Counting the days, yea.

I can see it on the horizon. And I swear I can smell it. That early morning smell that says, "...the little caplets of dew evaporating into the morning sunshine that will soon give way to the slight gulf breeze wafting across your nasal passage as droplets of sweat wind their way off your torso like miniature streams beginning to form..." Got it yet? You know that smell the minute you step off the airplane, or the first morning you wake up in a strange bed. I am talking about VACATION. I am talking, of course, about southwest Florida.

Our home away from home for every spring break since I can remember. We love Ft. Myers Beach. Love everything about it. The crowd, the beach, the mini-golf, the fishing charters, the wave runners, the pools, the Edison museum, the music wafting down the shoreline from the one man band guitar players in every bar, and even the performance artist on the corner that has spray painted himself and his bicycle gold. (And the scantily clad spring breakers with their tatoos and naval rings are just a bonus.) But I guess there is one thing I don't really like. Okay two. All the money I am going to dump, and the kids bickering, from everything we aren't going to do today to the do-over they should have got on the 7th hole at Jungle Golf. Is it too much to ask to leave it at home and, I don't know, actually enjoy ourselves?

And why the heck do they charge like $30 bucks for a family of 4 to play mini-golf? Oh yea, because they can. It's a money pit I know. You can't be a tourist without actually being charged like one. There are other, possibly cheaper, places to vacation, I know. But it has been my home away from home since I was like 10. Some people are into exploring the world. We are into Florida.

Now close your eyes, and imagine you are in you ideal vacation paradise. Got it? Now imagine you leave in 4 weeks. It's torture, isn't it? Knowing you have to stay in the real world while this Eden-like paradise beckons you like a mermaid to a lonely sailor. So I am counting the days. Counting the days until I don't have to look at snow. Counting the days until I don't have to drive someone to a basketball game. Counting the days until I can wake up in the morning and know all of my troubles are behind me. Sort of.