#18- Bienvenidos a Miami

As we traveled south to Miami, it wasn’t lost on me that it was the same drive we were scheduled to make over two months ago to meet our planes to the Bahamas. It was now hard to identify with the couple that we were then. A couple with a solid plan, whose every move was seamlessly leading them to a house with their name on it on a tropical island. The couple that we became didn’t have a plan past tomorrow and had no clue what the view from our future home would be.

The drive from Daytona was littered with all of the things that I was looking forward to getting away from by moving to the Bahamas: chain stores, giant shopping malls (that are somehow always crowded no matter what time of day or night), and Cracker Barrels. Yet, even though I was supposed to be navigating my way through foreign farmers markets in the Bahamas by now, and learning how to cook conch; the sights of what some may call America’s downfall were somehow comforting. Many months ago, as we approached our move date, I had made countless frantic shopping trips for all of the things that I was told I wouldn’t be able to find in the Bahamas. I realized now that a Target and a Chili’s within driving distance subconsciously pledged survival when moving to a new area.

It was the first time Bob had been in the car since our long trip down the coast so we wanted to get to Miami as fast as possible before he thought he was being carted back to New York, and started to panic (wouldn’t you?). When two hours into the drive we saw sirens in our rear-view, we realized we had probably made the wrong decision. As we pulled over three lanes, with that ever-present hope that this guy was just a jerk abusing power to pass, our hearts sank as he followed us to a complete stop. It didn’t make things any better when Bob decided that this was the appropriate time for his best Pitt Bull imitation and tried to attack the cop approaching the vehicle through the window I had just rolled down. Having to manhandle Bob while trying to grab the requested documents, all while sporting New York plates pretty much guaranteed us a ticket; and we were ready to take what came with no attempt at excuses. I was pleasantly surprised when God showed us an open door of opportunity. After scanning our documents, Bob had gone silent, just long enough for the officer to ask if New York was where we lived. Haha- well isn’t that a funny story? With a smile (and a comb-over) like Howdy Doody, the cop allowed us to tell our story which had previously been branded on us like a Scarlet Letter. We had told it so many times and I could tell by his eyes that he knew that. He never interrupted us, just folded up our documents and kindly sent them back through the window.  He wished us the best as we traveled through Florida, told us to slow down for the rain that we’d encounter up ahead, and let us go. Our story was already beginning to change.

We arrived to the hotel on Collins Avenue in Miami in the afternoon, and after two trips from the nearby parking garage, we finally got settled into the small damp space. Because Bob’s alter ego is obviously Cujo, we needed a room close to the front, and only, door so as to minimize his run-ins with other four-legged hotel guests. Alternatively, he could hear everything that was going on at the front desk, and began to bark.

We were in Miami so Trav could take a meeting with a local group to discuss some potential Miami opportunities so he had to leave as soon as we arrived.  This meant Bob, and the snooty Frenchman at the front desk, were now my problem. The front desk attendant had already looked down his long nose and condescendingly reminded me that dogs can’t be left unattended, so I figured even getting ice wasn’t worth the confrontation. I caught up on everything BRAVO while Trav had a typical Miami, and off-the-wall, meeting with a group in South Beach.

When he returned, I was starving and Bob was sleeping, so it seemed like the perfect opportunity to get out and scout our surroundings. I was thankful that the Frenchman’s shift was over as the lady replacing him at the front desk seemed like she’d be much more understanding of a couple of questioning barks that would be coming from the nearby door, when Bob woke up.

I had been to Miami before but only for about 12 hours of partying and I remember as much of that trip as anyone would who had been in Miami for 12 hours partying- nothing. We walked along Collins Avenue and Ocean Drive where hotels and restaurants lined the streets. Tourists filled the outdoor cafes and bars as scantily clad hostesses aggressively vied for passerby’s business. I was surprised that my first impression of Miami was that it was charmingly behind the times. When we had arrived to our hotel, I thought it was cute that it only had 12 rooms and had given it credit for what they had done with the small space. I thought we were making concessions since we had so few options traveling with a 90-lb dog; but that didn’t seem to be the case. Most of the hotels were just like ours: small, original frontage, and unknown names. Of course there is a Ritz, but that type of opulence didn’t seem to be the norm here.

As we walked down the streets at 7p, dressed for dinner, we noticed we were the only ones. I’ve spent many nights in Vegas but this is the capital of nightlife. Everyone was still in their bathing suits coming off the beach, ready for a nap, and weren’t even thinking about venturing out of their cave again till at least 11p or 12a. I felt old and tired and it was only night one.

