The little surprise that didn't go as planned

My eldest daughter decided a month ago that she wasn't coming home from college for the summer. It was like a knife stab to the heart for this mother who lives for the three seasons; Christmas break, Spring Break, and Summer. But she's at the crucial point in life where "what do I do now" is closing in with only one year left of college and life looming largely. She made the decision to stay behind, take some summer courses, work, and try to find all the things she needs to add to a graduate school application.

She's twenty-one so we are here for guidance, to lend an ear, and not to make her decisions for her. Let me tell you, that ain't easy. Not for this mother who knows everything that is best for her child (not to mention the rest of the world).

So, the husband and I crossed off "travel to NC" to pack up the kid off our To Do List. Then the phone calls came and each time the daughter had tears. For this mom, five hundred and seventy-seven miles away (not that I'm counting), and not able to wrap my arms around my kid when she is sad, hurt, etc. is plain horrific. She made noises about making the wrong decisions, but we talked her off the ledge, made jokes, but...a mom knows.

So when circumstances occurred where I was able to fly to NC to attend an opening of her class' exhibit on Frankenstein I latched on to it like a mom on a mission. The husband decided the next day to join me and we kept it a secret, wanting to have that surprise moment where she spotted us. The nonstop plane ride on Allegiant Air would get us there in plenty of time to pick up our rental car, check into our hotel, shower, change, and get to the two-hour opening. It was set.

Only it didn't work out that way.

It began with the flight being delayed by over an hour. I didn't panic. Allegiant is known for changes due to all sorts of excuses (see recent 60 minutes segment), but they were the only ones giving me a decently priced flight and the ability to make this happen so I crossed my fingers and hoped we would be in the air at the new time.

We weren't. We sat on the runway for even longer, but once in the air, two hours behind our original time, I took a deep breath. I wouldn't get to shower, but we were still on time to make the opening. Not panicking.

Because we booked at different times, hubby and I sat apart. I was in a row with a gorgeous nice man and a six-year-old who belonged to the family in front of me and to my left. Her infectious happiness at flying and staring out the window had us all interacting. She chatted with the two of us, giggled a lot, and spilled her soda on herself, but the man and I both had been there, done that, and so we engaged her and cleaned up the mess.

Her: "What's your name?"
Me: "Cara"
Her: "Karen?"
Me: "Cara. As in caring. Because I'm so caring."
Her: "Because you're always carrying a backpack?"
Me: "Uh, wrong caring, carrying, never mind."

Her: "What's your name?"
Him: "Frank"
Her: "As in Frankenstein?"
Me: "Whoa! That's what I'm going to NC to see!"

We made it, but only above the airport. The pilot informed us that we would be circling it for awhile due to a flight in front of us requesting an emergency landing.We all groaned. We circled as my time window for the event began closing. Still, I didn't panic.

When the pilot announced that our plane was now heading to another airport to land due to the emergency now taking up our runway, we all groaned. We landed and were told to stay seated. By that point, I just couldn't do it. I needed to stand. I unbuckled my seatbelt, turned, and encountered all sorts of stares as I stood.

Me: "Yes, yes, I'm aware I'm disobeying the rules, but I've got to stand. Seriously. Middle-aged, fat woman with a bad back who is still not panicking."

I stood while everyone thought, "Rebel. Troublemaker. Smart-ass." Then I turned to the back of the plane and announced I would be leading everyone in calisthenics. Only one man laughed. Turns out he was from Indiana. Of course, he was. A sense of humor.

By then, others were getting up and the stewardess announced we could use the bathroom while they refueled the plane. Thus began a "get to know one another" gathering. We exchanged reasons for traveling to NC, flying experiences, jokes, and everyone was cordial and calm. It was a pleasant experience and after an hour of that, we buckled and returned to our original landing destination. It took us 18 minutes to fly from Greensboro to Raleigh. I still did not panic.

We got our luggage, said our good-byes to our new friends, rode the shuttle to the rental car place and when I saw that the line for renting was out the door and around the building like a ride at DisneyWorld, I lost my shit. I've done this before as my readers have read. This line was an over an hour long line generously, but the man telling those in front that the cars just weren't there yet put it even further. By now daughter's event had just started. Rush hour had just started. We were not going to make this surprise. I panicked.

