This post comes a little late – traveling yesterday was followed by the mad scramble dash to buy groceries and unpack to restore myself to my normal routine as quickly as possible so that my final day of vacation could be spent running the insanely long list of errands before I return to work tomorrow.

I took over 10,000 pictures in 2011. A picture should be worth 1,000 words, so I’ll spare you pontificating this morning. 10,000 pictures taken, 10,000,000 words not spoken. 12 months, 12 pictures for you as we welcome in ’12.

 

Be always at war with your vices, at peace with your neighbors, and let each new year find you a better man. ~Benjamin Franklin
Works for me!!!
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Disclaimer: Before you vomit at the nauseatingly obnoxious smugness of this post, please note — I’ve had a shitty year so far, I get accused far too often for being too tightly wound, and I am such a neurotic that I cause myself to break out in hives… I am always in need of a vacation. And by that, I mean a vacation, which means no laptop, no working or checking email, or writing, or studying, or any of the things I do that give me wrinkles. And this week, I let it go. I turned it off — the drama, the stress, the B.S. I allow in my life.

Well, 86 degrees in Miami feels faaaaaar different from 86 degrees in Phoenix.

I have a healthy, re-found appreciation for humidity in Southern Florida (and this is coming from the girl who dug chiggers out of her arms and scratched her mosquito bites bloody while playing in summertime heat in central Alabama, year after year — I KNOW humidity).

I now consider myself an authority on the differences of the sand between Miami beach and South Beach, having spent a sufficient amount of time lounging and walking on both.

For the record, Miami Beach’s sand, specifically the sand in front of the drop-your-jaw, overwhelmingly gorgeous Fountainbleu hotel, is a compact, soft, lightly golden sand. In fact, I think, if you could perfectly toast sesame seeds, they would be the color of this sand.

South Beach, has squishier-under-your-feet textures, fine and powdery, white sand that rivals beaches I remember in Jamaica.

And they’re both grand! And so delightful and delicious-feeling.

In fact, the South Beach/Lummus Beach stroll was so worth me losing one haviana flippy (hey, one “jumped out of my bag, and left me with only one shoe) and having to walk along Ocean Drive to Collins Ave to hail a cab — and walk, barefoot, through the hotel lobby to acquire another shoe from my luggage stash.

And, I can’t even say that I thought of anything profound on this trip, other than how heavenly it was to really, truly put myself in vacation mode. I packed my laptop, because I knew I had work I should get done. And I never unpacked my laptop.

Would you believe me if I told you that is the first time in over two years I have traveled ANYWHERE without organizing my days and figuring out how I would “get online” to do some work or studying (even in Yellowstone, while backpacking, I went to the lodges to log on — I have never been away form my computer for more than two days — and that was at the bottom of the Grand Canyon!)? My only reading came in the form of the latest Oprah magazine and My Life in France, by Julia Child (a book I’ve had in my possession since before the film Julie and Julia came out).

And, that humidity. WOW. It felt great when I was in my tiny, red and white nautical striped bikini from JCrew — poor, Guy, though, since this was not a vacation for him he was fully dressed in litigator-appropriate suits, and my heart broke for him, and I put up with some lawyer-power-work-mode-attitude because I knew I would be outrageously bitchy (and quite resentful) if I (A) had to be completely professionally suited up; and (B) had to work instead of frolic in the aquamarine Atlantic Ocean, drink mojitos, rose, and sangria; and (C) did not get to jaunt down to Key Largo for some dive time… but (D) “got” to hear about the beach, and the water, and the sangria, and (gulp) got texts from said partner from the dive boat relishing how divine the diving was….

And, for the record, I am working on getting used to this newish form of travel — with a partner — it’s different, but has it’s advantages, for sure! I get to mix his business with my pleasure… ooh, that came out sounding a little bit dirty. Hmm…. not sure what I think about that last statement. He’s a lawyer, not a hustler. I kind of enjoy being the little vagabond who benefits from his flier status (helloooooo first class, cross-country flying) and preferences in hotel rooms (why, yes, I would definitely like an ocean-view suite). But, really, it’s interesting… and by “it’s” I mean the travel and placing myself in the immediate proximity of another person for multiple days without being able to run away to my own abode. And he hasn’t pummeled me yet – he’s got to be the most patient man on the planet.

One of the great disadvantages of hurry is that it takes such a long time. ~Gilbert K. Chesterton

Aaah, but the only hurrying I had last week was… um, no, there was no hurry for me! In fact, the lack of hurry brought about no fuss when I stepped on the scale at the club yesterday to learn my four days in Miami packed three pounds on me… no hurry, no worry.  Ha, who am I fooling, right? I went to one advanced flow class and a zumba class yesterday, along with a run tonight — it’s bathing suit season! And, I have one more week in my Financing Higher Education class, which includes a 30-something slide presentation that is due tomorrow… and did I mention I didn’t do any work this week? Relaxation melting away……

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