Aparecium!

The big box bookstores were the more exciting events. One Barnes and Noble that we went to out west was an enormous two-story affair and kids (and adults) dressed in robes and pointy hats were draped all along the balcony overlooking the crowded main floor. We managed to secure ourselves a bench in the magazine section. We weren't even there to buy a book, as we had ordered ours online and it was going to be delivered the following day. We were there to be a part of it. We were living through a once in a lifetime phenomenon and we bloody well didn't want to miss it. And it was brilliant. At midnight there was a countdown and people cheered like crazy that the time had come to buy their next Harry Potter book. Many would go home and read through the night. Kids sprawled on their beds and read for hours, people took it to work and read on their breaks, slower readers sequestered themselves so as not to hear spoilers. That was a time when were blessed with summer vacations interwoven with the events at Hogwarts and Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley. 

Though not as exciting, one year for the midnight party we went with some friends and family to a small independent bookstore. (Big Sister wasn't into the Potter-mania at the time, but was there to add outsider commentary like: "Those who are trying to get away with wearing different accessories with their their Tolkien-wear aren't fooling anybody.") I tried to figure out what these things were hanging from the ceiling. It ended up being some metallic spiraling bad-prom decorations with stars in the middle. "What is that?" I asked. Our friend answered: "Magic." I guffawed at the feeble attempt. Yet, by the time midnight came and went I had to agree. Though not as impressive of a gathering, the magic was in the tiny bookstore. Thus is the power of the world that J.K. Rowling created -- a world strong enough to make a community.

And so, while The Wizarding World of Harry Potter of Universal Studios is certainly nothing compared to the world that each reader has conjured up, and isn't even as impressive as the world that the movie summons -- both as a set and with all the magic that computers create -- it is still really, really cool. Years ago The Dad showed me an article that mentioned the plan to create this little world. How happy I am that the time finally worked for us to visit. I'm particularly happy because I now have muggle-moppets that also love the Harry Potter books/world. Because of maturity levels, and in order to somewhat recreate what the kids who first began the journey in 1997 experienced, we introduce one new Harry Potter book a year and read it together as a family. We start in May, right after Judd the Red Chicken's birthday, and begin with the first book -- adding one every year. In a few months we will begin again and read through The Goblet of Fire. 

Today, standing next to a couple in their 50's who were swishing wands to see if they "felt right," reading the bright boxes at Zonko's, listening to a kid chant a spell under his breath, sipping the sweet butterscotchy foam on our Butter Beer, observing people in their Hogwarts robes/shirts/hats, and hearing snatches of vocabulary and names, I thought, these people have laughed and cried with us. My kids didn't get to live through the agony of waiting for each new book to come out (or the solid, broad satisfaction of holding a never opened book in your hands and realizing that you had that many pages of absolute bliss in front of you), or even the movie releases (I remember a really funny student showing me his ticket for the first midnight showing of the first movie -- he kissed that ticket before putting it back in his wallet), BUT they certainly saw today how many people are in the order. 

The attention to detail in the park is impressive. They really did a bang up job. From the "gum ball machine" of a skeleton who repeatedly endures a crow pecking out his eye (which then comes down through the gum ball shoot) in the window of Honeydukes, to the enormous flying skeleton hanging from the ceiling in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, there are details. Was the food good? Not at all (though the Butter Beer and the Pumpkin Juice are both nice). Was the ride inside of Hogwarts kind of scary/jarring/seizure-inducing? I thought so, but I'm Grammy. But none of that mattered when you looked at that cluster of wonky chimneys, or saw the outline of Hogwarts... or even when you heard Moaning Myrtle in the loo. 

Of course we checked out the rest of the park. We all thought that the Dr. Seuss section was properly zany.

And the Jurassic Park section held our interest. Specifically, we went on the water ride three body-shocking times. We had fun climbing in the rope nets. We went to the discovery lab and happened to be there when a baby velociraptor was hatching. The head scientist picked The Boy out of the group to name her (he named her Billy). After the demonstration, an intern came up to The Boy and asked him his name and presented him with a certificate for being the namer. It was a super proud moment. In fact, Judd the Red Chicken possessively held the certificate for the remainder of the day, and when he was passing by the Spiderman Ride the guy in charge of the line called to him as he was passing, made a fuss over the certificate, and took him and The Dad to the front of the line. Sure, it wasn't a ride that The Boy wanted to go on, but it was still really awesome to be treated like a V.I.P.

The lines throughout the park weren't bad at all. The longest we waited was probably 30 minutes. As we sliced our way along all of the corrals used during busier times we all happily sang, "Hurrah for the scheme!"

Ultimately, the world of wizardry and witchcraft drew us back. I always say that theme parks are usually best at night, and this one is no exception. Hogwarts was lit up, as were all the little shop windows. We might have had a meltdown that included some flying fish, a rubber chicken, and a damp sweatshirt, but hopefully it will be the magic that we all remember, as well as the reminder from one of the talking portraits: anyone who has passed through Hogwarts might be the next great witch or wizard who does not yet know his or her full potential.  

Not Everything is For Children Right Now

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.