I turned my body from the prone position to have a peak at what the new day was bringing. It was December 11, 2022, and the first snow of year was glistening in the early morning sun showing off its virgin cover. Christmas was less than two weeks from being an afterthought. Only 24 hours earlier I had awoken to for a morning beach walk in the warmth of the Caribbean sun. The weather in the last few days was a microcosm for my present life. Yesterday the sun was high with a strong wind blowing at my back, but today I could feel the weight of winter settling into my aching bones. After two full hip replacements rolling out of bed and into the new a day is not as easy as it used to be. At least in the recent year the aches and pains that represents my body has everything to do with age and nothing to do with the alcohol I consumed the night before. The end of vacation in Turks and Caicos marked the 11th month of my goal of maintaining sobriety. Looking in the mirror I had a decent tan, I hadn’t left anything behind, and I certainly felt rested after a week of sun and relaxation. My family went back to the place we have been approximately 15 times since 2000 when Donna took me there for my 40th birthday. We have never traveled to Turks without Laura and Mary Kate in tow and this year was no exception. In the kitchen of Flower Hill standing at the bay window my eyes squinted from the bright white reflection of the sun hitting the snow. It was Sunday morning, but not for much longer. As bright and shiny as the late morning sun was there no hiding the fact that winter had arrived.
From the tranquility of a still winter’s morning, my mind jolted back to our recent vacation. It was a scream I was familiar with. It was more of a screech, the kind of sound you hear when fingernails are dragged across a chalkboard. Throughout the years when any one of the three girls could be heard letting out blood curdling yells anytime a bug of any genre entered their space. That noise, heard over the entirety of the island of Providenciales, caused me to jump up from a relaxing before dinner read. Not only was Donna screaming like a banshee, but she was also running with hands wailing towards the ocean. My wife had looked to the sandy beach to see Nick, (Our daughter’s boyfriend the last several years) down on his knee, ring in hand, pleading my daughter for her hand in marriage. On the same Caribbean beach, she learned to swim Laura Nicole Siegel was accepting a proposal to spend the rest of her life as Mrs. Laura Carvalho. I didn’t move from my perch where I saw my other daughter, and her friend, also crashing the proposal party. I put my book down for a moment and gazed out to the vastness before me. In 2000 I made my first visit to Providenciales marveling at the dirt highways and sterile beaches. The island seemed so much bigger now, her braces were gone, and she smiled back at me like a woman who knew her way around. Our little girl, who ran these beaches chasing Sesame street characters, was back on the beach gleefully admiring her new piece of jewelry.
Two days after my oldest daughter accepted a marriage proposal, I dove into my travel gear to retrieve a pen and writing pad. Before the excitement created by Laura and Nick I was determined to block out the news from home and around the world. No matter how hard I tried there was no hiding from the noise this whacky world is putting out now days. I sat by the pool, already buried into my second book of the week. Over the backdrop of the lapping ocean waves, I couldn’t help but listen to the background clamor
that surrounded me. “I’ve seen fire and I’ve seen rain; I’ve seen lonely days when I could not find a friend,” familiar words from James Taylor no matter the country you inhabit. The women on the other side of the pool were in full gossip mode. “Britney Griner is coming home, straight up trade for a Russian Arms dealer,” my head dived deep back into the pages of the ‘Alchemist.’ “Thank God for Elon Musk, he invented the electric car, now he is on his way to saving democracy,” I could hear the older gentleman with the German accent announce to his travel companions. For the first time all week I felt like I was back in New York, I was hearing all of the babble I had gone so far to avoid. It was time to head back to my room put the headphones in, get in a chair facing the abyss and start writing down the words of the voices whispering to me over the waves. Another Christmas was on the way despite the screams that our planet is on its last leg. For today I will dream of a future with my back turned towards the sun with a hoard of grandchildren following me down the beach.
The second floor of the Providenciales airport was overflowing, not an empty seat to be found. The once tiny airstrip looked like a major U.S. hub on an active Sunday afternoon. The weary travelers, with their fresh tans and Coronas hanging out of their hands were headed to the outside deck for that last shot of vitamin C before they ventured back to the long winter that was awaiting them. For all the strife that echoes in our ears everyday this Caribbean airport gave one the appearance that there are still plenty of
people in the world who have the means and the time to pack up and get away from it all. This was my family’s first adventure back to the island since 2019. On our maiden voyages to Turks there was only one or two planes arriving on any given day. Now as I gazed out at the huge birds positioned against the blue of the ocean they were coming and going in 20-minute intervals. My daughters and boyfriends were already in the air; one headed to Atlanta and one to Providence. For myself, the family vacation had been a respite, but this old man was ready to get back to the grind of my ordinary life. “Delta Flight 62444 to JFK is ready for boarding,” was the announcement coming across the loudspeaker. I took one last inhale, slung my carry bag over my shoulder, stuffed away my pad and pen , and headed for the gate. There were no baby strollers, or diaper bags for us to haul as Donna and I stepped out onto the tarmac hand and hand heading for home.
The airplane pushed its way through the organy sky. The customers in first class had already downed their first cocktail and were attempting an early evening nap. There is a certain stillness on a return trip after an extended time away from the normal routine. Your mind shifts away from the sunscreen and directly on to the things that await you. “To realize one’s destiny is a person’s obligation.” The back cover of the book ‘the Alchemist’ was staring at me as I straightened up my stuff preparing for take-off. The book is the story of a young Spanish Shepard and his soul-searching excursions to the pyramids of Egypt after having dreams of buried treasure. It turns out the young man discovers that after years of crossing oceans and desserts seeking the glories of the world, he discovers his tressure was in his backyard all along. As the Delta jet glided north, I was alone with my thoughts of the future. I could see lots of family vacations in the sun, I could picture grandchildren approaching the ocean for the first time. In the quiet moments up in air I can find a clarity that I cannot find on the ground. It is the perfect atmosphere to do some serious personal inventory: Family, health, money, career, personal growth. There were now more than 11 months that separated me from my last sip of alcohol. I haven’t played serious golf in over two years. Whatever money I have has been on the sidelines since Covid hit.
The unfasten your seatbelt sign was flashing. For now, I was on way back to New York. I was coming away from this trip with a clearer picture of my personal legend. And I was coming home with a new son.
Back home it was evident that the first snow had arrived, and it looked as though the virgin white flakes had plans to stick around for a while. Already the weather man was predicting another coat for the weekend. Old man winter was settling in and despite all the banter about global warming winter in the northeast is still nothing to sneeze at. Last week, we went back to the place my family had come annually during the kids formulative years. Things were different, gone were the days of cocktails and stogies deep into the night. Gone were the days of sneaking over to the casino for a little action. Gone were the days of me calling back to my office everyday to check on clients. There were books to read, books to write, edges that needed trimming. I maneuvered my car carefully up Lucas Avenue through the freshly fallen powder. It was the second snow this week and already New Yorkers were in their full “scrooge mode.” “Hey, slow the fuck down,” screamed the flag woman as she wiped the snowflakes from her eyes. ‘No worries, Miss, I am definitely not in a hurry.’ I was heading to my office without a specific plan to check out what the week had left behind.. The last three years has changed me in ways I never expected to happen. I could not have imagined that I would still be in playing a conventional game well
into my 60′. Back from a week of sun and reflection I did figure a couple of things out. It is going to turn to 2023 in just a few days. I head into the new year with an attitude that has been three years in development. I got lots to say, and I got a wedding to prepare for. Congratulations Laura and Nick!
