christmas morning.
We are so blessed with our children and their excellent choices for spouses and amazing children, but maybe next Christmas they can come to Florida.
I had three best friends when I was a teenager. Leslie was one of them and the one with whom I kept the best contact. It helped that she moved down to Florida several years ago, which gave us the opportunity to get together.
Our perpetual plan was to meet at The Back Porch Restaurant in Lake Alfred and enjoy lunch and shopping. It was the perfect place to meet—nearly halfway between our homes. We loved it. It’s an idyllic spot for ladies to pull away from the cares of life and enjoy each other’s company. Sadly, we were not very good at keeping those appointments. Things happened, for instance, travel, work, kids, grandkids, and COVID. I am thankful for each time we had there.
We missed celebrating both of our birthdays on The Back Porch last year. I was traveling on mine. She was not feeling well on hers. The loose plan was to meet in December, but of course the holiday activities got in our way. We always thought we’d have the next time.
Bob and I were on our way to our son, Joe’s, for Christmas when I got the call from Tad. Leslie suffered a massive stroke, and she was gone. The words hung in the air as I tried to grapple with what I had just heard through Tad’s trembling voice. No more trips to Lake Alfred. No more crazy phone calls. No more reminiscing about our youth. No more long text streams. Just sadness mixed with the reality that I couldn’t quite grasp—Leslie was in Heaven. I knew that for sure. We both had accepted Jesus as our savior when we were 15. It was another one of our bonds.
Because I don’t clean out my texts often, I sat down and read all our conversations from October 2019 through November 2022. They are filled with laughter and sadness, joy and pain, prayer requests, hurricane check-ups, sarcasm and love. I will miss her crazy laughter and wonderful sense of humor, but the love of a good friend—I’ll miss that most.
The last time I talked with her was in September right before Bob and I headed to Hawaii. Hurricane Ian was coming to Florida, and we wanted to make sure she knew she could evacuate to our Orlando home even though we’d be away. She assured me she’d keep it in mind and teased me for evacuating all the way to Hawaii like some kind of crazy over-reacting paranoid Floridian. I love her.
As teenagers, we spent a lot of time at each other’s houses. They were a mile apart, but we walked it. Kids walked everywhere back then. Leslie had a pool in her backyard – something that was unheard of in suburban Maryland at the time. Therefore, we spent more summer days at her house. One day when we were walking back to her house from mine, she spotted her neighbor coming towards us. My fourteen-year-old self had a huge crush on him at the time, so she wanted to warn me, especially since I had just polished off a couple of Hostess HoHos and my teeth held evidence of that yummy chocolate cake and cream filling.
It was a good thing that I was packing that day. I whipped out my squirt gun and promptly cleaned my teeth. Leslie gave me the all-clear teeth sign, and we both laughed so hard that we couldn’t do more than wave hello when we passed by him. That is a great example of the passage from childhood to adulthood. Having a crush on a boy and carrying a squirt gun while eating junk food. No wonder our parents didn’t know what to do with us.
It was a hot summer day and we joined a few others wading through the Reflecting Pool on the mall grounds in D.C. We were so scared we’d get in trouble.
Once Leslie accompanied our family from Maryland to Florida to visit my grandparents. By that time, my two older siblings weren’t making the trip, so she joined my sister and me in the backseat of our Oldsmobile Delta 88, complete with plastic on the seats.
My grandparents lived in a “magical” world called MoHo Park, which was right off the fairly new Interstate 4, several miles from the up-and-coming, Disney World, and smack next to a prison farm, which later became the 33rd street jail in Orlando. It was a mobile home park for senior citizens. The entire park loved it when families would visit. They freely shared their pool and provided us with bikes to ride. My grandparents were two of the most loving people in the world, so they fit right in there.
During the daytime the three of us girls needed more to do than ride bikes and swim in the pool, so we toured the model homes. I should add that our tours were self-guided. It was great fun and felt dangerous. It wasn’t truly breaking and entering, as all we did was enter. I guess in those days you could leave doors open more freely, even if you did live next to a prison farm.
One fine summer day as we were going through a model home, we heard the front door open and voices wafted back to where we were. Uh oh. Leslie was not one to handle stress well and this time proved no different. Linda and I, I am sure, were not exactly models of discreet silence, but we held it together as we pushed Leslie into a closet. Of course, we joined her. Someone had to hold their hand over her mouth.
To this day I don’t remember if we were discovered or not, but I do remember Leslie laughing and ultimately crying so uncontrollably that I now wonder if those who entered the model home were hearing impaired. It could be! We were in a senior citizen community.
Years later, about a year after Bob and I married and moved to Florida, Leslie called me to tell me she was engaged. Would I be her matron of honor? Of course I wanted to, but there was the problem of money. We were newlyweds with Bob finishing college and me working for Social Security. There was no way I could afford the trip. Her dad sent me a plane ticket. He was a sweetheart, even though he always said he’d give Bob and me a year since I was clearly marrying my best friend and very young at that. Now you know why Bob and I have stayed married for going on 48 years. It was to spite Mr. Smith! I think it eventually made him happy to know we were going to make it!