We found a place we had read about called Tongue and Cheek and took a seat. It was a Tuesday and apparently “early” but after viewing the innovative menu, I was definitely surprised we were only one of three tables in the place. The food and cocktails were what we had been missing since leaving New York and in making sure to share this with our waiter, Carlos, we struck up a conversation regarding everything Miami as we once again spewed our branded saga. How else do we answer the questions of “do you guys live around here?”, “how long are you visiting for?”, “where are you headed after this?”. Like the locals in Daytona who always notice that we haven’t left, and the Cop with a crooked smile who decided against the ticket, Carlos was a new friend made by the telling of a crazy tale. Word spreads fast as we were soon dining on a sampling of amazing deserts, compliments of the Chef; wishing us well on our journey.

We returned to the room to find Bob where we had left him: taking up the entire queen-sized bed.

In having no idea where I want to live this salt life, I only know the things I don’t want to live without. One of them is the beach. So in our exploration of Miami, we grabbed the beach chairs out of our trunk (a requirement when living the salt life) and crossed Ocean Drive to check out South Beach. Like Long Beach back in NY, there is a bit of a slope from the sand down to the water, so everyone crams the water line since the people in the back lose their view. As I prefer personal space over perfect view, we sat back a little bit off the water and took in “the scene”. Also like Long Beach, we watched and waited for the space invaders to arrive. Every family that arrived, no matter how large, did not hesitate to create their own path through the sea of towels, kicking up sand in unexpecting faces, the entire way.  With their arms full of countless coolers and water toys, they always proceeded to lay claim on any empty parcel of beach, even if it meant inadvertently sharing a beach towel with their neighbor. This was definitely not my ideal day at the beach, but as a visitor, it was quite entertaining.

The wave action was nil but the water was crystal clear and more beautiful than Daytona. Though due to the overcrowding of people, the wildlife always spotted in Daytona, was definitely missed.

We enjoyed the day lounging in the sun from our beach chairs and relaxed in the refreshing lake-like ocean until the growing storm came and chased us off the beach around 3p. I have always hated the rain. But here, I even watch the rain in amazement. It sounds kind of weird but I’m continuously intrigued at how “alive” Florida is. I’m constantly reminded that I’m not in control of my surroundings. Mother Nature does not mess around in these parts.  


We ran in the rain to Wet Willie’s on Ocean Drive. If you’re not familiar, Wet Willies is an equally amazing and dangerous place. It’s the place where the previously mentioned 12-hours of partying in Miami appropriately commenced years ago, and is probably the reason I remember nothing after tasting my first ‘call a cab’. Known for its grain alcohol slushies, better described as the adult Slurpee, they are the perfect way to spend a rainy afternoon people-watching in Miami. While the cars and the G-strings of gay men competed for the shiniest award, I couldn’t get enough of the diversity in this microcosm. One of the things I had been most excited about when moving to the Bahamas was the never-ending cultural experiences. Miami would definitely be a cultural experience of its own kind and I loved it. 

As we do, we sampled a few of the bars that lined Collins Ave before dinner. Not being able to taste our tacos, we realized we may have done a little too much sampling and headed back to the hotel.

The next morning we grabbed coffee and I invoiced from bed as we chatted about our Miami experience. We knew that Miami probably had the most opportunity for Trav to continue what he was doing in New York while still soaking up the sun year round, but we didn’t know if the Miami scene was for us. For the right opportunity, Miami offered enough of a salt life to give it a try. Though we know Miami won’t be our forever, it might be a lot of fun in the meantime.. We quickly (though no speeding) moved on to what a simpler life has to offer…

Go Pro video from the trip: https://vimeo.com/102043424

Read Next: #19- That's where you wanna go to get away from it all..., August 5

#17- Still Reeling...

Come July 15th, it had been 62 days since we crossed over the Floridian border. At the time, we were only supposed to be here for two nights. We had sold most of our things in New York, said a tear-filled good-bye to our family and friends, and set sail for a fresh and sunny start in the Bahamas. Mere hours before we were scheduled to dig our toes in tropical sand, we received a call that due to a company dispute, our Visa’s had been put on hold and we could not continue travel to the Bahamas. For the next three long weeks, we had no new news on the conflict that was keeping us stateside. While anxiously waiting for the corporate cat-fight to be resolved, we truly did not think it was possible that we may never live in the pink house that had so serendipitously picked us.  There was just no way that Bob was never going to swim in the crystal clear ocean every day after previously conceding to city life for so long. 

