Life's a Beach

In the heat of the tropical sun, my sweat is a pungent mix of guacamole and tequila. I am a walking fiesta.

We have tucked two days of togetherness under our belts (which, at the rate we're going, will not fit at all by the time we leave), and we are still proclaiming the trip to be a complete success. No, this is not some kind of drunken I love you. It is early in the morning, I am completely sober, and the cool ocean breeze promises to keep me hours away from the delirium of heat stroke.

It doesn't hurt that I just found out it's cold and dreary in Chicago. Heck, I'm feeling so optimistic that I'm fairly certain global warming will resume just in time for our return north. Life is good -- as long as you don't waste time worrying about the future. And, really, who has time to worry about the future when your days are as busy as they are down here. Eat, walk, nap, eat, nap, water aerobics, eat, nap. It's not surprising we've been in bed by nine each night.

Today we are going to pick up the pace a bit. As my daughter pointed out, there are only five tanning days left, and we still have to squeeze in some shopping, parasailing, ziplining, and a few death defying spins on a wave runner. Oh, Monday mornings. Why do they always have to be so stressful? And don't even get me started on the Javier issue -- the stunning twenty-four year old who seems as smitten with my daughter as I (and all the other old ladies here) are with him. He asked her how old she is. "Fifteen," I replied, loudly enough to drown out her response ("almost sixteen"). Save me.

The truth is we just needed this time together, my youngest daughter and I, to get reacquainted, to reassure each other that in spite of all the changes we've endured over the past few years the important things have not changed. The configuration of our family is in constant flux, not just because of divorce but because her two older siblings have, as they should, moved out and moved on. She cannot wait to do the same. I, on the other hand, despair at the thought. But, as I said, the important things have not changed, and I don't think they will.

Anyway, why worry? And, like I said, who has the time? The sun is finally peeking over the mountaintops and making its way toward the beach. Our senses are about to be bombarded -- by the aromas from the kitchen, the touch of the tropical sun, the songs of the sea birds, the salt on the rim of my margarita glass. And the spectacular views. Cloudless skies, sparkling ocean, and, best of all, Javier.

The fiesta that is day three is about to begin, and the scent of it will soon be oozing out of my pores.  Life is good.