Leslie and her kids, Kevin and Katie, visited us in Florida when she came down to a roller-skating competition. She competed and was quite good. She worked at roller rinks while raising her kids. We picked up where we left off, but this time we were not the kids. Yet every time we’d meet up, the kid in us leaked out the way it does when you’ve known each other forever.
Last week, Bob and I went to Venice Beach, Florida, for Leslie’s celebration of life. She lived in Florida for a few years prior to moving there, but I had not yet visited since the move. The last time I saw Leslie was the spring of 2020 when she and Tad met my mom and me for lunch. COVID and other things had interfered with our seeing each other, but I’m thankful for that brief time together.
Leslie didn’t know that Bob and I planned to come see her and see her new life and have Bob meet Tad. We knew it would be after the holidays, but sadly we were too late. Our trip to see her was to say a final goodbye to her and give our love, comfort, and support to Leslie’s son and Tad. To grieve with those who grieve and to share memories of Leslie with each other.
I’m sad and I am grieving, but I grieve as one with hope. Leslie knew Jesus as her savior. I have no doubt about it. We will see each other again.
Leslie with her sushi stealing cutie-pie grandson. She loved her grands. She sent me this picture two years ago.
I did not handle it well when I saw Joe Theisman’s head roll on the ground and settle under my car. I was reminded of the Redskin’s game back in 1985 where Joe had his career-ending injury. As Bob has always been a Redskin fan, I was subjected to watching them play whenever they were televised. (I’m not sure if he worked that into our vows, but I was okay with it.) I wish I had gone out for a walk that day. I vividly remember seeing the bone break in Joe’s leg. It was horrific. Lawrence Taylor, who tackled him, was the first on his feet to vehemently jester for help. I’ve never seen a player as distraught as LT.
But this isn’t about the human Joe Theisman; it’s about my Hallmark ornament Joe Theisman.
It all began on a rare Monday full of motivation to get a few things done around the house – specifically, window washing. The end of Hurricane season was nearing but all eyes remained on the tropics as Hurricane Nicole was eying Florida. The skies were cloudy, so Bob and I adjusted our plans from working in the yard (probably a waste of time with a storm approaching) to the windows. I was inside and he was outside. Side note: I love him being retired!
We started out together but his job takes longer, moving the hose around and such. When I finished I kept on going to my mom’s bedroom and deep-cleaned it. Shoving furniture around and wiping baseboards, vacuuming as far underneath things as I could reach, and finishing up with damp mopping the floor. As I wandered through the house fetching the things I needed, I could hear the water running outside as Bob was finishing up. I went into the laundry room and noticed the floor was wet. “Oh, Bob,” I muttered to myself, figuring he had blasted the door with the hose in an effort to clean it. I threw a towel down and went into the garage, which was also wet. At that point I found Bob and told him we had a problem. He was in the middle of something and would be with me in a minute.
I went back down the hall to the laundry room, which by then had a small current of water flowing in it. I ran and told Bob he needed to shut off the water NOW, all the while not remembering that I know how to shut off the water. That’s how used to Bob taking care of things that I am. Anyway, I walked through the puddle of the guest bathroom into the adjoining bedroom, which was very wet, and into the walk-in closet which had become a lake. Of course, lakes in Florida are not like lakes up north. A big puddle might be referred to as a lake down here. Whatever we chose to call it, there was a lot of water to deal with.
The clean-up effort began just as I was ready to stop doing chores and put my feet up. I will forever be leery of motivation to clean! As it turned out, we had a leak under our slab so we spent a lot of time with our plumber that week.
All that being said, it was the clean-up process that led to the trickle-down effect of putting up our Christmas tree two weeks before Thanksgiving. The tree was in a box standing in our garage in an area that was now a small pond. I moved it away and laid it on its side to dry out. It hadn’t been in water long, but when it was time to put things back in their rightful place, we had the decision to stand it back up and wonder if it was completely dry or put it up in our living room, thus giving the box adequate time to really dry out. So, there you go – I began decorating the tree as Hurricane Nicole made landfall on our poor East Coast. Weirdest hurricane watch ever!
As per usual, Bob climbed the ladder and handed down the boxes full of decorations which are stored on a high shelf in our garage. I guess he thought he had a good grip on one as he dangled it from the ladder for me to retrieve. The only problem was I wasn’t there and his grip was waning. The box came crashing down and popped open spilling some of the contents onto the floor, including Joe Theisman, who was at one beheaded.
I’d like to tell you that I was gracious to Bob, but that would be a lie. I’ll spare you the details, but let’s just say that Joe wasn’t the only one who was in trouble that day. The irony of my anger while decorating for the celebration of the birth of The Prince of Peace did not escape me. The pettiness of it was humbling. I’m thankful for forgiveness.
I was able to pop Joe’s head back on and once again he has a special place on our Christmas tree. Plus, Bob and I moved past the beheading and happily went about our day a little more aware of how fragile life can be – in more ways than one.
Be on the lookout for those things that can rob you of your joy during this time where Joy to the World is practically the theme song! I hope you have a wonderful Christmas! I’ll be back in 2023.
Life on the Lighter Side 