It seemed far too cruel of a joke that we had left every part of our former lives in New York, under the promise of a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, just to be led down a disastrous path, steps from our final destination. While certainly cruel, it was not a joke.

With no anchor, our life resembled a boat in open water, braving the perfect storm. With each day that followed that fateful call, our struggles, like relentless waves, constantly threatened to capsize us. All while watching our Bahamian dream die a slow and painful death. We reluctantly let go of our Bahamian house with its white picket fence, without ever holding the keys or crossing the threshold. We had chosen to sell our belongings while still in New York because everything we brought to the Bahamas would be charged an exorbitant tax.  In the end, we’re happy to not have paid the International duty tax on our goods, but are missing the many things we could have kept. We had been counting on the $97,000 per year tax break for being an expat in the Bahamas. Instead, we were now in a daily battle to be reimbursed for the $30,000 in expenses this move had cost us so far. 

Worse than being castaways so far from home, Travis’s company revealed themselves to be well-dressed pirates, looting our lives without conscience. They were the reason we had taken this journey, under the promised protection of their sails. But when the seas got rough, they never offered to throw us a life-raft. Just a white flag with a severance package attached; which we accepted and gladly walked the plank. We’ll eventually get our sea legs back, but they will always be a sinking ship. 

We’re in Daytona now, as it’s where we were when we got the dreaded call that all of this was over. We have every line imaginable in the water, looking to hook the next big fish of opportunity, wherever that may be. 

I search daily for a reason, or the smallest of open doors. I fight feelings every moment of abandonment as I pray for His plan to be revealed. 

We now have the freedom to make a new fresh start. We have a 10'x10' storage unit in Daytona, only ½ full; four suitcases, and a Golden Retriever. It’s a rare opportunity and a bit overwhelming. Where can we live out our endless summer and make the most of this salt life?

I don’t have the answer to that yet, but like the Fountain of Youth, it’s worth searching for. 

Trying to navigate life's newest and sharpest turn, we're ready for the next chapter of this journey. As we seek salt life, maybe we'll find home along the way.

1st stop: Miami 

Read Next: #18-Bienvenidos a Miami, August 1

#16- When there's no rhyme or reason

Our moods were dark and somber
after that final phone call came.
The mornings are still the hardest;
Filled with relentless praying and blame.

No home, no job, no direction.
Our home goods are drifting off to sea.
We keep hearing "the world is our oyster";
But that pearl looks more like a pea.

Just like Santa's red sack,
we're lugging worries, stress and doubt.
If one more "present" is added,
ALL will come tumbling out.

Our irons are in the fire,
and hopefully soon, one will be hot.
We can't control our destiny,
but sitting idle, we are not.

Some days are full of fury.
From those storm clouds, I can't hide.
Other days are filled with gratitude;
And Jekyll isn't missing Hyde.

I fear the monster within
for he has embedded his claws in me,
But so has the white sand, and blue surf
and the crazy crabs that roam the sea.

New York is a distant memory.
Our summer will never run out.
A future filled with sunshine and swimming
is what this Salt Life is all about.

Florida is the best place I've lived;
And after 37 days I would know.
The cast of characters is vast,
even the wildlife puts on a show.

Our own bed, free wifi, and fast forward
are the little things that we miss.
Though we know if we have to be stranded...
It doesn't get much better than this!

We miss all sense of normalcy.
Anything resembling routine, we hold dear.
We're thankful for weekly trivia;
Where good friends hold our spot and cold beer.

I started this blog with a drive through Hana;
The message was metaphorically implied:
"Life is a series of journeys,
We can't forget to enjoy the (LONG) ride!"

I'm doing my best to take my own advice...
At least I'm taking this journey with my best friend.
We have no idea where this road will lead,
But we're sure there's peace and happiness waiting at the end...

Read Next, #17- Still Reeling, July 30

#15- We Surrender

D-Day arrived two days early for us this year. The war between the two hotel properties had been raging over International waters for the last three weeks. We were now getting daily updates from Travis’s camp but the updates left us more and more confused; wondering what we were fighting for. 

  

It had been 21 days since this battle began and we had been halted in Florida. What was left of our things had arrived in the Bahamas almost a week ago and the promised call from the Bahamian Port was not coming. When it finally did, they told us we had 7 more days to stall before they needed to “clear” the shipment. Clearing it means a Customs Official has to ransack all of our belongings and assess the duty charge before it can even be moved into storage. Having someone thumb through our personal belongings without us there is a thought that I just couldn’t bear. 