Hubby did not. He practically climbed a fence into another rental lot where he walked right to the desk, ordered a car, and called me to bring the luggage and hop the fence myself. I did without a scratch. Well, and the nice rental car man from our new company - Shout out to National Car Rental - lifted my luggage and offered me his hand to help with the climbing. We sped down the road, made it to the campus, and ran the rest of the way. We made it with a little less than an hour to spare.

Daughter was surprised. She cried. Totally worth the hassle.

They're always with me

March was the 20th anniversary of my father's death. Hard to believe it has been that long because I think of him almost daily in some compacity or another and I feel him more often than not. (Usually accompanied by the smell of cigar smoke)

Today was the 4th anniversary of my mother's death. Can't wrap my head around that time either. I think of her every time I stare into the mirror. I've got her back hump, her mouth, and more of her traits than I care to list here.

Between these two dates and a conversation with my MIL, I realized that I have tons of daily happenings that occur where I'm constantly reminded of so many people in my life that have died. People tell you this will happen after a death, but at the time, you aren't ready to deal or you aren't hearing things too clearly or you just think blah, blah, blah. It's later, as you go about your daily routine that something happens and BOOM there it is.

My dad - My dad was the King of stories, whether telling them or headlining them. Crazy things happened to the man. Like the time he super glued his elbow to the steering wheel while he was repairing something in his car while lying half in and half out of the vehicle. On his back, head in, legs out, cigar in his mouth. He was in that position for a good half an hour before he saw the neighbor's teenage daughter arrive home from school. He shouted and shouted at her, calling her name, and she kept searching for the owner of the voice, sure she was going crazy because she couldn't see anyone. Eventually, they got it right, she rescued my dad, and the story was to his repertoire.

My youngest reminds me of him. That girl can tell a story, with complete details and timing, to rival any my dad told. She also stars in many of her stories and doesn't mind revealing those anecdotes, even if she is the butt of the joke. People say she is a lot like me in the chattiness, but let's be honest, I got that from him. She also wakes up happy like my dad did, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, as he would say, ready to take on the day.

I also think of him every night when I blow my hair dry. Because showering at night, and blow drying my hair, is something I've done since I was a kid, and each night as I start the instrument and use my brush I think of my dad. Who would wander past my room and ask, "Getting beautiful in case you meet someone in your dreams?"

My friend Murphy - Murphy was a hoot. I met him at my job when he came almost daily to swim laps and do aerobic exercises. Those he did in the deep end right by the lifeguard stand, and he'd talk and listen to us talk, offering up advice or just mess with us. I considered him a dear friend. One of the things did that drove me nuts was belch. He'd be in the deep end working away and he'd belch loudly. It could be in the middle of a conversation or just in the silence as he jogged with his buoys, but he never acknowledged it or excused it. One day, I got on him. "Murph, did your mother not tell you that you should say excuse me after you burp?" He thought that hilarious. I told him I knew his wife didn't behave like that and surely got on him to which he replied, as he always did when talking about her, "Nancy rules the roost. What every Nanu says, goes." But after that conversation, every time he belched, no matter where he was in the pool, he would stop and say, "Excuse me, Cara." It was downright hilarious.

I do the same thing now. I'm not a big belcher, but when I let it out either by accident or on purpose I always say, "Excuse me, Cara." And Murph comes to mind, and I smile.

My father-in-law - I've told this before a couple of times on my blog, but my FIL comes to mind every time I use spaghetti sauce. One evening while he sat in the kitchen while I cooked spaghetti I emptied the jar sauce into the pan, put some water in the jar and shook it to get all of the sauce out to add to the pan. It was something my mother taught me, and Roger commented on it, telling me he hadn't seen anyone do that since his own mother. He rarely talked, and if he did, it was minimal, and so for some reason, it warmed my heart. And that has stuck with me so that every time I add the water to the jar or can, I think of my FIL.

