I see a day in the near future when all of us, our whole family, will be sitting around a pool, somewhere in Crystal beach Florida, perhaps at Family Tides resort, where we’ve rented a vacation rental for all of us to stay in. The sky is a brilliant azure with a few cumulus clouds and the ring-billed gulls, egrets and sanderlings compete for the spoils along the shoreline. Temperatures are around 85-90 and there is a light breeze blowing in off the Gulf.

I am in my Nike men’s sky stripe volley shorts, sipping on a Pineapple Chili Margarita; I wouldn’t normally order a mixed fruity drink like this, but, then again I wouldn’t normally be in Florida, so I figured I’d risk the sun and sugar headache in the morning for this indulgence and besides, there’s not much on the agenda tomorrow except for more of the same thing.

Brother Shaun is cradling a Leffe, perusing the newest issue of Popular Mechanics and sisters Vicky and Alex, it appears, are on their second Spanish Sangria, laughing at something, I’m not sure what. Dad with his Miller lite and Mom with her glass of Shandy are under the shade umbrella and the kids seem to be making good use of their uncle Chris while he holds his resolve at the deep end of the pool, as they toss themselves off the edge and bombard him with a constant assault of miniature tsunamis. I am pretty sure, at this point, he is not standing there by his own free will. The theme music in the background is Mele Kalikimaka, which most of you might know, was featured in the movie Christmas Vacation; the scene when Clark Griswold is staring out his kitchen window, daydreaming about the pool which he had prematurely put a down payment on.

There are others as well: Aunty Kathryne, who is sitting by the side of the pool, the cousins ( Vicky’s two girls and one boy) and Uncle John; where is he I wonder? This would be my first time setting foot in Florida since I was a teenager and that trip was a little different than this one. In 1977 or whatever year it was, their were five of us that piled into my friends parents E-class W 123 model Mercedes Benz and drove down to Florida along the I95. It was a whirlwind week emphasized by debilitating sunburns and late night shenanigan’s. In fact, the only thing I can really remember about the trip was the drive too and from, which brings truth to the theory that, the destination is no where as important as the journey, so long as you get there in one piece.

I scan the scene before me; the warmth of the tropical sun on my skin, the light chattering of siblings and parents; the occasional comment made by my brother and father as they exchange discerning observations and the sounds of teenaged lawlessness in the water only yards away. I have to pinch myself, wondering if this is really happening, and as I do, my eyes open. The warm salt air and sounds of sun and fun dissipate quickly, and are replaced by the familiarity of my bedroom ceiling. The silence and the blackness of the night engulfs me and a slight feeling of despondency shrouds me, as I come to realize that I am home, awoken from a longing dream.

I have played this scenario over in my mind many times and each time I do my subconscious absorbs another few seconds and stores it as truth. This part of the mind, as I have read, cannot distinguish between what is real and what is not, it merely processes thoughts, repeatedly fed to it by the conscious brain and stores them as memories. Eventually those memories can become as real as those that I conjure from an actual time in my past. A special Christmas or an important event such as a wedding or the birth of one of my boys. If I can meditate on a scenario, such as this, with as much clarity on detail as possible, then, according to experts, my subconscious mind will automatically guide me in that direction, like a heat seeking missile zoning in on it’s target, so long as my logical brain doesn’t interfere. The issue being, my brain unintentionally interferes continually.

I lay back down, close my eyes and allow every muscle in my body to relax. The house is quiet and all I can hear is the faint humming of my refrigerator… I drift slowly and pleasantly back to sleep.

Music begins to play, a soft tropical folk song, I think it’s somewhere over the rainbow by Isreal Kamakawiwo’ow. Quiet at first and then a little louder. Like a symphony, the pieces of the picture begin to emulsify: I can hear water agitating, teenagers and children laughing and I feel the warm ultra violet rays of the sun begin to sting my skin. I smell the pleasant aroma of Hawaiian tropic sun lotion mixed with the smell of salt water as the gentle warm breeze blows in off of the Gulf of Mexico. I feel like I can safely open my eyes now, and when I do, they are all there; each one of them, as they were before: sipping, laughing, sunning and splashing….

There is a photograph somewhere of our family many years ago, standing beside Dad’s VW bug with a heap of camping gear loaded onto the roof rack; tall and off-center. Someone is sitting in the drivers seat, but, the rest of the family, I think including the grandparents on my Mom’s side, are posing; dirty, exhausted and very sun burned, squinting into the sun. Freckle faced kids with sun bleached hair; the picture tells the story of one of the many family adventures Dad took us on. It wouldn’t surprise me if we were on our way back from Cape Cod which was a regular jaunt as we’d drive down for a week in the summer, setting up camp along the edge of private farm properties along the way, which, I guess, saved a few sheckles on accommodation so we could splurge on Ice Cream at the beach. I think one time we were caught, but, as the story unwound, the proprietor of the farm ended up inviting us in for dinner!

I wish I had the picture in front of me now, because it conjures great memories of a very fortunate childhood. The siblings, we had our differences; I know this because I was the instigator of many, and my parents were not immune to the occasional domestic quarrel, which, sometimes alarmed us, but always ended peacefully, so we were never too concerned. Our family was tight and Mom and Dad made sure of that. If a family of five could fit into the cramped quarters of an old VW bug and endure a thousand kilometers without killing each other then we had to be harmoniously unified, to a degree.

The picture is important to me, because it represents a time when the family was considered as sacred. An irreplaceable component of how our western society builds on itself; a family that plays together stays together! In this current world, from my vantage point, I see signs that this institution is disintegrating, and encouraged to do so by forces that are attempting to conquer and divide. That is why I write these “postcards” because, even though our family is geographically fractured; It is within my power to maintain our connection through nostalgic sentiments and by painting a picture of a day that could happen, so long I continue to hope.

I finish my fruity margarita and set my glass down on the pool deck. I rise off of my chaise lounger and zone in on my target, like an apex predator ready to pounce on it’s prey. I run toward the pool and with a robust ” GERONIMO!!”, launch myself into the air and descend into the warm blue water, legs and arms tucked in like a ball and impact the surface with an enormous splash!!! A surprise attack and the boys with their younger cousin, Teya, have no idea what just hit them. I tag out uncle Chris and then take my place within the chaos of the churning waters and hold down the fort, ready for the counter attack.

This time, I do not wake up until well into the morning time when the sunshine filters in through my black out blinds and a pair of eyes have greeted my awakening at the doorway to my bedroom.

“Good morning Rowan! It must be Pancake time..”

Somewhere, over the rainbow, way up high
There’s a land that I heard of once in a lullaby
Somewhere, over the rainbow, skies are blue
And the dreams that you dare to dream
Really do come true

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