Oh to be here.
Winter and more of those touristy sleighs with jingle bells heading down the road loud enough to drive one mad. Who would have thought it, really. South Carolina to grow up in and jingle bells on straps for the music teacher to shake at Christmas concerts. Not enough snow for a sleigh even an elf could fit into, let alone one for grown-up people with horses and all.
But a dashing husband in a white naval uniform and a chapel to get married in by the sea. So many countries lived in one can barely count them up. Aden with its sand, Okinawa and then Pensacola.
Warm that had been and close enough to go home every few months. If only. Life with no down coat or snow boots.
But no, the navy done and a job with a different place but one that kept just as many moving and shipping companies in business. Latvia and then Honolulu. South Africa and Iceland. All over just so there’s water someplace near.
But a postcard coming in the mail from that school friend who married the fellow from Key West and it all coming back. Christmas vacation under a beach umbrella and a bench to sit on barefoot with an ice cream and watch the world go by. Men pushing carts up and down selling ice-cold sodas and other men with hamburgers and hot dogs.
But all of it warm and that day after day. Little skirts, t-shirts and flip-flops and a girl cousin or two. . . .perfect . . . did it end or did it not . . . all there if one but sits on the beach and remembers it back . . .