My mom - My mother lives on top of my china cabinet, and I communicate with her quite a bit. So many things remind me of her; books I read, comments I make, foods I cook. During the Olympics, she was there every night when I watched. The Tampa Bay Rays and IU basketball were two of her favorites teams and during those seasons I think of her. Her family turned to her for advice because the woman just knew things. She was like an encyclopedia and offered advice whether you wanted it or not. I think of her every time I butt into someone's life, offering up advice I know will change his/her life for the better. And then, I hear myself reminding my mom that sometimes keeping quiet is better, and then I hear my mom reminding me of my reminding her of this. It gives me a chuckle.

There are more people, aunts, and uncles, friends, cousins, co-workers, etc.and many occurrences that bring them to mind. I'm grateful for all of those because it keeps my loved ones in my heart and in my head. And in the end, I feel that I haven't lost them after all.

Psst...listen

Someone on social media reposted an entry about depression and SAHM's. It wasn't anything new to this retired SAHM, and I mentally checked off the items as they were listed. Isolation, check. Loss of identity, check. Exhaustion, check. Another entry in a long list of things in a SAHM's life. The shit storm that the entry created by being reposted, however, is what has me writing this entry. It was HUGE.

Some of the biggest detractors and responses were unhelpful things such as "you chose to do this so stop complaining or do something about it and go back to work". There was also the responses from the working mothers who felt the need to defend their decision on working and to remind the SAHMs of all the things they go through by having done so.

Wow. I read and read and then I sat back and thought. Why is it that people don't listen? Here was a woman reaching out on social media, a site where her followers are her "friends", asking for some help and/or some compassion. She wasn't asking for a debate or slamming working parents for her choice. She was seeking an understanding. Instead, she got flogged. Yikes.

When did we become a "me" world? What happened to the days of people helping others? I sound more and more like my own parents as I age, but darn it, they were right. My mother before she died told me that the future in this country was going to hell in a handbasket. She told me that for my kids' sake I had better start fighting because the world that was coming for them wasn't going to be one that would be kind. Obviously, the woman was a prophet.

I've had to learn to adapt to changes. Life evolves and strides are made in all areas and change is inevitable. I'm learning to accept that, but I certainly am not going to accept the parts of humanity that are destroying my kids' future. Social media is an outlet today. A way to reach out and ask for help. You don't have to agree with that statement. You don't have to use social media in that way, but the new generation is going to. It's their world. I know someone who asked if anyone had a washer and dryer that they wanted to sell and she ended up in two minutes of throwing that out there on social media to having a like-new washer and dryer for free. No one commented on her doing that. No one berated her for asking for it. Asking for goods or putting your house for sale via social media is okay, but asking for compassion isn't?

Kids are being bullied. Students are being inundated with pressures that are too great. Racism is still an issue. The political sides are screaming so loudly their faces are permanently stained. Yet, the bottom line is no one is LISTENING. Everyone wants to chime in with his own thoughts and views on subjects instead of listening to the other side. We immediately jump in with our defensiveness instead of taking the time to hear what the topic is, what the problem is, what the person is asking for. We've become a country of me, me, me-ers. It's sad.

 “When people talk, listen completely. Most people never listen.” ― Ernest Hemingway

If one gives an answer before he hears, it is his folly and shame. Proverbs 18:13 

“Listen with curiosity. Speak with honesty. Act with integrity. The greatest problem with communication is we don’t listen to understand. We listen to reply. When we listen with curiosity, we don’t listen with the intent to reply. We listen for what’s behind the words.” 

― Roy T. Bennett, The Light in the Heart

“Sometimes all a person wants is an empathetic ear; all he or she needs is to talk it out. Just offering a listening ear and an understanding heart for his or her suffering can be a big comfort.” --Roy T. Bennett

Know this, my beloved brothers: let every person be quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to anger; --James 1:19

I'm a talker. I'm working hard on listening. I use to be better about it, but as I age I'm more like my mother, I feel the need to solve problems. Sometimes that isn't what is needed. Most of the time people just want someone to hear what they are saying. To have the other person nod and say, "I hear you." No judgment. No aggression. No daggers. No shaking heads.