It would soon become the least of my worries. 

The third week was the heaviest. I thought at first that my constant empty feeling was the newness of Daytona slowing fading, like our hopes of ever leaving. Or that my 35^th birthday was lying in wait, circling me like a hungry shark. The Bahamian real estate agent kept calling and checking on us as our home was sitting empty in paradise. Such a crime! With each call we imagined ourselves on our patio while Bob played in the yard or ocean. I could actually feel the weight of the passing days pulling me more and more underwater.

And then our beach was stormed..

During this tumultuous time in Florida, I never allowed myself to think it was anything but a delay. The thought that we had been led here for nothing would pierce my gut like a bullet and I knew that I would simply not survive. I refused to give up hope. I didn’t even notice the Google Alert that changed our lives forever. 

An emergency call at 11:45a. My dumb ass thought: “This must be good news!” My hopes were completely trampled by the news that this war was over. Travis’s company had pulled out of the 20-year management agreement with the Bahamian property and new soldiers had moved in. How could this be happening? I felt my knees go weak, blood drained from my face. How could this be happening?!

The calls that followed were frantic. There were three employees already in the Bahamas (introduced in previous posts) that had been working hard on this project for the last 11 months, now at risk of losing their visas and having to vacate in 14 days. They had families and lives and now had concrete fears and worries; left behind in enemy territory. 

There were days leading up to this that I knew with absolute certainty that I would not survive this news. I simply didn’t want to survive, with this news. But in some weird way, God had prepared me for this. I didn’t turn to dust when it happened, though for a brief moment I succumbed to my covers and prayed to not wake up. It was the most intense pain I’ve ever felt, but I knew He’d bring us through it. 

We have no idea where we go from here...

The air remains incredibly heavy from the smoke of destruction. There are still many bodies in the crossfire. It’s too early to assess the damage at this point. It’s in His hands; we’ve laid down our weapons; we surrender.

Read Next: #16- When there's no rhyme or reason, June 20

#14- SS Mosquito

Wait! If new to this blog, there's so many nitty gritty details that you've missed! I promise that you'll want to start this adventure from the beginning by starting with the first post, Feb 27- found on the right side bar.  At your leisure, come follow our adventure, by reading following posts in order by date, (which I hope to keep short and entertaining!) Welcome to the Salt Life...

.......

“Just sit right back and you’ll hear a tale, A tale of a fateful trip…”

It’s been two weeks since our boat of life has shipwrecked in Florida. Every day we wake up hopeful that today will be our day. But as each day passes without news, it’s getting harder and harder to ward off fears that our rescue ship may never come. How will we survive this?

Six days into being marooned, Trav’s company called and advised that they were “cautiously optimistic” as big moves had been made by both sides to try to come to an agreement. As the peace talks continued, and the great divide lessened, we were expected to just sit tight and enjoy a "paid vacation" in Florida until things had been resolved and the hold on our Visas had been lifted. Easy to say when the bed you’re sleeping in at night is your own…

As the days passed by, the only ship that was sailing was our stuff, well on its way to the Bahamas. It’s now going to arrive before we do and we’re stuck trying to research non climate controlled storage for a big metal crate from the mainland.  I’m honestly wondering if we’ll ever see our stuff again or what the condition will be, after sitting in the Caribbean summer heat. When we excitedly watched them drive our sealed crate away many weeks ago, we never thought this would be the case.

 “If not for the courage of the fearless crew, the minnow would be lost, the minnow would be lost”

It’s very difficult to relax, sleep, and have faith when your life is in someone else’s hands and on someone else’s time-frame. Though that’s exactly what everyone tells us we should be doing. On most days, the stress weighs very heavy and we wonder how we can keep going on like this. On other days, when we’re sitting on the beach, basking in the Florida sun, we are grateful that it wasn’t much worse.  

For the last 15 days there have been five stowaways- Trav, Bob and I, and Trav’s parents. They had so graciously offered to help us with this arduous move, having no idea what they were in for. It started over two weeks ago, on Mother’s Day, when his family helped us clean out our apartment on our final day in New York. The journey began the next day to Fort Lauderdale as his parents  were driving with us to help get us to our separate flights (Bob and Trav had a friend flying them over and I was flying the suitcases on Jet Blue). After we were well on our way, they had planned to drive our car to Palm Beach to have it shipped to the Bahamas.  After a week’s worth of stressful driving and strict timelines, they were going to reap their reward by going to their condo in Daytona, to enjoy a week’s vacation and fun in the sun.  They still made it to Daytona, but with much more "baggage" than they had expected. Every day we wake up and say “ugh, we’re still here” and they wake up saying “ugh, they’re still here”… Joking aside, it’s only the intense ups and downs that keep this from being a fantastic family vacation. I’m truly enjoying our beach days, our evening routine of cocktails and appetizers, and always trying somewhere new and on the water for dinner. Without them, we surely would have drowned by now.

