Farewell to Florida

One of our daughters has lived in Florida for twelve years. During that time, she changed apartments twice, and each time we’ve gone down to help her pack. As we were preparing to head down, one or two people invariably said, “How wonderful!” No, I’d counter. No one in their right mind goes to Florida in July to pack. (I’ve never claimed to be sane.)

Right now, she’s moving again, relocating to Boston. I’m absolutely thrilled—our driving time to visit will be half of what it was.

And we upped our game. This time we went to Florida. To help pack. In July. During a heat wave. Let’s hear it for total insanity! Every time I checked the weather report, the ”feels like” temperature was exactly eleven degrees above the actual. This always put it well over one hundred degrees.

Of course, we were in air conditioning most of the time. I wouldn’t be here if we hadn’t been. I’d be a puddle on the ground somewhere. And we ended up being there less time than we’d planned.

 My husband came home from a business trip and tested positive for Covid. Happily, it wasn’t a serious case. He improved while quarantining and was safe to travel. I tested negative up until the day we left and figured I’d dodged a bullet. But, no, I just didn’t get sick until the drive home.

We drove down in a day and a half. Helped her for 24 hours, minus sleeping. Then turned around and headed home. A new record for a quick visit, but the work got done.

When the movers had loaded everything into the pod, the rooms—without furniture, rugs, curtains, or anything at all to absorb sound—had an amazing echo. Her poor cat, who had been locked in the bathroom while the movers were working (What did I do wrong?), was released into a space she didn’t recognize. She paced around and around the apartment, sniffing at the odd item left on the floor, and finally sat down in the bedroom and howled. The echo was so vibrant, so mournful, that I started to laugh. She came out and gave me a death glare. I composed myself and apologized, grateful that I hadn’t been incinerated.

It was not the fond farewell to Florida that we’d planned.

It was more like, “Hasta la vista, baby!”