I chose to stay off of Facebook, checking in once every two weeks or so. I prefer to see what my "friends" are up to as opposed to what they believe and unfortunately, my feed is more the latter so I just don't go there. That's my choice. But when I am on there and I do see a post like the one the SAHM posted I will read it, listen to what is being said, and offer an ear if the person needs to talk more. It's a lesson we could all learn. The old way of doing things in the new world.

Documentation and the truth

Yikes. It's been a week since I lasted posted. Not that I haven't been on this blog because I have. It's a history of our lives and since turning fifty I need it to remember. Recently, Darcy injured her shoulder, a recurring theme for her shoulders due to multidirectional instability, a term I have long since forgotten since her diagnosis was four years ago. She hiked to the campus medical center, got referred to a specialist who couldn't get her in right away. I suggested she call her doctor on this side of the bay. He is the surgeon for the Tampa Bay Rays and someone I would much rather have looking at my kid.

He was out of the country but he and his office personally called my daughter on a three-way call, discussed her issue, and got her in to the office for the next day to see his PA. The only odd thing was that four years ago she had been into his office, according to their records for her left arm and this one was her right. Or vice versa. Crap, now I can't remember that. I went into my files of her medical records where I keep pretty detailed notes on my kids and their medical visits and issues. The only thing I had on those visits, however, were the receipts of payment and information on her physical therapy.

Then the light bulb went off over my head. I turned to my blog and there was the entry all written out regarding Darcy and her shoulder issues. Ah, my handy dandy documentation of our past. Only I had neglected to mention which arm since he made the diagnosis in both. Oops. Not exactly a detailed log of our past, but better than relying on my memory.

The visit went well and she is off for more physical therapy and her college career as a lifeguard shouldn't be affected. This is hopefully her last visit to a medical profession since she has spent more time in these buildings since starting college than she has her whole life. A slight exaggeration, I suppose, but it seems like it. I think, with Darcy, she just is finally getting a jump on what she considers issues instead of waiting for her mother who prefers to wait things out awhile to make sure.

After my return from SC I got sick. It lasted an entire week with fever and chills and coughing and sneezing. I diagnosed myself with a sinus infection, but nowadays doctors don't like to give medicine for that as it tends to be viral and works itself out. I don't take over the counter medications because I swear they make me worse. Instead, I rely on sleep, lopping, plenty of water, and ibuprofen. By the weekend I was feeling well enough to blueberry pick and to attend church on Sunday. Monday I spent the day doing the things I missed out on the previous week. Tuesday noon I was back on the sick wagon with a low-grade fever and chills.

This time I was urged by well-meaning family and friends to get to a doctor, but still, I held out. I wanted to make sure I really was sick with bacteria and not a virus. That annoyed others who insisted I needed medical attention and so I made a note to myself: stop telling people to go to a doctor. Then I promptly told my SIL who has been sick right there along with me to "call her doctor". But then I remembered that I own scrubs and probably have more insight into the medical world than others.

I took the rest of the week to recoup and darn it, I'm back in the saddle again. Ready to surge out into the world to have adventures that I can then blog about. Oh, and get to finishing my romance novel. I was just alerted to the fact that I'm a finalist in another contest so I've got to stop procrastinating and get this puppy to the point where The End is typed.

As I re-read this entry, wondering how to end it, another bulb went off over my head as it tends to do. My making sure is not only in the medical world. I've been rewriting and rewriting and rethinking and making sure with this novel for far too long. As Darcy would tell me, sometimes it's good to just make sure that the issue gets solved one way or another.

See, this blog is a lifesaver in so many ways....

I get it, Mom

My mother constantly worried about my brother. He never went to the doctor and she would ask me why he was so stubborn. She offered to pay for him to go to a dentist. Then she worried about his jobs. Once when she was bemoaning his lack of taking care of himself I lost it.

Me: "Mom! Seriously. He is a grown man in his forties. It isn't your job to take care of him. Stop worrying about him. He doesn't appreciate it and he'll do what he wants to do."

She responded by reminding me that she was his mother and just because he was an adult didn't mean she stopped worrying.