 “The ship set ground on the shore of this uncharted desert isle with Gilligan, The Skipper too, The millionaire and his wife, the movie star, the professor and Mary Ann..”

The tropical isle we have wrecked upon, called Daytona, is unlike anything we have ever experienced. We’ve seen a sea monster, the largest flying frog in the world, an albino lizard, and beach hawks. There’s crazy crabs roaming the beach and the water is so crystal clear that fish of all sizes can be seen swimming through your toes. 

The people are just as interesting.  We aren’t spending our days making phones out of tin cans and writing SOS in the sand. We’re busy taking 3^rd place at Senior Trivia night, under the name “Jake From Statefarm”, killing it when they try to stump the crowd with questions from “Always Sunny in Philadelphia”. This isn’t the land of Gingers and Maryann’s, this is the land of $3.50 Long Islands, separate checks (everyone asks you the second you sit down), and is ruled by Seinfelds and Costanzas.

Even the bugs come to retire here as there’s every different kind and they do not mess around (#dma). When my 50 mosquito bites quickly became 75, I knew I had to get serious if I was going to survive the war they were raging. I found that not only was I the target of many species of mosquito, I was also being “hunted” by no-seeums, also known as biting midges (my new nickname).  These f**kers, are so small you can’t see them coming, they can even fit through the holes in the screen. Though you can’t see them, somehow they have magnificent teeth that saw into your skin so they can then inject you with an anticoagulant to drink your blood freely. I’m not done. They not only can smell their prey from over 50 meters, but they then send the signal out to all of their friends once they’ve found their buffet. It’s only the females that bite (those bitches) because they actually need blood to fertilize their eggs…AND they are attracted to carbon dioxide. So if you are alive, you are a target. What sick, sadistic…. Are you kidding me? At one point, I was dressed from head to toe in clothing in the middle of a Florida heat wave (complete with shoes and socks), drenched in every bug concoction possible ( I even had a bug wrist band around my ankle that was so big, it was like I was on house arrest), trying to walk the dog while taking very shallow breaths. It was like I was walking through a sleeping lion’s den, which is exactly what it was. Misery. After a trip to Daytona’s flea market,  another “experience”, I am now equipped with everything I could possibly need from holistic oils to straight up poison. I will win my skin back. 

“So this is the tale of the castaways, They’re here for a long, long time, They’ll have to make the best of things, It’s an uphill climb.”

See next post: #15- We Surrender, June 6th

#13- Is This The End??

I saw the movie ‘Heaven is For Real’ with my mom and Grandmother on a quick trip to Napa, a couple of weeks ago. In this entire process, it was the only two hours that I didn’t think about anything moving-related. Completely entertained, I let the story take me for a ride. Everyone will get their own message from this movie, but the one thing that has since resonated with me is that the images of God we’ve come to know are not actually what God looks like. The God witnessed by this little boy, and confirmed by others word-wide, are of a God with intense green eyes. For the last several weeks, above any message that movie conveyed, I can’t seem to get the intense look of God, as he stared at me across the theater, out of my mind.

I saw that same intensity in my husband’s eyes, only two weeks later, and just three nights ago, when our Tribulation began. 

We had been successfully led out of New York on Monday and had begun our descent down to Fort Lauderdale, Florida for Operation ‘Get Bob to his plane on Friday’. We had stops planned in New Jersey, South Carolina, Daytona, and Fort Lauderdale before finally arriving to the promise land (Bahamas) on Friday afternoon, 5/16. We had only been in Daytona for 60-minutes, after driving over 1,000 miles, and had just arrived at a pizza place to take a break from the long drive and catch up with friends and family, when Travis stepped out to take a phone call. I noticed his normal pacing in the parking lot but honestly didn’t think much of it. He came in, said his hellos to friends at the table that we hadn’t seen since the wedding, and slipped into the booth across from me. As the conversation started up again, I glanced across the table and saw panic. Intense panic. Something wasn’t right. I mouthed “what’s wrong?” He mouthed back “it’s really bad”. 

