It is too cold when I wake up in the morning to go to the beach. It’s late March in Miami and I am on spring break. Normally during any free morning I am at the beach in my tattoo print bikini meticulous that no sun tans my skin. As I wrap the blanket tighter around me, I’m struck by how much I actually want to go. In Miami the weather is such that the beach is always there, yet you can only go if the weather is complimentary. I avoid South Beach and the throngs of tourists. Instead I go to the Key Biscayne inlet right next to the Seaquarium where they have enslaved so many animals it makes me sick. In the last throes of sunlight, you can hear the seals barking, almost begging for their freedom. I can do nothing to rescue them from a life of being trapped. My dog always looks up when they bark quizzically as if she were a spoiled child that cannot fathom a life not made of malaise.
I get up and walk over to the window, touching the glass to see how cold it is. My hand is quickly withdrawn and I look out pondering what to do with my day. No writing clients are scheduled and most of my friends are working. They cannot imagine having a week off, they practically drool over the concept. I had my first real summer off last year. I didn’t travel, I stayed at home consoled by the fact I could go to the local beach every day like I do in Phuket. My plan for the day was to go to the beach for a few hours, drive back before lunch traffic on Brickell and nap until kickboxing. On vacation, I’m not good at making new plans. My life is so planned with teaching that not having to do anything is more of a luxury than time off.
Now the temperature is rising, my plan B of going to the Country Club pool is foiled by the lingering coldness in the air. The sky is a clear blue, I lay down on my sofa my eyelids heavy from nothing in particular. Gladys rushes into the room. Finding me about to nap is rare, I fight with all my might to stay awake during the day. Sometimes I nod out in meditations, but the dog looks at me straining to figure out why the lady who gives her the yummy gourmet dog food she gets for free is closing her eyes on the sofa. Gladys stands over me tale wagging. She wants another walk and some more dog food.
Not today my love, I pat her and resume the napping position. She walks to the bedroom to take a nap herself. If we were at the beach, she’d be exploring with only her wagging tail for me to keep tabs on her. Her paws do not touch the water, her delight is in the sand. I can’t wish we were somewhere we cannot be, I learned that trick a long time ago. I am a believer in making the best out of a current situation.