The night before last our house phone rang at 1:00 a.m. It was a jarring jingle that set my heart racing at rapid speed and immediately, although I knew it not to be true, I thought of my mother. We had many phone calls like this in the night from neighbors, hospitals, and even my mom herself. Those resulted in me frantically dressing and driving thirty minutes north to the rescue. We had a call in the night when my FIL fell. Calls in the night are never good.

As my sleeping brain reminded me these calls weren't about my mom, my next thought was my MIL. Going down the list of the elderly. My heart started beating even faster as my husband answered the call with a hello. I listened, but all he said was "yes" and my brain went nuts. Didn't he tell me that he had an on-call coming up? Is this a work-related call? Is this the week he is on call? Why wouldn't he remind me if this is the week? Would could have happened to his mother? We just saw Mary Anne. Please let it be work. Please let it be work.

It was work. He is on call this week. He muttered some mumbo-jumbo regarding electrical technical stuff, rolled out of bed and disappeared off to his desk to put out the fire. I went to the bathroom and threw water on my face and attempted to regulate my heart rate. I took deep breaths. In and out. Then I had a thought...

My kids are not in this house. That call could have been about them! I realized that from now on they too would join the list of my MIL in night time calls. Because as long as they were tucked in their beds in my house, I never thought of them. But they aren't here. They are out in the world on their own and NOT IN MY HOUSE.

And just like that, I realized that yep, Mom, I get it. I truly get it.

Florida blueberry picking

Last year my husband discovered blueberry picking. He read about a place opening north of our area and one morning he just got up and disappeared, returning later with several pounds of blueberries. It's an hour drive to the farm and afterwards he found a little place to grab a coffee and some breakfast. I was invited to other trips that he made, but the timing never worked for me. My kid was still at home then and he always asked me late the night before. Plus, I had already been blueberry picking in Indiana. I chose sleeping in.

Thursday he announced that the season for blueberries started on Saturday. He must be alerted via email or something. Since he asked me early and I'm kidless these days I agreed to roll out of bed early and accompany him. It turned out to be a nice day even though we got a later start due to his sleeping longer than normal.

The farm is off the main road and the blueberry operation is well run. We parked and walked to the barn area where worker bees had us wash our hands with soap and water, gave us buckets, and sent us out to the bushes. It was early days. In a couple more weeks of warmer weather these bushes will be full. We still picked more than enough.

I asked the check-out girl to weigh each of our bags because I wanted to see who picked more. Tom snickered. He hadn't known it was a competition. Please, Tom. Don't you know me?

Girl: "He picked 2.8 pounds"
Girl: "And you picked...tee hee..2.8 pounds. It's a tie."
Tom: "Had I known this was a competition I would have eaten more from your bucket."

We got our coffee and breakfast sandwiches from his cafe. We stopped by Grandma's house to give her some of the blueberries. We finished the day with a trip to the library and later dinner at our favorite Greek restaraunt.

This no kid thing is routine now for us. Trying new things. Traveling. Summer will be here in another month. One kid will return. The other won't (something that had me down all week along with my virus). Either way, we did it. Conquered it. With blueberries on top.

The black sweater

I am in love with the black sweater that I took to South Carolina and wore every day 24/7. It was the first thing I put on in the morning and the last thing I took off at night and some nights I contemplated wearing the thing to bed I was so cold. I've had the thing forever yet never felt the love for it like I did on this and after this trip. When I got home to Florida there was no reason to wear the sweater. It was scorching each day and so I washed the sweater and put it in my closet. And mourned it.

I felt cheerful in that sweater despite its color. It made me feel thinner although I don't think it made me that. I could pull it around my fat stomach if need be, or push it aside during hot flashes. The half quarter sleeves could be stretched down further if I needed more warmth and I liked the way the bottom flowed and swirled like a flirty skirt can do. It provided me warmth the entire trip and doubled as a robe and a swimsuit cover-up. What couldn't it do?

Last night before going to bed, our temperature changed a few degrees. The high today was only supposed to be in the high 70's instead of in the 80's. Rain was forecasted although we Floridians don't consider that a reality until it is, and before I went to bed I decided to bring out the sweater for attending church.

