Before we left the hotel this morning The Girl and I went swimming. Perhaps not as magical as swimming at night, but it is a very peaceful feeling to be in an outdoor pool first thing in the morning with few, if any, other people in sight aside from the employees hosing down the cement and skimming out leaves that fell during the night. The Girl was trying out moves that she saw the dolphins do -- jumping up and trying to move backwards by thrusting her legs forward quickly; jumping up and trying to spin; general frolicking with a smile.
The Dad and The Boy went to Publix to get some breakfast items. Now. Does that name concern anybody else? I get that it's supposed to conjure up feelings with "public" maybe? I shared what it conjured up for me and we had a nice "maturation lesson."
Our first destination this morning was John Pennekamp Coral Reef State Park. The Dad and The Sister had appointments to go on a boat that would take them over the reef to snorkel, and the kids and I had places reserved on a glass bottom boat. The kids were ticked. I felt more secure in my decision when the captain of the snorkeling boat said that only experienced swimmers could go because the swells were quite high today. Secure in my decision or not; allowed by the captain or not; I was the kill-joy.
There is a visitor's center there with a little aquarium and a theatre where they show a film that acquaints you with the different types of coral, plants, and animals that make up the reef. When we walked in to the theatre I was happy. It smelled like my grandparents' house. The fact that The Boy looked at me and smiled and said, "It smells like Grandma and Grandpa's house," made me even happier. I'm not sure if it was the type of wood that the benches were made of, or perhaps somebody who smokes Sir Walter Raleigh in his pipe and puts VO5 hair tonic in his comb-over works there -- but the scent wasn't that of just a passing stranger -- it belonged. Knowing that at any minute a connective moment like that can happen surely keeps people getting out of bed on some mornings. The movie was interesting -- narrated by somebody with the first name "Fisher." Eventually it was time to go to the dock and wait for our respective boats.
We went for 45 minutes to get to the reef, stayed looking at the reef through the glass bottom with an educator for 45 minutes, and then turned back. It was quite nice (though The Boy did become "stomach aware" towards the end of the viewing because the water was so choppy). Aside from a nice variety of large parrot fish, blue-headed wrasse (they are actually schools of little yellow fish, and you search for the one with the blue head in the group -- that's the male. He spends his entire time mating with each member of his harem and then keels over from exhaustion after a couple of months. At that time, the alpha FEMALE starts producing enough hormones to turn into the new male. The kids both turned and looked at me with their mouths open. Not sure how that fits in with the "maturation lesson."), sergeant majors, large trumpet fish -- one vertical and one horizontal -- and other fish, plus a 1,000-year old piece of brain coral, we saw a SHARK! True. There was a medium-sized nurse shark on the sand. On our way back in to the dock we saw a big bull manatee. Life is exciting here in Florida.
Back on the dock we reunited with The Sister and The Dad.
"Did YOU see a shark?" I could tell the kids were still mad that our experience seemed less-than.
"No," replied The Sister
"Humph. We did. Do you wish you did?" The Girl
"No. I was snorkeling." The Sister
"Humph. Well do you wish you were on the glass bottom boat and saw the shark?" The Boy
"No. I like snorkeling."
A collective growl. There is something to be said for doing things as a family when on a family vacation. Though I suppose there is also something to be said for learning that there are things to look forward to -- big kids and adults do get to do special things sometimes.
In the car I dozed for a while, listening to the kids still wheedling their aunt ("I can't believe you just won't say that you want to try something new. You've already snorkeled. Say that you want to go on the glass bottom boat…" "I think you should pay us a dollar for getting to go snorkeling when we didn't…" and then something about canoodling, but The Boy kept calling it cacoodling…). When my head slipped off the headrest a bit too severely and I opened my eyes I saw bright awnings and flat plastic signs. We were in Little Havana. Our lunch destination was Versailles. It was delicious food. Here's what I liked about Little Havana -- in the restaurant, in the adjoining bakery, walking down the street -- there were groups of older men dressed in slacks with button down shirts tucked in who would greet each other warmly -- hand clasps, jokes in Spanish, hugs and kisses.
