Beach Day Birthdays and French Toast

This is the third year in a row that Dylan has had a birthday on a family vacation. The last two summers, he blew out the candles at Lake McQueeney, in a house owned by one of his father Jeff’s friends. This year, however, he celebrates in Mexico. Would everybody please wish him a happy birthday! 🎂

It must be nice to turn a year older in a different country. One of my friends had her sweet sixteen on Spring Break while we were in France. We spent most of that day at Versailles. Unfortunately, my birthday falls in the middle of February. No beach day birthday vacations for me!

Today we ran into some trouble with one of our golf carts; the second time we’ve had golf cart trouble, actually. The first was on the first day before we even reached Casa Cristal; the golf cart that had been rented to us just more or less petered out. This morning, we notice a flat tire on one of our two, with no idea as to how that happened, because we took both carts out for dinner last night and had no trouble. Well, whatever; we had to have breakfast, so all six of us piled onto a cart built for four, and whizzed up the street at a much slower pace than normal.

For breakfast? Mango Café’s “famous” coconut French toast, of which I failed to take a photo. No matter. By the end there wasn’t much to take a picture of, anyway. I will say, though, it wasn’t quite as tasty as the “Dark n’ Stormy” stuffed French toast from yesterday morning at Lola Valentina’s. I’ve had a lot of French toast this week…

Back to the house after breakfast to have the flat tire switched out. After this, we’re supposed to zip-line over the Caribbean at Parque Garrafón. I love zip-lines; they’re the closest I ever get to really flying.

I’ve always wanted to fly.

Airplane travel is a suspension of time.

This is what I think as, for the second time this summer, a jet plane taxies down a Houston runway and lifts into the air, the city spread out below with a beauty that shines only in the dark.

It’s hard to really comprehend that not even twelve hours before I perched on a bench in the stifling heat of Clute Park for Across Life’s Mosquito Festival performance, and just a few hours after that I curled up with Penny, my ditzy, klutzy, adorable red heeler, to catch a few hours’ sleep. (To no avail, of course, but that’s not her fault.) Up at 2:30 a.m. Get dressed, grab bags, and climb into the backseat of Dylan’s dad’s truck for an hour’s drive to the airport. I can honestly say I haven’t done an early-morning flight like this in years, while my parents and I used to do them every summer. Now, it’s 6:07 a.m. Houston time as I type, and I wonder where these past hours escaped to, even though I know.

The sun peeks over the horizon now; soon, we’ll land in Atlanta, and then we’re off to Cancún for exactly the kind of vacation I’ve always dreamed of: sunny warmth, white sand, and blue water.

Time moves forward as slowly as an airplane feels, but we’re on our way.