It was like an old friend when I pushed my arm through the sleeve and brought it around me to the other arm. It was hot as hell, but it felt so right on my body. It went perfectly with my black and white skirt and black shirt and I once again felt those familiar feelings. A safety net, I suppose. Ah, my black sweater.

The trip to South Carolina was different. For the first time in forever, I was solo. Meaning that I had no responsibilities. No kids to be in charge of, no vehicle or driving responsibilities, and no one expecting things of me. I didn't have to plan activities or chose places to eat, and if I wanted to suddenly leave the unit and disappear for awhile, I did it. No questions asked. It was liberating. I walked the lake shore, the forest, and the beach, and sat in a chair oceanside, a hammock lakeside, exploring my future, my thoughts, and talking to strangers. All the while, wearing my black sweater.

Putting it back into the closet after a good wash when I returned home was as much a metaphor as returning home was from vacation. I came home sick. Spent the week lopped on the couch in a fevered daze, wads of tissues surrounding me, the air conditioning at a lower than normal temperature to combat the heat and my inner heat. Today, getting out into the world to attend church and then lunch with a friend signaled my return to health, my daily life, and to the grind of work. And I thought it fitting that the black sweater came too, wrapped around me one more time.

Wrapping up Spring Break II 2018

I like Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. So different from the west coast of Florida. It's nice sometimes to get away to spot the differences. The weather wasn't the best, mostly overcast and cold and our emotions fit that. The latter part of vacation is always less energetic than the beginning because we know what we have to go back to.

We spent a day poolside reading quietly, moving from sunbeam to sunbeam. SueG made acquaintances in the hot tub. The kids swam indoors and outdoors. We had a couple of cocktails from the crowded bar. Ended the night with dinner out and watching fireworks by the firepit beachside.

I walked the beach. It's not something I usually do, but it called to me. The water was SO cold and by the time I would return my feet were numb, but I loved it. Alex went with me once and we chatted and watched the sea creatures scruttle back into the sand and water. The beach here is vast. Wide. Plenty of space for walking and sitting. I'm sure this place is packed during the season. I'll skip that time.

We found some good places to eat in Myrtle Beach. I had some seafood. Enjoyed some good wine. I wrote at night, cuddled in my bed wrapped in blankets and my sweater.

We drove to Charleston on our way home, but the city was packed. Spring Break had just started for many and it was a Saturday and so we drove around the city instead of walking because we couldn't find parking. Then we started our drive home, stopping first to surprise my cousin Mandy who was on our way out of town.

She introduced us to boiled peanuts. I don't recommend them. She was poking holes in eggs and blowing out the insides when I arrived. A domestic goddess, albeit one I didn't relate to.

Me: "Why?"
Mandy: "So we can decorate them and keep them forever."
Me: "How many eggs do you have from the past? No one is going to keep this nonsense."

She had a dish of decorated eggs from last year. Point to her. She also had resurrection eggs, each egg had an item that told the story of Jesus' Easter resurrection. Mandy had gathered the neighbor kids that morning and given them the story using the eggs. It's a tradition. I want a carton of those.

The drive home seemed to take forever. About the Georgia line, my throat started hurting and my ears got clogged and by the time we got home Easter morning around 1:00 a.m. I was sick. Nothing like coming home from a great week to relax at home for another week sick as a dog.

Spring Break I and II 2018 are in the bag. Next up...California. My traveling portion of the New Year's Resolutions is definitely getting ticked off.

*Wyndham Ocean Blvd. the second time around

I was at this resort once before and because of my experience, which I wrote about here, I booked the same place this time. It was not the same experience. First of all, I was here at different times of the year. The first time was October and the place was not packed. This time was spring break for MANY people and it was crowded. We were told it is worse in the summer.

Note to Wyndham resort owners: Avoid coming here in the summer.

Secondly, I was in a different tower. As a VIP member, I am able to request a certain unit. I have never done this, but if I ever return to this Wyndham I will request Tower 2. The rooms are larger and more spacious. We were in Tower 3 and it was the most narrow unit I've ever had, and I've been in a unit in Star Island Orlando. Oh, and the Wyndham in New York where you expect small.

