Rick 1, Florida 1

In the new-millenia competition between Rick and Florida, the score is now tied. In 2004, I ventured down to said state to work as a lawyer on the Kerry team. Basically, the Kerry campaign was asking for lawyers to come down to monitor the elections to ensure that the democracy debacle of 2000 was not re-lived. As history sadly knows, Florida went red again, and I flew home on the day after the election with my head hung low. Florida 1, Rick 0.

Almost three and a half years later, I returned to the land of Ponce de Leon (one of my favorite explorers as a child, if indeed children are allowed to have favorite explorers), and this time I came home with my head held high. I had a great time -- heck, my entire family had a great time -- and so Florida and I are now even.

Here's my write-up on the trip. It is not a short write-up (or, having not yet written it, I anticipate it to be not a short write-up). But I'm writing it more for me than for you, unless you want to pretend that I am writing for you, in which case, eat your heart out.

Thursday.
Cathleen and I arise at 5:30 am and after having packed the car, we confirm with Sophie that she can actually move our car in accordance with alternate-side parking rules if we leave it there, so I unpack it and we call a car service. Wake the kids, pack them into the car service and off we go to the airport. We do alright getting through check-in and security with two kids. At boarding time, as we descend through the tunnel towards the airplane, Max grips my hand and says, "I'm afraid." I tell him, as I've told him innumerable times before, "you are with Mommy and Daddy, and as long as you are with one of us, we will protect you and keep you safe." I, of course, have not flown on an airplane in over two years, and I too am experiencing some pre-flight anxiety and so, like the time Max and I were both having heart attacks on the Wonder Wheel at Coney Island, I am really just talking to calm me down in the hopes that he gains some derivative calm. It seems to work. We have three seats in a row on the plane, and one in the row behind. I sit in the one. While Cathleen has to entertain two kids, I get to finish the Times crossword. Parenting, sometimes, is about sacrifices. Max does great on the flight and Eliza, never one to be happy in her carseat, does generally well in her carseat on the plane. Some folks in neighboring seats might beg to differ (her occasional screams, arguably, could be construed as "not cute and charming"), but it could have been much worse for them.

We get to the car rental place and though we've reserved a compact car, they upgrade us to a mini-van. Suddenly, we're hanging out in an incredibly spacious Kia Sedona. It becomes obvious to me why people like mini-vans: they're enormous. Max insisted that he and Eliza sit in the back, and it was almost like Cathleen and I could pretend they weren't even there. Within minutes we have covered the available seat and floor-space with garbage, proving once again that no matter the size of available space, you can cover it with kids. I set up my GPS (finally able to use it in unknown territory) and off we go to South Hutchinson Island (in Fort Pierce). We quickly realize that it is lunchtime, and if we wait until we arrive at the hotel, we'll all be starving. So we have the GPS direct us to the nearest McDonalds...and it takes us to the Burger King across the divided highway. WTF? It might as well have driven us into Lake Okeechobee. These tasteless potato stalks are what passes for french fries in the world of the creepy looking Burger King? C'mon.

After Eliza naps for a whopping 20 minutes, we finally arrive at our hotel -- the Dockside Inn. It is a series of I think four buildings of rooms situated on an inlet of sorts (South Hutchinson Island is a barrier reef island, and the hotel sits on the interior waterway). The water is about 30 yards from our hotel room, with various docks situated about, and pelicans hanging out on the docks. It is a big fishermen's place, and so most of our fellow hotel residents are retirees or salty dog fishermen (aye, matey). Our room is a one bedroom with efficiency; in the front is a small living area with kitchen (and sofabed), and through a door is a bedroom and bathroom. A decent-sized place, but Max spent the entire time questioning why the hotel room was so small. Because Mommy's book isn't a bestseller yet.

The kids run around outside the room - Eliza became obsessed with running up and down a wooden ramp, almost as if she normally spends her time in an overcrowded, rampless urban environment. We walked around the docks and down a little sandy beach nearby, and then we got ready for dinner. By then, the skies had clouded up and rain was a coming. We dined at Chuck's, a local seafood joint where the outside tables are inside a large tent. Eliza is totally hyped-up on sleep deprivation, and she spends most of the meal jumping up and down in a small puddle of water next to our table, as I chow down on fish n' chips and Cathleen eats some yummy muscles. After we've put the kids to bed, Cathleen and I watch some bad television.

