silver elite diamond

This morning, I had a newspaper waiting on my doorstep.
It's been the first one all month.

When you join a club, you expect to have special treatment when you are there, don't you?
Something to signify your investment in the group?
Some particular regard afforded you, to distinguish you as a member?

I have belonged to Diamond Resorts ever since it bought out Sunterra.
I had loved being part of Sunterra.
I had belonged to Sunterra ever since it bought out Epic Resorts.

I had joined that first club as my mother was dying. The club would allow me to have equity in the property, something I could bequeath to my heirs. The club would also make sure I took a good vacation, somewhere, every year. The club also used points, a much flexible option than fixed weeks.
In addition to those benefits of actually investing in Epic Resorts, I also received an espresso maker and a bicycle. The espresso maker became a Christmas gift for a friend. The bicycle went to my middle brother, to allow him to get to work.
Sharing the wealth, so to speak.

When Sunterra come on, I was skeptical at first. The points I was awarded were less than the number I'd had with Epic. That was a big concern.
But there were more places to go.
More places to explore.
Also, they seemed to genuinely listen to my concerns about the changes.
That was very good.
As I said, I loved being part of that group.

Then Diamond Resorts came on.
The people with this group ACT like they listen, but mostly they just hear you talking.
You know the difference, right?
They have the absolute worst communication amongst their sales staff, which is split into two types.
First, there are the Sales people, who get paid by commission. Their only function is to get you to sign on the dotted line. They will promise you anything, true or not, so you better do some homework beforehand. They also are carefully trained to respond to your questions and answers, to make sure they make you feel special. Sales people like Bill England, for example, who are so adept at lying to your face, even if you have tears streaming down.
Second, there are the Vacation Counselors. On the surface, they are the ones who give "Owner Updates", not sales presentations. What's the difference? Well, with the Update, they are to answer any questions you may have, as to how to better use your points to your advantage. They do listen much more so than the Sales people do, too, apparently.
After all, I had complained to Mindy Santana (at Crescent Resort in South Beach) about the same thing as I had to Christopher Leblanc (at Mystic Dunes in Kissimmee). I had told both of them about the genuine lack of special treatment given to me at every Diamond property. What was the point of being a Silver Elite owner with Diamond Resorts International if I received the same faceless regard as those vacationers having a "free" three-day-two-night sales pitch weekend?

I say "every" Diamond property treated me as just another pocketbook to be opened, but that is not true. One place, and that one place ONLY, treats me as a cherished member of this "Vacations For A Lifetime" club. Ever since the window washer incident of 2012, I have been given celebrity-quality treatment.
The manager at Daytona Beach Regency, John Betros, has been superb.
As I have told every Diamond Resorts person I have spoken to, they would do well to emulate Mr. Betros. He listens and responds to any and all concerns. He assures that any issues are dealt with promptly and resolved... and never recur. He even seems to have made a note that I prefer oceanside corner suites and tries to accommodate that desire. Sure, sometimes I have to make do with an ocean view instead.
(smile)
But I am ALWAYS warmly, and genuinely, welcomed and the front desk clerk checks in with him to let him know I have arrived.
I am ALWAYS given a wide berth by the concierge, receiving no harassing phone calls during my vacation.
I am ALWAYS awarded free internet service.
And I am ALWAYS greeted with a free newspaper on my doorstep on weekday mornings.

I had no newspaper at Fairway Forest in Sapphire, NC, during the second week of June. I was there for most of a week, but never a newspaper. True, that property is an "Affiliated" entity, so I suppose that is the reason for the lapse in that special perk. I was also the very first Diamond Resorts owner to ever stay with them, so perhaps they were not even aware of the perquisite due to me.
I had to unplug the phone to stop the calls from the concierge about an "Owner Update".
The internet service was free, so that was good.

I had no newspaper at Mystic Dunes in Kissimmee, FL, last week. That time, I was there for an entire week. At a Diamond Resorts property. True, I was there on my Silver Sampler membership, but you would think that an actual OWNER would still merit that slight perk, right?
Apparently they did not.
I still had to unplug the phone to stop the early morning calls.. Before my arrival, I had set up a time to meet with the sales staff, in compliance with my being there on the Silver Sampler. I had even confirmed the meeting when I checked in, even changing it to an earlier day, for their convenience.
That made no difference. I still received phone calls from the resort.
I had free internet service, even though the paperwork had said there was a fee. That must have pertained to non-owners.