The words and energy that continued in static movement around us just seemed to add to the fog that I was in.  I immediately asked for us to be excused and Trav and I stepped outside. He told me that he had just received a phone call from his new boss in the Bahamas, and was just advised that our Visas were “on-hold due to a contractual dispute” between Trav’s hotel group and the Bahamian Developer, BHD. Due to the dispute, all visas for this project were put on hold immediately until a resolution was reached, if it could be reached.

WAR…

They had no further information, as this new wrinkle had literally just been revealed to everyone involved that very day, but they did know without a doubt that Travis and I were not going to have our Visas cleared in time for our flights on Friday. Our first thought was that we would go anyway, with just our passports, but this was quickly shot down. Because we have one-way tickets and a private plane for Bob, we have been flagged by customs. Any arrival without proper paperwork would “result in our immediate detainment”. How could this be happening? We walked back into the pizza place, completely stunned, and took our place at the table. We didn’t take another bite.

FAMINE…

How could this be happening? The skies grew dark gray and rain the size of golf balls fell as the thunder cracked. One flash of lightening and I watched our entire life’s hopes and dreams go up in smoke. 

NATURAL DISASTERS…

My breakdown would rival any antichrist. I screamed and cried and shortly after, my head started spinning as I cursed everyone and everything. I cursed God for such blasphemous actions against my family. I cursed Travis and anyone in my path for leading me to this moment. And then I ran. I didn’t know where I was going. I had nowhere to go. We had nothing. I was running, in the dark, with no direction. It was the most lost I have ever been in my life.  

Travis came to find me in the dark and the world stopped burning for just a moment. We could only focus on what we needed to do right now. There was no way we could focus on what any of this meant for our big picture. We had to cancel Bob’s flight- heartbreaking. We had to cancel shipping our car the next day and cancel Bob’s Vet appointment for his travel certificate. I had a commercial flight and two hotel rooms to cancel last minute. With each phone call, our Armageddon became more real. 

After all the calls were made, we surrendered. Our NY home was gone, we had sold everything we owned. What we didn’t sell was well on its way to the Bahamas by boat and would arrive on May 30^th, just weeks away and we might not be there to receive it.  The COO of Trav’s hotel group called to personally apologize and gave us all of the information he had, which was little. He gave more information on the contractual dispute that had nothing to do with us, and advised he was hopeful that things would be resolved. However, no one had any idea how long this could take. He told us to sit tight and enjoy a paid vacation while things worked themselves out…

Now, I’ve always been a spiritual person but God created a control freak. I have managed every step of this International move to a tee. I meticulously sold each part of our lives down to our Tupperware and planned every detail down to the cup of dog food needed before more food arrives with our stuff, and now, my only option is to sit tight and wait for our future to be decided? HOLY shit

Day one was a gamut of emotions, followed by a tornado warning. No metaphor here, a real freaking tornado. We couldn’t sit still but the terrible weather limited our options. As soon as the sun cleared, we rushed to an outside eatery on the water, hoping to sail our worries off to sea. I came home with over 35 mosquito bites.

LOCUSTS…

Day two was oddly full of gratitude. Travis, Bob and I were safe and we were together. Bob had handled the drive incredibly well and was quickly acting like Daytona was his final destination. We realized it was simply not a coincidence that the sky fell in the short window that we were passing through Daytona where Trav’s parents have a condo. We not only have a free place to stay, it is an amazing place to stay! And the more we surrendered, it seemed that the more was revealed. All of a sudden, as Trav and I were walking Bob through the condo complex, we saw an SUV with a large, bright sticker in the middle of their huge back window. The sticker said “Salt Life”. We looked at each other without words. That same morning we were at breakfast on the pier on what turned into a beautiful sunny day when a gentleman walked in with a blue shirt and the stark white writing smacked us in the face “Salt Life”.  This was too weird, what were we supposed to be getting from these messages? Later that day, another SUV set in our path, complete with Golden Retriever in the backseat and another “Salt Life” bumper sticker screaming to us. 

SIGNS FROM HEAVEN…

So as we sit in this moment, not knowing where we’re going to live or work or when we’ll see anything other than our few suitcases again, I’m smiling. We’re at the beach right now, being kissed by the sun and spoken to by the waves. My Salt Life has always included cool breezes and sandy feet. This whole time the Bahamas has been our promised land, but could this be it?  Have we simply already found our Garden of Eden? As we wait for our ship to sail, it seems only time will tell…

Read Next:  #14- SS Mosquito, May 29