Friday.
We arise too early, Cathleen goes for a run, and we eventually pack ourselves into the minivan and head over to an orange grove called Al's, which purports to have a restaurant on-site. The restaurant turns out to be a roadside shack that serves Mexicanized breakfast fare and freshly-squeezed orange juice. Is there anything in this world that is better than freshly squeezed orange juice? Let me tell you something -- there are exactly two ingestibles in the world that I ever get cravings for: Watermelon Jellie-bellies, and freshly squeezed orange juice. I, therefore, am enjoying every drop. The grove is not a pick-your-own place, so we head into the store/packing plant, we sample all of the citrus fruits that they're selling there, and we buy a half gallon of juice and a sampler bag of citrus. The oranges, honey tangerines, grapefruits are as sweet and juicy as you can get. This was a brilliant move.

We then head back to the island and over to the beach. The sun is shining, but it is wicked, wicked windy. Max plays in the sand (he LOVES to play in the sand) and a very tired Eliza tries to bury her head into whatever parent is holding her. Cathleen and I take turns swimming in the fairly warm, but fairly violent windswept water. Eliza falls asleep in Cathleen's arms, so we all head over to a bench to eat PB&J sandwiches and to watch these crazy guys who are kite surfing on the other side of the inlet. This is some crazy shit, as they are literally doing 30-foot jumps in the air. It was quite a show.

We head back to the hotel, eat some more food, the kids run around, and then we get ready for a dip in the heated pool. Max is reluctant to get into the water until he sees Eliza jump into Cathleen's arms, and so he agrees to jump into mine. Over the next 30 minutes he makes great progress in terms of his comfort in the water -- it was a very rewarding experience. After swimming we get dressed and then head down to the little beach where the kids play in the sand.

At around 4 pm, Mark, Elizabeth and Zachary arrive! The kids run around like mad while the adults drink Florida Gin & Tonics (I added a wedge of fresh orange with the wedge of lime). Max and Zach were pretending that Eliza was a monster, a game that had the potential to be exclusionary and cruel, were it not for the fact that tough little Eliza took immense pleasure in roaring out loud and setting them off running from her.

We head into downtown Ft. Pierce for a street fair, assuming that there will be something that our vegetarian (but seafood-eating) friends can consume, but we are wrong! It is too late to sit down at a restaurant so we head back to the hotel, feed the kids our leftovers from Chuck's and eventually put them to bed, at which time Elizabeth and I went out obtain dinner for the adults. We wound up at Mangrove Mattie's, a severe step down from Mangrove Mama's (a spot in the Keys that still ranks among my top five favorite eating places I've ever been to), where we ordered a couple of fried seafood platters, and where Elizabeth regaled me with a story about floss (moral: buy the cheap stuff). She's one hell of a date.

Saturday.
Mark and I go off on a five-mile run together where we plot fantasy league draft strategy and discuss insurance policies. Oh my god, are we incredibly dull together. After everyone has breakfasted, we drive over to a playground and hang out there for a while, and then we pack into the minivan and head down to Port St. Lucie. It is time for Spring Training. Mark and I both sport shit-eating grins as we walk towards Tradition Field and although I can't quite explain why, I am just feeling giddy. Our seats are in the top row of the stadium behind the first base line near home plate, but we are as close to the field as we ever get at Shea. It is still wickedly windy and so we are forced to wear sweaters. Although the game starts at Eliza's nap time, she is way too stimulated to sleep and doesn't nod off until we are on our way back to the hotel. Only three or four Mets regulars are in the lineup, and their pitcher is Mike Pelfrey who is fighting to perhaps steal the last spot in the team's starting rotation, but he gets smacked around by the Florida Marlins and the Mets lose badly. With two kids at the game, it is almost impossible to really experience the baseball, but I'm just enjoying the atmosphere of the stadium, the crack of the bat, the aura of the game. After the seventh inning stretch, by which time it is almost impossible to recognize anyone who is left playing in the game, we decide to head out. We pass the players parking lot and spy Jose Reyes on the other side of the fence; I get a nice photo of his white Mercedes coupe.