Madison said that I wasn't correctly remembering our time in Tower 2, and maybe because we were coming from such a large three bedroom in Santee I was thrown off. Or maybe it was because there were four of us, but this unit made me think of a cabin on a cruise liner. Not that I've ever sailed on one before, but still. It felt small.

I thought maybe I had to sacrifice space to get the ocean view. The view was incredible. That was a plus. It would have been more of a plus if the master had had a way to get out on to the porch. Hearing the ocean at night would have been lovely. But I suppose due to hurricanes and safety codes that isn't feasible.

Some other noticeable differences between my visits:

• There was not a ceiling fan in the second bedroom. The master had one, but the other did not. SueG was not happy with that.
• It was noted that the trash could be placed outside our door for pickup between certain hours. People put it out at all hours. That was just gross. We walked past trash, after trash, after trash. The people next to us kept putting their trash bags outside our door where it leaked gross liquid that we stepped in any time we exited. I'd prefer the trash can placed somewhere where we can then dump our bags. Placing them outside our units was like walking up and down the streets of New Orleans.
• The sales desk guy was good. His name was Julian and he was nonchalant. He gave the aura of I-don't-care-whether-you-go-or-not and it hooked me. He told me the breakfast was not a one on one, but a presentation. He also told me Wyndham was about to split and I should learn about that and what would happen to my points. I agreed and signed up. Sucka. I have no idea whether or not he would have hounded me had I said no, but he was at least nicer than the people I dealt with a few years ago.

The presentation itself was fine. I went to the owners and my friend went to the visitor one. The breakfast sucked like always, although they did have flavored creamers. The first hurdle was checking in to the presentation. The girl wanted a credit card besides my license (which I had been told to bring that morning with the early phone call reminder) for "identification purposes". I didn't have a credit card on me and she wanted me to go get one. Seriously? I checked in yesterday with all of that. My license has my picture, albeit not a good one. Who in their right mind would want to impersonate me at one of these sales pitches? 

I had to hike back to Tower 3 to get more ID. I somehow got lost exiting and entering the different garages. I brought back my AARP card. She accepted that. But really, the two front desks need to get on the same page with that. Everyone who came in after me had to hike back too. Definitely, did not make me happy.

The presentation, which took 30 people and was "filling up quickly" according to the girl at the desk the day before was in a small room and there were only 5 families for a total of 9 people. Uh huh. We each had a representative who sat with us during the presentation. That was a tad weird, but my guy, Michael, was a hoot. I was still annoyed at the ID situation and when he arrived I was more annoyed since there wasn't suppose to be a one on one. Michael asked me if I any issues and I immediately started in on the ID. By the end of my grousing, I used a naughty word.

Me: "And sorry about that. Let's keep that between us because we have a cuss jar on this trip and I'll have to feed it if my friends know."

Michael: "How much?"

Me: ".10 cents"

Michael: "For that word? That should be a dollar. That's the big daddy of cuss words."

The presentation started and Michael gave me a sheet of paper to jot down questions I may have or for taking notes. I started listening to the presentation and Michael leaned over and wrote on my paper. I thought, "What the heck?" He pushed the paper toward me. He had written in capital letters NO SWEARING. Okay, Michael was the bomb!

The presentation was so-so. Brandon did a good job, but other than telling me about the split I learned little that I didn't already know. Well, I learned that La Quinta has just been bought by Wyndham so that was a plus on my side since that is where I stay in Chapel Hill, NC. I told Michael that Brandon needed to throw out more trivia questions and give away Wyndham merchandise during his presentation. Liven it up a bit. I went to one like that in Lake Lure and it was great. 

Michael and I retired to his desk after the presentation which would have been more annoying if I didn't like Michael. He and I talked a bit about my ownership and he answered questions that I didn't really have, but I too know how to play the game. My "twenty-minute presentation" ended up being an hour and twenty minutes.

Michael: "Time you will never get back."

SueG was across the cubicle with her sales girl and all was good with her so we ended up getting $225 in dining dollars that we used at a Brazillian Steakhouse called Rioz. 

