… and we’re still wearing masks.

Who would have thought? I haven’t blogged in more than a year because there wasn’t much to blog about. Sure, I had an occasional fun moment or illicit getaway weekend, but my heart wasn’t in it. Still isn’t, to be honest. But I find I don’t remember my own life unless I write about it, so here goes.

I’ll work backwards chronologically, starting here , in quarantine at the Sheraton Santiago Hotel and Convention Center. Our view from jail (too bad we can’t leave our room):

Tony and I arrived Friday (July 16) after spending a month in the States. Chile’s borders remain closed, so as our school year was wrapping up in June, we had to get special permission to travel. I wrote a plea intended to tug at the heartstrings of some bored government official, begging for permission to attend a family reunion for my father’s memorial. Although my dad died in 2019, Covid-19 has prevented the family from getting together.

I submitted my father’s death certificate, his obituary, our house rental reservation in New Jersey, and our airline tickets, along with my passionate request (in Spanish, no less). We were approved in minutes, much to my relief! We know people who had to submit several applications before receiving approval to leave the country.

Next we had to find a cat sitter. We usually use a website called Trusted Housesitters that matches us with travelers who want to visit Chile. Unfortunately, nobody’s visiting Chile these days. Our cat, Ella, is so spoiled that we wanted someone who would stay at our apartment instead of just popping in to feed her. Finally, we found a young Korean teacher, who can’t get back to Asia right now (Covid!). Stuck in Chile, she agreed to hang out with Ella for the break. (Thank you, Hyejee!)

Then our flights got cancelled 4 days before the scheduled departure. Arrrggghhh!!! Fortunately, I was able to rebook. Our school provided PCR tests for those of us traveling (the U.S. requires a negative test within 72 hours of leaving Chile), so we did that, but I was stressed that one of us would come back with a false positive. Also, rumors were flying about whether flights would actually leave, so I couldn’t relax until our plane landed at the Miami International Airport. Which it did, on June 19. Whew! (Travel buddies Ian and Berlin sat behind us.)

We picked up our rental car and drove about 5 hours to The Villages in central Florida, where we have a house. (Quick side note: It’s available as a seasonal rental. Check out the listing here.)

Florida’s freedom took some getting used to. After almost two years of donning masks, teaching on Zoom, living in on-and-off lockdown, and generally wallowing in Covid-induced paranoia, we were shocked to find this at the Spanish Springs town square. Crowds mobbed the streets for an antique car show, danced to the live music, and sipped beer with friends. It was like a parallel universe.

Fully vaccinated and starting to relax a bit, we ditched the masks after a couple days and began to enjoy poolside sunshine and cocktails. We even went to the movies for the first time in ages. The musical theatre freak in me couldn’t wait to see In the Heights, and I didn’t stop singing those tunes for days afterward. We ate at restaurants (although we still chose to dine al fresco) and otherwise soaked up the energy of other people, which had been so long absent from our lives.

After a week, I left Tony in Florida and flew north to meet the rest of my family in New Jersey. Although my father was from Seattle, he soon adopted my mother’s love of the Jersey Shore. A Philly girl, my mom grew up vacationing in Ocean City, NJ, and that tradition continues. My father had requested that we scatter his ashes in two places: Washington state and Ocean City.

Washington will have to wait for another time. This summer, we descended on the beach, or rather a few blocks from the beach. One big house for 14 people, including seven kids.

We realized we all felt nostalgia for different aspects of this place. For my brother, it was crabbing at the wharf. For my sister Kate, it was riding bikes on the boardwalk. For my sister Meg, it was the boardwalk, bikes, and breakfast at Uncle Bill’s Pancake House. For my mom, it was coffee with dad on the boardwalk and crabbing.

For me, it was two things: walking on the boardwalk and playing in the water. On our last trip to the shore, my dad and I got up before everyone else for an early morning walk to the Ocean City Coffee Company on the boardwalk and then a stroll on the beach with our coffee. We would grab a bench and chat about life while also providing a snarky running commentary on the other people out at that hour. Of course, the ocean is my passion, and I have many memories of body surfing with my dad in the frigid water of the Atlantic.

During this visit, I got up early most mornings and walked by myself, grabbing a coffee on the way back to the house. I would whip up some eggs for whoever wanted them and eat breakfast on the porch before we all paraded to the beach.

The little cousins splashed in the chilly water, buried each other in the sand, played wiffle ball and beach tennis, and built sandcastles for hours while the adults mostly lounged in the shade of rented umbrellas. Occasionally, someone would wander up to the boardwalk and return with lemonade and corndogs, pizza, or french fries to share. Every now and then, I mustered the courage to brave the sharp shells at the edge of the surf and that first icy blast of sea water. I jumped through the waves with Kate or my nephews, shrieking each time we received a salty smack in the face or a surprisingly strong undercurrent. I tried to absorb that bliss into my bones for later. (Click on the pics to see them full-size.)

