I miss you too. Really, I do miss blogging, but I’m on vacation and at the point of critical mass where I don’t want to do anything but sleep and go to the beach. The kitchen in our condo is closet-sized and I do next to no cooking down here; for dinner, either we go out or my mother cooks miracles out of her closet-sized kitchen.
Our first night down she produced chicken cacciatore and baked polenta, which despite it being a sultry eighty degrees out, was perfect off-the-plane fare:
The next night we went out to the Snook Inn. I had some amazing crabcake sliders. Pandagirl had grouper and chips, and between the two of us we put away a plate of amazing cole slaw. The night after that was grilled pork tenderloins, more cole slaw and green beans, and potato pierogies. Last night we devoured fried chicken from Publix, which is unbeatable.
The evenings always end up at Coldstone Creamery. Redman is a minimalist – one flavor, one topping – but I am continually amazed at the combinations Panda manages to fit into a kid-sized cup. Watching her eat cake batter ice cream with chocolate chips, m & m’s, hot fudge and six other things makes my teeth ache, but she is the portrait of bliss:
I never bring books to Marco. I buy magazines at the airport, and then once here, either I raid my parents’ bookshelves or go to the local library, usually in search of mindless, light reading. So I have books by Frances Mayes and Nina Garcia stacked by my bed and I’m dreaming about gardening in an evening gown.
It’s home life in a different place: shoes are still everywhere, lights are left on, toilets unflushed, clothes flung willy-nilly as kids step out of them and into bathing suits, and wet bathing suits are left in a crumple on the floor. The choruses of “Where’s my…?” and “Have you seen my…?” don’t stop. They put away an astonishing amount of food, appetites primed by ocean air and the swimming pool. But it’s vacation. I try to step over the clutter, play dumb to the lost objects, go back to Publix again. As long as there are Mikes Hard Limes in the fridge, and I can get to my side of the king-sized bed so I can take a nap, I’m perfectly happy. And as long as nobody eats ALL the Planters almonds that I bought for ME at Publix, hey! HEY!! Those are mine, you’ve had enough!!!