Lastly, this time around we paid for the valet parking. Highly recommend that after my last fiasco with parking. It is $10 a day and unlimited coming and goings. We only had to text when we wanted our vehicle and the van was waiting for us when we got off the elevator. Huge when the resort is crowded.

Also, this resort did not go overboard with the Presidential part of my ownership. In New York they give you gifts. I received a bottle of wine, crackers, cheese, and nuts. In Santee, I received a bottle of wine and a gift bag with lots of tasty goodies. Here, I received nothing. Nada. Not sure if it was just me or if that is just this resort, but I missed my wine.

I like North Myrtle Beach and this Wyndham is probably as good as it gets. I did learn about the new one that they are opening up so if I'm lucky enough to venture back I'll check it out.

*I am a Wyndham Resort Club owner and review my experiences of the resorts I visit. This is only my opinion as an owner.

Second leg of Spring Break II 2018

3/28/18 Cara in the journal

These people are serious about being on time. Check-out time was 10:00 a.m. and by golly, the car was packed and ready for travel by 9:48 a.m. I did not get to poop.

So far we have managed to compromise quite well considering we are all set in our own ways and have different views and ways of doing things. We agreed the unit was the bomb and it was. I reviewed it on my blog.

Today we move on to Myrtle Beach. As we head east, the weather in Santee is in the high 70's. It never even got into the 60's while we were there, but now that we're leaving its fabulous weather. Typical.

From the moment we got into the car, Sydney was back on her phone. This time Alex has joined her and any questions regarding the trip or this journal are met with angry volatile, and ridiculous responses. Perhaps our compromising has come to an end. The mood in the car is not as jolly as our previous drives, but perhaps that is a good thing. Sometimes children should not be heard, right?

The thing I've noticed while in SC is how many trees have fallen. Literally fallen, uprooted. Is that from the last hurricane or something the state is doing? Felling trees? If it is weather related, FEMA is way behind on cleaning that up. Fallen trees are everywhere.

I had to stop writing to get on my electronic device. My cousin Jaimee popped into the app House Party and so I had to get on. She was at work and wanted to show her co-workers how the app worked. They are considering using it for interactive meetings. We signed off and then both my daughters popped on to the app because they saw me on. So, I had to chat with them and thus joined Alex and Sydney in the land of electronics. But I was interacting. My kids needed my advice.

The road to Myrtle Beach is a two-lane road through small towns that are either quaint or ghostly. We just passed through Spring Gully, SC which happens to be the birthplace of Chubby Checkers. Alex came out of his electronics long enough to shoot out a trivia question about Chubby, which I answered correctly much to his dismay and he went back to it. We did not spot Mr. Checkers walking down the road. He probably doesn't live there anymore.

The weather has been sunny and warm our entire drive. I am definitely overdressed. So far not having a jacket hasn't been the issue I was concerned about except maybe in the unit where SueG had the temperature set at "meat locker cold". If the air wasn't on, the doors and windows were opened letting in the 40-degree temperatures. She had the fans turned on high and I kept turning them off. She had to do a lot of compromising in regards to the temperature. I live with Jack Spratt and am not used to the cooler temperatures inside. I have a feeling, however, she controlled things at night when I was shut inside my bedroom. She will be in big trouble if I get sick.

My GPS took us somewhere on the beach, but it wasn't our destination. I had to reprogram it and we drove another twenty minutes, and backtrack before we got to where we needed to be. Typical when I navigate.

The unit is only a two-bedroom and it is WAY smaller than the unit we just left. Apparently, oceanside views mean smaller, narrower units. That is the problem with Wyndham resorts in popular destinations. They build them to cram in as many people as possible. Next time I'll try one of the other Myrtle Beach Wyndham resorts. Our view, however, is incredible and the roar of the ocean is a plus. If only it weren't so cold, I wouldn't mind leaving our porch door open.

We ate at a restaurant that I went to the last time I was here. It still comes up on Yelp as a good one and it had stuff the picky Sydney kid would eat so why not? We had a delicious meal and ended the night playing cards. We are hopeful for sunny and warmer weather tomorrow so we can stroll the beach.