A bit on our Florida stay:

We rented a house on Anastasia Island, one that I found via (of course) the internet. Not through VRBO, but on a site run by a Realtor who owns ten properties to rent. As you may recall, we finally decided to do this fairly late in the game, and since we wanted to minimize vacation days taken, we did it over the 4th – which means…there wasn’t a lot to choose from and what we found we would pay for. She apologized because it was her one property without a pool, but believe me, with two little children, a pool is the last thing I want. The ocean is stress enough.

It wasn’t bad – in fact, for the size of the house, I think it was actually reasonable, for it was so large, three couples could have easily stayed there, and had their privacy – a first floor with a living room w/TV and fold-out couch and then a large second floor where the other bedroom was, as well as the kitchen, dining area and living room (which also had a fold-out couch). So if say, 6-8 people had stayed there…it would have been quite a deal.

But, er..it was mostly just us. With some family in early in the week. But I’m telling you, it was nice to be in a house, and not in a hotel room, what with towels and bathing suits and crazy little boys and all.

The best feature of the house was the balcony – off the second floor (well, duh) – it ran the whole width of the house. Hot as blazes in the morning as the sun rose, but then a refuge the rest of the day. The first night we were there, I believe, we discovered a medium-sized frog hiding in the corner of one of the chairs. Typical Florida tree frog – greenish.

The next day, it had moved two chairs over and was slowly changing color, so in a day or so it was basically white. And it didn’t move from that spot. I suspected it was dead, but watching it for long enough revealed a blinking eye and slightly heaving back once in a while. Honestly, it was slightly creepy – the sepuchlar-white frog on the balcony.

But then one night, it rained. And Joseph and Michael the Dad saw the frog hopping about on the balcony, after which point it disappeared for good. It was very odd, and perhaps it was dying, parched and fearful there until the rains came to rescue it.

(By the way, one of the most unusual Florida memories I have concerns some sort of meeting at the school where I was teaching in Lakeland. It was probably back-to-school night or some such, and we were all in the cafeteria, listening to one of the four principals we had while I worked there welcome us all and promise us great things. I was sitting near one of the enormous floor-to-ceiling windows. I glanced over and saw little specks all over that window. Looking closer, I realized they were frogs – the tiniest little tree frogs – probably a couple hundred of them, clinging to the window – tiny, miniscule, perfect things, giving me much more to contemplate than anything the principal said.)

Where the balcony came in particularly handy was the Fourth of July. We had no real plans to go watch fireworks anywhere up close because Joseph has developed an inordinate fear of them, but as it turned out, we didn’t need to go anywhere. From the balcony, we could see miles and miles north and south up the coast, up to St. Augustine and, I think even Jacksonville, and down south to…whatever’s down that way. And for two hours, it was all fireworks, all the time. Some at a distance, but many right on the beaches quite near us, set off undoubtedly by countless drunken idiots, who might have even brought on one of the sirens I heard that night.

It was glorious and gorgeous, sparkling, screaming, popping, showering brilliant color. Over and over again – when one would die down to the right, another would start up to the left.

(And without those scary bangs right in your ear, so even the timid could enjoy them)

What is it about fireworks? I don’t know. In a way, they have lost their luster, perhaps, being so much more common than they were when we were children, 30 years ago. In our town, we have 3 or 4 big fireworks displays every year, every sporting event, it seems, features them, and then there’s the Disney Spectactular (do they still use a Vincent Price narration? I doubt it).

But then not – we still ooh and ah, most of us still love the bangs and whistles, and the grand finale bombards us with sight and sound in such a satisfying way. And yes, even some of our amateurs on the beach fashioned their own grand finales.

It continued too, the next night. Not as many of course, but still for half an hour or so, some intrepid souls set up shop down on the beach and gave us more free entertainment as the ocean breezes cooled us.

Earlier on the fourth, though, there were the real fireworks – yes, we could see the shuttle go off. I’d never seen one quite this close. I think I saw a speck of it from Lakeland once – or perhaps I thought I saw it, but this was an excellent view. Not close enough to hear anything, but a good view of the fiery rockets curving up into space, time to say prayers for safety and in gratitude for the gifts God gives to his children, and a spot to contemplate it all as the vapor trails hung in the sky, drifting.

The only disadvantage to this house was the distance to the beach. Well, the description was accurate – it was a couple of blocks from the beginning of the beach. But then there are, of course the dunes, and in this particular area there was no public wooden walkway across the dunes – lots of private ones for private homes, but the rest of us had to hike a trail. Which was excellent exercise of which we are all in need. So. No complaints allowed.