Back in the damn car. We looked up how dolphins sleep. I know that we've learned this before, and even now that I've relearned it I anticipate that I'll promptly forget it, as it's somewhat confusing. The Reader's Digest version is that they only sleep for about 30% of the day. Sometimes they nap which sounds like they kind of drift, often in groups. At night they do this thing where one half of their brain (and the opposite eye) will go into rest mode, while the other side/eye remains somewhat active to watch for danger and to alert the dolphin's body when it is time to go to the surface to take in air. Apparently breathing is NOT an automatic response for them like it is for us (which is why we can fall asleep and trust that we will keep breathing). Also, baby whales/dolphins have to be kept in the slipstream of the mama, and if they stop swimming the baby will sink because they don't yet have enough blubber to make them buoyant.
Miami Beach has the same allure as soap stores, yarn aisles, and candle companies with all those piles of hues. We talked about art deco -- the lines and racing stripes referencing the era of transportation that people were so smitten by. We learned that the shelves over windows are called brows. Mostly we just drove around and looked (while I snapped photos of the architecture the kids giggled about the scantily-clad residents).
The Wolfsonian-Florida International University sounds right up our alley, but it is closed on Wednesdays. Next time.
Something I'm not sure that I ever need to see again is the Holocaust Memorial, for it is brutal. Though perhaps the children should see it in its entirety someday. Not now. Not for a while. Obviously you see the enormous hand as you approach, noticing as you get closer that there are emaciated bodies coming off of it and the wrist has a tattooed number. Then there is a walk-way with sad, horrible, graphic pictures of the Jewish persecution etched into the stone wall. At this point The Sister was incredulous -- why would you want to remember this? It certainly wasn't my place to defend, or condone, or even understand, but I did posit the idea that perhaps the idea is less to remember and more to stand as a witness -- not just of the deaths, but also of the fear, and shock, and shame. I mentioned that some people have tried to "lessen" the Holocaust -- imply that it wasn't so bad. We also talked about the decision to have it etched on stone. They say that carving in stone is the most sure way we have of preserving records. Preserving, recording, witnessing, and remembering. After the walkway there is a tunnel, and it sounds like children are singing. "This is more what I like with memorials," The Sister said. "Until you find out that all of these children singing were gassed." I replied. And then we emptied out into the circle that surrounds the hand. Throughout the circle are placed sculptures of people. It is unbelievably hard. Their bodies, their postures, their positions… Around the circle is more of the black stone with names of people who died in the holocaust, submitted by families, etched. A good portion of the black stone wall is left blank, and reflects the rows and rows of names from across the circle -- obviously referencing the vast quantity of names that are not listed.
Back in the car, talking about how difficult it is (in general terms, as the kids didn't see most of it), we again talked about being a witness. Understandably, there are some things that are hard to look in the eye, hard to talk about. But the reason why humans look each other in the eye and talk about hard things is because that's how we show respect; it's validation; we are saying I choose to communicate with you not because I don't know about the darkness, but because I do know. Pretending something didn't happen can be as hurtful as the actual event in some instances. Being a witness, and validating our witnesses is the difference between animals interacting and humanity. In short, I don't begrudge the memorial, I just feel sick that it was needed. I found out that Miami Beach was home to the second largest community of holocaust survivors. I hope that all that sunshine and bright colors helped.
Next to such hard despair is a very sweet botanical garden that is free to walk through. In the keys they have signs everywhere (courtesy of Jimmy Buffet) that say, "It's 5:00 somewhere." After this trip, as I slog about in the cold, I will remember: it's warm and blooming somewhere.
Back in the damn car. Orlando bound.
Lured in by a sign that said "The Earl of Sandwiches" we found ourselves at one of those roadside rest stops that always have a KFC, often a pretzel place, and various other fastfood-restaurant-outlets. We got some tomato soup, chips, and "tap" water that smelled like algae, and then deflatedly walked back to the car.
The kids watched a movie (Balto) and went through all the photos on my phone. We are to Orlando, and poised for a day of Harry Potter's world tomorrow... Everybody is WAY excited, even though the spawn have only been allowed to read the first three books.