Back at the hotel, some guy is feeding shrimp to the pelicans, and so we head over to watch. In an effort to get good photographs, I wind up standing in what turns out to be the landing zone for the pelicans. These are large birds, folks, with beaks that look like gigantic rotisserie skewers. I am shitting my pants, but I get some good photos. That's called professionalism.

We dine at a Greek restaurant in Fort Pierce, and twice during our meal Greek music starts blaring from the speakers in the restaurant and a belly dancer appears. The boys hardly notice her, even when she is gyrating next to them at our table, but Eliza is transfixed, partly out of fascination and partly out of substantial fear. When the dancer appears a second time, Eliza insists that I hold her, and she alternates saying "I scared" and "I wan dancer." So true, so true. During the meal we have a phone conversation with Miriam (at Max's behest, because he misses her) and learn that she has lost her first tooth that day!

Sunday.
Cathleen, and then Mark and Elizabeth go off for runs. After breakfast, we head over to North Hutchinson Island, to a nature preserve where we go on a two-mile round-trip hike among mangrove trees. The kids do a lot of running, and we get to see some extraordinary foliage, as well a scenic view atop a wooden tower.

After the hike, the women head back to the hotel, and the boys head back to Tradition Field for Day 2 of baseball. At the game, I meet up with my home-town friend, Rich Handler. Hey Rich, you've made it into the blog. Rich and I spent a lot of time together in high school on the debate team, but we haven't seen each other in around 15 or 16 years. I was a bit anxious at the idea of seeing him -- what would we say to each other? But the moment he and his wife and son arrived, I was really excited. He may be a big-wig Florida nephrologist these days, but at heart he was the same Rich, and it was fantastic catching up. There are more regulars in this game, and the Mets shut-out the Astros, 3-0

After the seventh-inning stretch, I turned to talk to Mark about our departure plans just as the pep squad on the field began shooting t-shirts into the stands. Suddenly I hear the folks around me shouting and WACK, I am knocked in the hip by a t-shirt, which bounces off of me and into the hands of some guy two rows away. What kind of asshole gets hit near the buttocks by a promotional t-shirt?

By the eighth inning, Max has quietly gorged himself on pizza, a hot dog, hot cocoa, some french fries and ice cream. Although he resisted sharing in my Taco-in-a-helmet (hey, it was called Taco-in-a-helmet -- how could I resist?), he finally tells me that his tummy hurts. It is time to go. He then chastises me for taking him to Spring Training two days in a row. This trip is a learning experience on many levels.

Driving home, we meet up with the ladies at the Manatee Center in Fort Pierce, where Elizabeth had spent the latter part of the afternoon hanging with some local manatees. By the time we arrive, the manatees are less interested in surfacing for the benefit of watchful humans, and so we are only able to catch passing glimpses of these marvelous creatures.

We head back to the hotel, and down to the little beach where the kids play in the sand while we drink Lone Shark beers. We order in food from a recommended restaurant (Blue Water Grill?) and the food is amazing -- finally some delicious seafood. The adults stay up late talking (though not too late because we are all just wiped) and then we bid adieu; they are leaving an hour before us tomorrow morning.

Sunday.
Get up, pack. Max is unhappy about the encroaching end of the vacation. We head off to West Palm Beach, return the minivan, get to the airport. It appears that our flight might be delayed three hours, but then suddenly it isn't. We figure that Eliza will nap on the flight but, guess what, she doesn't. No, she falls asleep in the sling as Cathleen carries her from the plane to the baggage claim area at LaGuardia. Max has another good flight -- he tells me that he used to think flying would be scary, but that it wasn't scary at all. Once on the ground, however, he is a bit anxious about the baggage claim, and when his booster seat emerges from behind the rubber curtain and onto the conveyor belt, he is so purely overjoyed that he starts jumping up and down with unabashed glee. I have had a great vacation, but that was one of my favorite moments.