Tag Archives: Miami

On a Wing and a Prayer

Challenges, unexpected events, frustrations escalating … ever have them? It’s called life. I’ve titled this vacation “On a wing and a prayer.” And plenty of prayers had gone forth.

Reservations were made three months early. But after my husband sustained a 20-foot fall, which resulted in 13 fractured ribs, punctured lungs and a long hospital stay weeks prior to our scheduled flight, we weren’t certain we would even make this trip. And wouldn’t you know it, the day before we were to head out; I had a fender-bender right after leaving the office. I had just crossed over to the opposite lane, when BAM, there she was! After talking to the police and exchanging pertinent information, I proceeded home with the wind knocked out of my sails, not to mention, I threw out my back and barely slept that night.

My encouraging husband–although still in a lot of pain and discomfort from his fall–was determined to make the flight out to join my relatives in sunny Florida for the Thanksgiving holidays. 15416112_10211984949486915_1434960611_n

Southwest Airlines treated us like royalty. They were very accommodating in providing the necessary assistance for the entire trip. Funny thing though, one of the stewards for our flight out was running late. All passengers standing in line did not board the aircraft until he arrived. My husband and I had another plane to catch and we worried we would miss that flight. Finally, in the distance, we noticed someone running toward us. It was none other than our tardy steward. Not long after he ran inside the plane, did the rest of us begin boarding. An attendant helped Mark from his wheelchair on board the plane to our seats.

Once we landed in New Orleans, an airport assistant waited at the doorway with my husband’s chariot. He hurriedly wheeled him down the corridor with me in tow to our next flight. All passengers on that aircraft were already seated and ready for take-off. Two front row seats were reserved just for us. Talk about feeling like instant celebrities!

We sat by Patricia, a missionary from Thailand. 348sOnce we landed, it was she who became our guardian angel. While I went to retrieve our luggage, she stayed behind and waited patiently with Mark. When I returned, she volunteered to accompany me in fetching our rental car, even praying a blessing over the remainder of our vacation. She walked with me back to where Mark was waiting, and then helped me load everything in to the car, and politely waved us goodbye. I truly felt she was an angel sent by God.

At last, in the wee hours of the morning, our tired and aching bodies arrived at the hotel room. It was good to finally sleep in.

After breakfast, we drove straight to my daddy’s house. 15424520_10211984949766922_105603279_nIn no time; we were flooded with hugs, tears and joy with full bellies of my stepmother’s delicious Fricase de Pollo. Due to all the medication my husband was on, he hadn’t had much of an appetite, but I was certain it would return with all the anticipated Puerto Rican cuisine.

15424494_10211984950326936_2039532884_nThe next day after a warm breakfast, we drove into Ft. Lauderdale to visit Big Brother, his wife, and their three strapping sons. While the 15356116_10211984949966927_1995059090_nbig boys played a game of chess, we gals went grocery shopping. By the time we returned, Mark was ready to call it a day. The pain from his ribs was causing him misery.

Thanksgiving Day: We never had a late Thanksgiving dinner before, but I guess when you have a lot of Puerto Ricans around to cook for, this is the norm. Soon we were surrounded with love and laughter and picture-taking. 15424682_10211984951606968_1021959210_nThe anticipated meal did not disappoint. 15355900_10211984952206983_1020059264_nAlthough quite tasty, the star entree wasn’t the pavo, but it was the pernil,
which is the traditional Puerto Rican pork shoulder. Not to be outdone, there were a couple of large pans of my stepmother’s delicious arroz con gandules. This was a Thanksgiving feast at its best! I believe we ate until we couldn’t eat another bite; hardly any room for dessert.

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To be continued …

© M.A. Pérez, 2016, All Rights Reserved

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“God, I’m drowning!”

One hot, sticky summer afternoon we thrill-seekers strolled along Haulover Pier. The boys horsed around and dared one another to hop into the ocean, some ten, fifteen feet below. Not only was I skittish about heights, I never learned to swim.No Swimming

The boys jumped in one by one, hooting and hollering, and the girls followed. The one rule: Whoever dawdled – shoved over the side. For the benefit of all who considered me fair game, I gave all nearby a fair warning at the top of my lungs, “I Can’t Swim! Don’t Even Think About It!”

The words were no sooner out of my mouth than when a prankster shoved me over the edge. I careened into thin air and plummeted into the waters below. The deep, turquoise ocean slammed onto my face and chest, the air sucked right out of me. A solitary thought came to mind as I sank into the murky depths:

Not this, again! 

I was seven years old when my new friend, Gina, and her mom invited me to a public pool. Gina’s mom wore headbands and tie-dyed psychedelic tee shirts. Mama had labeled her a “free-spirited hippie.” I thought she knew how to have fun.

Not used to being in the water, I lay contentedly on my stomach along the edge of the pool, watching the others dive and swim.

Behind me, the hushed voice of Gina’s mom urged her to do something. How I envied Gina. She had a mother to encourage her, who enjoyed the pool instead of going out all night and sleeping during the day.

“Go on.” I heard Gina’s mom say, closer now.

Suddenly, thud! Someone shoved me over the edge.

Splash! The cold water slapped me.

The water smacked my face and swallowed me. My mouth, my eyes popped open. I saw underwater for the first time. My nose burned from the chlorine. I pushed and pulled to get air, get air!

I surfaced and tried to gasp out the word help, but water filled my mouth.

A man jumped in and pushed me toward the shallow end. I barely had the strength to hold onto the rail and reach the steps. Weak and trembling from the cold, I grabbed my towel and wrapped it around me.

Gina’s face turned pale, her eyes gawked wide with terror. I plopped down on a chair, too stunned to move, too ashamed to speak. Then I heard Gina’s mom say, “I can’t believe she couldn’t swim.”

Six years later, I still couldn’t.

As I floundered toward the surface, my eyes were burning, my throat raw. When my mouth opened, I gulped more seawater.

Choking!

I couldn’t catch my breath.

God, I’m drowning! Help me!

My lungs screamed for air. My muscles burned. I felt like lead.

So weak . . .

The current swept me farther from shore.

Too far . . .

Suddenly, a pair of hands reached for me. I saw arms. I clawed at them desperately—wildly climbing over the shoulders and heads of anyone brave enough to come near. I nearly drowned my rescuers. After an eternity, someone pulled me until I reached shallow water.

With what strength left, I paddled to shore and collapsed on the beach. The others followed and dropped next to me. Their expressions showed concern.

“That . . . that was close,” Earl croaked, coughing up mucus.

“Yeah,” his brother, John, chimed in. “We thought you were a goner for sure.”

“Man. You nearly took us down with you!” Sandra choked.

“I told you!” I grumbled. “I told you all I couldn’t swim.”

“Man, we didn’t believe you really couldn’t.”

I hated being afraid, feeling out of control.

Determined to overcome my fear of drowning, several months later, I learned to float and dive off the diving board. Although never a strong swimmer, I enjoyed swimming races underwater.

I conquered that fear.

(After having a couple of near drowning incidents – one as a youngster and one in my teens – I’m thankful for God looking out for me and giving me a way of escape. Later in life, I took swimming lessons with my own kiddos.)

An excerpt from Running in Heels – A Memoir of Grit and Grace

© M.A. Perez, 2013, All Rights Reserved

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