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The kids entertained themselves back at the house, as well. Kate broke out a tackle box of tiny rubber bands sorted by color, a gift from a neighbor whose child had tired of the craft. The cousins made bracelets and rings for each of us, and then someone told them, “You should go outside and try to sell these to people.”

We all laughed, reminiscing about when mom made us paint clam shells and try to sell them on the boardwalk when we were kids. The rubber band jewelry turned out to be a bigger hit than expected.

The little entrepreneurs went to work making signs to advertise their prices, maniacally building up their inventory, and approaching strangers on the sidewalk to promote their wares.

We adults were touched at how kind everyone was to the wee jewelers. One lady told them she didn’t have any cash but that she’d come back, and she did! Another couple actually stood in line to buy a bracelet. The kids accosted a teen in a McDonald’s uniform, who told them he didn’t have any money, so they offered him a ring for free. He chose a pink one and thanked them with a big smile. Their efforts brought in $54. They were thrilled. We were shocked.

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When they weren’t making rubber jewelry, they were obsessing about Pokémon. I took a few of them out for a Pokémon GO walk one afternoon.

The munchkins also had fun tie-dying T-shirts. Summer brought all the supplies, and this was the result:

During our stay at the beach, we were excited to get visits from a few extended family members: Aunt Iris (my mom’s sister); Uncle Bill (my mom’s brother) and his significant other, Judy; cousin Amy, her husband, Billy, and their kids, Jake, Dylan, and Alex; and cousin Karen, her boyfriend, Mike, and her son, Robbie. It was great to catch up with everyone!

As tradition dictates, we went to breakfast at Uncle Bill’s Pancake House one morning. We had planned to take my father’s ashes to scatter some outside, but we forgot to grab the box. My sister-in-law, Summer, offered to run back to the house to get it. We assumed she’d leave it in the van, but she brought it into the restaurant, which was weirdly perfect in this memorial week. We had the waitress take a shot of all of us, including “Pop.”

After breakfast, I took out a little packet of dad’s ashes, and poured them into a flower pot outside the restaurant. Kate and I burst into tears. When I got in the van, my niece Katie asked why I was crying. “I miss Pop,” I said. I miss him so much.

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Later, I walked to the coffee shop and sprinkled some ashes in one of their flower pots. I hope dad can smell that coffee wafting on the ocean breeze.

On our last evening at the beach, Kate and I found a secluded spot and built a primitive little castle. All the beach toys had already been packed, so we did the best we could with our hands. We poured some ashes into the moat, and sat on a towel to share memories of our dad. Megan and Mike joined us after a bit. We watched the next generation run, splash, and laugh, knowing dad would have loved it. Mom walked down the beach for her own private memorial.

After awhile, the kids found a tide pool full of tiny gelatinous organisms. Kate did some quick research on her phone and discovered they were “naked sea butterflies,” translucent shell-less mollusks with orange heads and tails, which usually live deep in the Arctic and Antarctic oceans. Kate reminded me how dad would often say, “Isn’t that neat?” at times like this. We could both hear him say it as we gazed down at the mesmerizing creatures in the surf.

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We all waited for the tide to reach our little castle and carry Pop out to sea. It felt like a beautiful tribute to a man who loved us and loved this place so deeply.

The next day, we checked out, and I drove with Kate back to her house in Michigan. We paused at Chick-fil-A for a parking lot lunch with Meg, who was heading to Virginia to visit her brother-in-law’s family. She joined us in Michigan after a couple days.

At Kate’s house, we soaked up the sunshine, watched monarch butterflies lay eggs on her milkweed, played in the pool, watched movies, and tried to get out in nature (but the mosquitos were brutal).

And before I knew it, I was heading back to Florida.

Tony and I realized it was our first time at our house without any family members in town. We hardly knew what to do with our time. We spent much of it reading at the pool, and we tried to go for walks in the morning before it got too hot. We also discovered Eaton’s Beach on Lake Weir, just 15 minutes away. It was the best food I had all summer!

Flying back to Chile was uneventful. Arriving in Chile during a pandemic was another story. Before our flight, we had to get a PCR test to prove we didn’t have Covid, complete an affidavit, and book a hotel where we would spend the first five days in quarantine. It took 5 1/2 hours to complete the arrival process, which included standing at a table where someone re-entered all our information on a form by hand, getting another PCR test, and waiting for a bus that transported everyone to their respective hotels.

And that brings me back to the Sheraton in Santiago, where Tony and I are on day 3 of our 5-day hotel quarantine. Stay tuned for more stories from my lost year.