Frozen citrus in Florida, because the Shanks are in town.
Of all the dumb decisions Larry and I made when we were dating, engaged and newly married, the dumbest had to be the wedding date. Who gets married in early March? During Lent?? But we were young and foolish, as they say, and just couldn’t wait the extra ten weeks until my senior year of college would be over. So we married on the Saturday of the beginning of my Spring Break in 1984, which was March 3. And headed north, to NYC and New England (as I said…DUMB).
Among the reasons why not to get married in early March, the biggest has to be that unless you live pretty far south or can take the time and money needed for a very long car trip or a flight, you will be celebrating your anniversary all bundled up, with no flowers or green grass or autumn leaves to color the scenery. And if you do travel south–say, deep enough into Florida to get beach-warm, or to an affordable Mexican destination–you will be encountering swarms of hazed, half-naked college kids, because remember, you got married on SPRING BREAK, dummy. That’s the week college kids have spring break.
Our compromise solution this year was to celebrate this milestone anniversary (our 25th!) with a car trip just south enough to reasonably expect pleasant (if not beach-warm) weather for a few days, and do a bigger trip when our schedules and budget are more cooperative. Northeast Florida is about a 7-hour drive from Charlotte, and the beach there is lovely and NOT crowded with spring-breakers.
Unfortunately, as a married couple we have had incredibly bad timing even when we were thinking clearly. Sometimes it’s just plain bad luck. Examples: both of us graduated into a lousy economy (early 80’s), then Larry’s accomplishment of an MBA missed the beginning of the corporate boom by about a decade (allowing us just a few good stock growth years before the bust). I see this as God’s little way of keeping us from becoming too fascinated with wealth accumulation.
Then there’s the uncanny bad luck we seem to have of scheduling vacations that turn out to be the record week for rain or cold or snow in the part of the country we’re going to. I know lots of people think that’s true of them, but I could give more examples of this than I care to recall. It’s why we woke up to a thin layer of snow on the inside of the window sill in Connecticut on our honeymoon; why we spent a sleepless night on top of a bald (in tents) in a series of three thunderstorms; why we white(brown)water rafted the Chatoogah in a record (and I think dangerous) flood stage that had the raft guide dudes whooping and me white-knuckling my oar and praying please don’t let me lose one of my baby (teenage) boys to this churning brown flood of a river.
And it’s why, the TWO times we’ve driven to Florida for an anniversary getaway, we’ve encountered record cold temperatures.
Fernandina Beach set a record low temperature of 30 degrees on Feb. 28, 2002. Guess who had just pulled into town to celebrate their anniversary?
And now, here we are again, thankful to have barely escaped the freak snowstorm in
Charlotte the night we left, only to arrive in Savannah (last night) and in Fernandina (this afternoon) to more record cold (predicting 31 degrees tonight: “bring in those tender tropicals, folks!”) After having paid extra money for the room with a balcony too.
Truth is, though I’m disappointed, we actually have learned to expect this kind of weather luck. You bring winter clothing to Florida because you bring winter weather to Florida…every time. And you wrap your scarf around your neck, lower your head into the north wind, and walk the beach together, shop the antique shops, stroll the cute little streets, and try not to think about how much more fun this would be if it were the 70-degree day it would normally be if you hadn’t brought your stupid bad weather luck to this unsuspecting town.
When you’re married to the right person, lousy timing can’t even come close to ruining your lovely time.
Nothing like a good man and a good cup of coffee to warm up your cold morning. And waving to the guys on the freighter from your hotel balcony is cool.
