A Fourth to remember

and vague feelings of patriotism?

On the Fourth of July, the NYT Wordle of the day was ‘irate,’ which my sister found odd but I found completely appropriate considering the current state of this American union but whatever.

This year, it was the second consecutive day of an unintentional but welcome break from the news because my youngest girl, Neale, and I were on a mini-vacay in the Florida panhandle. 

When people think of the Florida panhandle, they usually think of the Gulf of Mexico - brilliant green water and sugar-sand beaches. Hell, that’s what I think of…I grew up going to Destin, Ft. Walton’s touristy sister, nearly every spring break, and have gone there many times since. I have (cloudy) memories of playing drinking games on the beach at night as a high schooler, and of slathering myself with baby oil. Later, as an adult, I slathered my own children with SPF 10,000 to make up for my youthful stupidity, as if the universe works that way.

But when planning for this adventure with my girl, I wanted something different. And cheaper. So I rented an Airstream trailer perched in someone’s front yard in a homey little Ft. Walton Beach neighborhood right on Choctawhatchee Bay. 

After driving six hours to get to it, my heart sank a tiny bit when we drove up because the yard looked a little junky. There was a sad patio and a few trash bins strewn about and the main house looked kind of abandoned. In fact, it was where the Air B&B host lived. Only two people lived there but for some reason there were five cars parked in the yard. 

My daughter was thrilled because the trailer gave her Grey’s Anatomy vibes, and she’s very into that show right now. You may recall that for a while, Derek Shepherd, also known as McDreamy, lived in an Airstream trailer in the hospital parking lot until he married Meredith and died tragically and somewhat ironically due to medical malpractice following a car accident.

 Our trailer was neat and adorable and organized, and I could see how it could be quite livable with clothes and supplies and sundries stored away properly. We had two suitcases, groceries, several assorted bags, and a large brown dog, so the trailer became crowded pretty quickly. Plus, my girl’s preferred way to exist is with all of her favorite things strewn about as a barrier between her and potential negative spirits. So that’s a space suck. 

Anyway, this whole intro has been a wordy way to set the scene for a particularly noteworthy Fourth of July. 

We did venture out to the crystalline waters of the gulf, where we swam and basked in the radioactive rays. Buddy the Wonder Dog swam a bit then nestled between our two chairs in a desperate attempt to find shade and escape the great balls of fire that is the atmosphere at noon on a Florida July day. 

For lunch, we ate the freshest of seafood and I drank two margaritas and then we went back to the Airstream trailer to rest because to reiterate I drank two margaritas.

That afternoon, we borrowed our host’s golf cart and went roaming, which always reminds me of my dad. He often left the house with no stated purpose, saying he was going ‘roaming.’ By the time he came home, he had usually been to the boathouse, the pharmacy, West Marine, the fuel dock, and a restaurant or two - or some combination thereof - always returning with food for my mother that she did not want. 

With Neale driving the golf cart, we roamed around the neighborhood, commenting on houses and enjoying the breeze. Buddy was sprawled across the rear seat looking forlornly at me because he’s evidently not a golf cart dog. Since Neale has some kind of innate shopper radar, we ended up at Ross Dress for Less and so we shopped for a bit, and then on the way home I spotted a Popeye’s Fried Chicken and remembered that even though I am from New Orleans, I have never introduced my children to Popeye’s and immediately realized that OPPORTUNITY WAS UPON US so we stopped and had Popeye’s for dinner.

Back at the Airstream, we settled on the daybed for a few episodes of Gotham, the series I’m binge-watching with Neale. Let me just say that Oswald Cobblepot, aka The Penguin, is disturbing as fuck and the fact that he continued to develop as a character makes me question the purpose of the whole D.C. comic series DON’T AT ME ABOUT THIS, OKAY? 

Around dusk, we heard a few fireworks, so we paused the tv and strolled to the bay, where, to our surprise, several locals were swimming. “NIGHT SWIMMING!” cried Neale with so much enthusiasm I didn’t have the heart to talk her out of it, so we quickly went back to the trailer, changed into bathing suits, and returned to the bay. 

The three of us - Neale, Buddy and I - waded into the cool water and, floating around on a boogie board, watched in astonishment as the skies all around us erupted into colorful streaks. The moonlight and fireworks danced furiously upon the waves of the Choctawhatchee, creating an enormous kaleidoscope with us at the center. 

We floated in the dark bay waters for nearly an hour, watching the show and listening to the echoing explosions. When it was over, Neale began scooping up sand from beneath us and building a drip castle on the boogie board. Afterwards, she spread the sand out like paint and etched the word ‘FOURTH’ on the makeshift canvas. 

As I watched her work, my dog in my arms, I felt like I was witnessing magic. My beautiful growing-up 16-year-old girl, racing towards womanhood, stopped short for what’s left of her childhood - away from her phone, away from Gotham, away from everything except her mom and her dog and the best type of Florida living: building a drip castle in the Choctawhatchee Bay. I blinked back tears. 

That night, the Airstream’s air conditioning went out. We never did figure out how the hot water worked. When we left a couple of days later, everything smelled like wet dog and mold, and we got caught in a horrendous traffic jam and both thought we’d die of simultaneously needing to pee and having a heat stroke.

But that all ended. What remains in my brain and in my heart is the perfect crescendo at the end of a perfect day. It feels very close to patriotism. I don’t always love what’s happening in this country. But I love a place where a single woman and her teenager and her dog can float beneath the stars at night in a state of love and peace and beauty, and for a precious moment, not feel the least bit irate.