SNOWBIRD MONOLOGS: PART IV

The hard part about snowbirding is that, at some point, you lose your wings and have no choice but to head home. We've been molting our feathers for the last few days, so will be making the tedious drive up I-75 on Friday morning. Fast food, prolonged games of solitaire on the iPhone, and plenty of back-seat driving will be involved.

"Yes, officer! He was speeding. I've been telling him to slow down for the last hour and a half! Plus, if he'd listened to me, we wouldn't have got stuck in that traffic on the bridge. After you give him his ticket, would you be a dear and give us a police escort to the nearest service plaza? I've been telling him to stop so I could use the ladies for the last 30 minutes, but NOOOOO...."

"Please, take me to jail. Please?"

It seems that as soon as the temperatures hit a whopping 84 degrees with a real feel of 99, we're all out of here. There are few stragglers who stick around to the end of April just to prove how durable they are, but the rest of us are dreaming of "sleeping weather" and "opening the patio." Therefore, at the moment, there is a line-up at the coin laundry down the hall, and the sound of the vacuum can be heard in our land. It's a mass exodus!

Fly, Snowbirds, Fly!

For the Snowbird, it's a complex emotional process. We've just spent the last three months greeting each other with, "Another beautiful day in paradise!" as we adjust our visors at a jaunty angle and pump our arms enthusiastically in preparation for that exhilarating walk in the salt air.  Suddenly, we're gassing up our cars and preparing to sneak out in the wee hours just before dawn so we don't have to say one damn thing to one single other snowbird. The last thing we need to hear is the loyalists who stick around until May shout, "We'll be at the pool all day! All month, as a matter of fact. Enjoy the Ohio weather!"

You're getting out of here just in time! We tell all the other snowbirds it's just too hot from now on. We'll suffer it out, though. By having the beach to ourselves. MWAHAHAHAHA!!!

So, we pack up three  months worth of life, vacuum away the crumbs and wipe the countertops. We do a final load of laundry and lay out the clothes we'll wear for the drive home, swapping shorts and t-shirts for jeans and hoodies. We take one more walk on the beach and let the water rush over our bare toes before they are trapped in shoes for another six weeks. We take in deep breaths of the salty air, even though we no longer notice the glorious smell of the sea. And we look at each other and say, "I'm ready." 

                                         

If it's true that to everything there is a season, Winter is the season of the Snowbird. Once Spring arrives, it's time to head home where we look forward to the hope and excitement of new beginnings - baby robins on the lawn, flowers making tentative attempts to bloom, that first day we roll down the car windows and crank up the radio. Thanks for having us, Florida! You have been a gracious hostess, and we look forward to our return same time, same station. 

See you in Ohio!