January 26, 2015 The snow is coming down with all the ferocity and determination of the woman who blatantly took my parking space at the grocery store today. The lot was full and she was clearly frenzied in her desperate need to buy the last non-bruised eggplant, some soy protein bars, a bag of organic kale and a family sized pack of double-stuffed Oreos, get to her hot yoga class to cleanse her body (of Oreos) and her mind (of stolen parking spaces) and then head home to clean the cat boxes before the blizzard of the century hit her square in her in her Lululemoned posterior. Tis a fitting end to a fun, crazy, heartbreaking and emotional January, stuck inside with a couple of maniacal midgets during a bombogenesis blizzard named after a movie about teen pregnancy starring a gay Canadian and the spokesman from Farmers Insurance. (The movie, and the blizzard, are both named Juno. I add this to save explaining the last line to my mom, who would have called me to ask what the hell I was talking about and why it was funny. Which it probably isn’t, but I’m saving us both the trouble. She can call to correct my spelling or grammar instead.) January started off at the end of the longest school vacation in the history of the world. The 2nd was a Friday, so we had three bonus days at the end of an already decades long winter break. Mandie and I put our kids back in school for two days, and then took them out on Wednesday so we could fly to Florida for a whirlwind tour of relatives, weddings and some South Miami culture. We landed in Ft. Lauderdale on Wednesday afternoon on time after an uneventful trip from Boston. We are veteran parental unit travelers by now and kept the children busy with plane presents, wind sprints at the Logan gate and fifteen running laps up and back on the moving walkway at BWI near gate C7. From Lauderdale we rented a car and headed up Scenic Route 95 to our first stop, Vero Beach, where we visited Aunt Billie, played with sand fleas at Whitey’s Bait Shop and snuck into the Disney Resort at Orchid Island where I took a nap on a picnic table. We stayed at a little boutique hotel near Whitey’s where they had a very nice complimentary breakfast (included in your low-low in-season rate!), which Zekey enjoyed, and the proprietor called me Mr. Fox on at least three occasions, which my wife enjoyed. It was the low-key, relaxing part of the trip. It was nice to see Mandie’s Aunt, prices were reasonable, there were no injuries and we didn’t break anything. On late Friday morning the innkeeper bade goodbye to Mr. and Mrs. Fox and we loaded our growing belongings back into the rental and headed back down 95 South toward Miami. Perin, who is now 6 and ¼, made the trip seem shorter and much more pleasant by asking in whiny 6 ¼ year old girl voice “how long till we get there?” every eight minutes. During the down times between “how long till we get theres” she would take whatever her brother was playing with and hold it just out of his reach so he would make that awesome whining sound that only younger siblings can make. It’s a sound that causes mothers to scream disjointedly “give him back his…I told you…we’re not going to…I’m not dealing with this!” and makes fathers consider driving over to the drainage ditch on the side of the road and see if there are any hungry alligators hanging around. Twenty-two and a half “how long till we get theres” later we arrived at the lovely Men’s Wearhouse in a shopping mall in Aventura where I crammed my oversized personage into rented tux for the black-tie Einhorn gala on Saturday. The very nice and patient sales representative let out my adjustable pants and told me I looked very handsome in my used suit while the kids did laps around the store, knocking shirts off the racks and destroying perfectly folded and color-coordinated displays of neckties and socks. Mandie got them to go to the bathroom, kept them from causing any real damage and managed, somehow, to pick out two shirts and two ties for me to buy and add to our growing collection of purchases in the car. She’s very talented. Much to the chagrin of my children, who felt that the Men’s Wearhouse in Aventura was more fun than Chuck E Cheese, we got back in the car and braved late afternoon rush hour traffic all the way to our next destination, the Eden Roc Hotel on South Beach. We arrived an hour later, impressing the valet parking staff by unloading our children, a Men’s Wearhouse branded plastic valise, twelve pieces of unmatched luggage and three McDonalds bags filled with trash spilling French fries and chocolate milk across the circular entrance drive. We were nothing if not the picture South Beach sophistication. Thankfully, Uncle Brad and (almost) Auntie Erin arrived to take Mandie and the kids to the pool while I checked in and dealt with the luggage. If I was uncertain about the Eden Roc being my kind of place I was reassured upon check-in, where I was told that, in addition to my nightly rate for two rooms, they would be charging me a $21 “resort fee” per room. This included two beach chairs on their private beach, in room internet and two complimentary bottles of water. I was so happy to be there that I refrained from having a discussion about the true meaning of “complimentary”, paid and went upstairs to use the bathroom and have some alone time. The rooms, and the hotel, were fabulous. I like to complain (no, really) but I would recommend the Eden Roc to anyone with a stack of hundreds to light on fire. We had adjoining rooms on the 21st floor with balconies overlooking the beach. The shower stall was big enough to play racquetball in and the beds were huge and very comfortable. The service and staff were first rate and the hot tub and pool were 100% Zekey and Perin approved. We were there for Mandie’s brother’s fiancée’s sister Carly’s wedding , so we were marginal guests with no agenda or real obligations other than to enjoy the resort and the celebration. Additionally our Nanny Sarah had moved to Florida and came to the hotel for the weekend for just the cost of the additional room and watched the kids from Friday afternoon until Sunday morning. (At the end of the weekend I was willing to give her $8,000, which I felt she had earned, but she wouldn’t take it saying how much she loved the kids and how fun it was just to spend time with them again. I asked “which kids are we talking about?’ and Mandie punched me.) So Mandie and I got to go to the rehearsal dinner and the wedding by ourselves, like real grown-ups. And what a wedding it was. As guests of Vicki and Neil Einhorn we were treated like family and invited to the rehearsal dinner in downtown South Beach. After the dinner we went to a club called “Editions” where I bought a round of drinks for just slightly less than it would have cost to buy Whitey’s entire bait shop from him, including his buddy Earl, who sits in the back all day, drinks Bud Light and points the way to the bathroom. One of the drinks was made in a copper pot over artisanal ice. It took over five minutes to make, featured at least twelve ingredients and was finished with a sprig of rosemary that the bartender lit on fire with a propane torch. South Beach is a silly place. On Saturday we hung at the beach and the pool. Zeke and I had a rousing game of hot tub volleyball. The game was played according to a complex set of rules he made up as we went along and I was soundly thrashed. Mandie got a massage. I took a nap. Like real people. As we went up for lunch around 2:00 we stopped to watch the hotel staff set up for the outdoor wedding. It was a beautiful arrangement between the beach and the pool with a raised stage covered in white, a perfect outdoor setting for a wedding. While we were eating our artisanal cheeseburgers the clouds rolled in and it started to rain, which was ironic, and it didn’t stop for a while so the wedding got moved inside. The wedding rocked. It went from 6:00 until 12:00. There were two hundred seventy guests, four hundred different kinds of food, at least eight open bars, a band that could play anything and a dance floor that was never empty. Apparently there was an after-party where enough pizza was delivered to feed the guests and most of the hotel staff. Mandie and I, not used to being real people for a whole weekend, did not quite make it to the after party and opted to go to sleep in preparation for the return of our children on Sunday morning. Neil and Vicki, the parents of the bride, insanely invited us to stay with them after the wedding from Sunday until Tuesday at their house in Miami. It was a nice, low-key visit with a trip to the monkey jungle and some Amish cinnamon rolls. They were tremendous hosts and will be great grandparents someday soon. Perin and Zeke approved and were sad to go. We left them on Tuesday morning looking like they might sleep until the following weekend. Our tour concluded with an easy trip home through Atlanta. On time and no snow. A rare occurrence for the Fine Fox clan when traveling in winter. January was tempered for me by a memorial service. Matt Glahn, my friend Tim’s older brother, fell ill at Christmas and died suddenly right after we got back from Florida. Tim was my best friend in Junior High and High School. Matt introduced me to music, took me to concerts and was the big brother I never had during a rough period of my life. I hadn’t seen him in more than twenty years but was fortunate to be down in Maryland on business and had a chance to visit with him in the hospital. This past weekend I went back to celebrate Matt’s life with his family and friends on Sunday in Washington DC. I connected with my old friend Tim and saw some others that I hadn’t in too long. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed so much at a memorial service. Or cried as much either. We are here for a short stay. Make it memorable. Whether it’s chatting with Whitey at his bait shop, fitting in like a manatee at a hummingbird party while hemorrhaging cash in South Beach or holding hands with John Soluri while both of you cry during a prayer for a friend at a Memorial Service, there is the need to experience and joy to be found. Today a silly woman took my parking spot during panicked pre-blizzard food shopping at the local grocery store. She knew she did it. She wouldn’t look me in the eye afterwards. If she had, she might have been stunned to see me laughing as I made up the story in my head about the yoga and the kale and her cats all while getting a spot two rows closer to the store. January was a good month. I spent time with my family. I made some new friends. I celebrated a beginning at a beautiful wedding in South Beach and celebrated the end of an equally beautiful life in Washington, DC. Now I sit, late night, celebrating a snow storm in Watertown, my children sleeping, my pantry stocked and alive and reasonably well on a winter night in January. Hello Carly and Zac, goodbye my friend Matthew and good night to anyone who has actually read this far. I’m going to bed now, I promised my son I’d help him build an igloo tomorrow.
Posted on: Tue, 27 Jan 2015 05:59:55 +0000
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