HOLDING THE SUN

     A year ago when we visited our favorite Gulf Beach, Ft. Myers Beach, our friends gave us a delightful champagne sunset cruise on the back bays and inlets surrounding Estero Island. The cruise went beyond delightful and bordered on incredible when the captain of our boat found dolphins to frolic and play in the wake of the boat. I love these friendly creatures and am entranced with watching from our balcony or beach facing the Gulf. But in the boat’s wake we got so close we could spot the dolphin's smile, see him twist; watch his belly glisten against the white caps.
     Overtaken with amazement and joy I wanted to share my dolphin experience with everyone, including my family, especially my grandchildren. For a year I talked, probably too much, about those dolphins. Knowing they were coming to Florida on Spring Break this year, two of my granddaughters and I even discussed swimming with the dolphins in Key West or Orlando. We finally settled on another sunset cruise with the same captain. I was bursting with excitement. I could hardly hold onto my enthusiasm.
     We did see dolphins, but no frisky, playful dolphins. I was crushed. But as we observed eagles’ nests on a nearby beach, baby osprey chirping from their nest, and even a manatee slugging along, I began to understand God was imploring me to embrace this moment, not my moment I had envisioned and built up, but His moment. My family surrounded me in a serene, soothing spot of splendor. The sun blazed oranges, pinks and purples across the breaking whiteness of the surf. And when the captain showed my oldest granddaughter, Claudia, and I how to hold the sun together, I realized this moment would be sacred too.

MY KAHLUA

It all began in 1978. We visited Ft. Myers Beach, stayed in a beach front studio, swam in the pool, collected shells and battled waves. The day before we left Chip, our youngest, found an early morning message written in shells at the doorway, “Bye Chip, I’ll miss you,” a good bye message from a friend of two days Chip had made on the beach. That farewell was only the beginnings of a close and lasting connection our family of four forged every spring with our favorite crescent island facing the Gulf.

That fall a Michigan neighbor showed us pictures of something he called a “time share,” a renovated and redecorated motel where you could buy weeks, share maintenance and upkeep, and, most importantly, secure a place to stay every year at the same time. But the real selling point for us: the pictures were of a new time share in Ft. Myers Beach called Kahlua Beach Club. kahluabeachclub.comWe bought three weeks long distance.

My Kahlua is wreathed in families, nestled in the middle of the crescent. We see them every spring, rekindle friendships, refresh our lives and renew our love of shrimp, sunset and surf. My children found first loves as teenagers, invited best friends from home, and later shared springtime with new spouses at Kahlua. Now my grandchildren slather suntan lotion, read books on the pool’s edge, and fly through freewheeling, foaming waves.

Kahlua has become more that an April place of respite. It is a balmy belonging. I hear echoes in the pool as a sister admonishes her older sister, “Every time I try to talk to you, you’re underwater.” Did my daughter Beth ever admonish Chip that way? I hear the shuffle board swish and rattle and remember “The Tournament,” twenty three years ago. Chip and his buddy, Rob, won the trophy from two senior owners. One of those owner’s three sons now have a family reunion here every spring. I remember as Beth and her dad head into the waves, now I see my son-in-law and granddaughter head into the waves. My Kahlua holds me, molds me and keeps me.