I had no newspaper earlier this week, at Crescent Resort in South Beach, FL. I understand this is a newly acquired property. Perhaps they did not know of the perk for owners, either.
Here, I decided to sign up for the "Owner Update" upon my arrival. The concierge told me I would receive three $50 gift cards in return for 55 minutes of my time.
Sure, my vacation time was for sale for $150 per hour! (The meeting with Mindy actually went on for 90 minutes and only ended when I pointed out the time.)
The phone there never, ever, rang. I didn't even have to unplug it.
The internet service was free, but incredibly slow. (Honestly, it was almost like being on the old dial-up modems. Remember those days?)

Today, I am at Polynesian Isles, Phase 4, in Kissimmee, FL.
This is my first day here.
And I have a newspaper.
Even though I am only here for two days.
Maybe someone at Diamond Resorts is finally listening to me.
I do wish Stephen J. Cloobeck would.
Maybe he should pose as an Undercover Vacationer and see what happens.
THAT would be a show I would watch.

sparks across an ebony sky

Even Hansel and Gretel knew to leave a trail when they went wandering off on an adventure.
How else to find their way back home?
Yes, yes, I know their trail failed them.
The moral of THAT part of their story was: don't leave a trail that consists of substances others desire.

I prefer to leave a paper trail of my adventures.
These days, that means a series of charges on plastic cards, allowing me to retrace my steps and remember the fun along the way.
Sparks across an ebony sky, as the song says.
A comet through the electronic depths.

I admit, I prefer using plastic, at least partly, for safety reasons.
I want people to be able to know where I have been. In case anything ill should befall me, those in charge will be able to track down where I am, or at least be close.
I developed the habit of leaving a trail a long time ago, when I was a young, single woman traveling alone to foreign countries.
Actually, it goes back farther than that. My parents were always like reporters with their questions. Where I was going, who I would be with, what we would be doing, when I would return, how would I be traveling?
You know the drill, right? Almost everyone's parents are like that. Part of the desire to hurry-up-and-be-an-adult is to get away from those questions.
But, hopefully, the queries also instilled a sense of responsibility of self toward others. Someone should always know what you are doing, be it spouse, child, or best friend. Communication, y'all.

Another safety issue is the anonymity of cash. It all looks the same, regardless of ownership. My folding money and loose change looks EXACTLY LIKE EVERYONE ELSE'S. If it should fall from my pocket, who's to say whose it is? Unless I have written on the bills, or recorded the serial numbers, I have only my word against another's.
And in case of theft? The cash is gone, just gone.
On the other hand, if my credit card is stolen, I can cancel it and lose only the plastic it is made of.
I am a teacher at a state university in Georgia. That means I am poor.
My salary does not allow me to have sufficient funds to throw willy-nilly to the four winds.
The use of plastic assures that I will still be able to take care of my bills, to maintain my obligated expenses.

An added benefit of the use of plastic? No one can accuse you of skipping out on a bill. Your receipt is your proof of payment.
Always.

So, when the tour guide for the Key West Express gave me a difficult time about taking the balance of my payment in plastic, I was surprised.
A legitimate business that didn't accept credit cards?
In this age of The Square?
Really?
And for that business to give the customer a hard time about paying with a credit card... really?
After all, Lily of Key West Express is a woman, like myself, so she should be aware of safety issues.
Also, Lily is an OLDER woman, like myself, and that should have made her especially sensitive to safety concerns.
She was not.
In fact, she repeatedly tried to shame me, in front of the others on the bus, about my use of the credit card instead of cash. (She was totally unaware that the tactic was useless. If someone has no cash, then they are not going to be able to magically make any on a moving bus, are they? Then, again, if I had purchased the Money Making Machine trick at Old Town, that would have been sah-weet to whip out on her! What a joke that would have been! But I digress from my rant...)
How much money are we talking about? Not much. Less than thirty dollars.
Did I have that much cash, so I could have stopped her harangue?
Nope.
As I said, I don't use cash. Why should I? I'm not a dope dealer, a pimp, or an arms merchant, nor do I make my living out of sight of the IRS.
Perhaps the tour guide does.
There were easily forty people on the bus. At roughly fifty bucks a head, that's a very nice day's work.
And all, except me, paid her in cash.
She had told us that this was how she makes her living.
Life must be very good for her if, in this off-season for tourists, she is still able to pull in several thousand dollars a day.
In cash.
I don't make that much in a month.

Now, I have no receipt for my tour. No little piece or paper or special sticker to go into a scrapbook to mark the occasion.
No paper trail.
But I was able to use my credit card in Key West.
And I do have a magnet as a memento of that island.
And a receipt, too.
(smile)

barefoot on firestone in vero beach

I should have paid
more attention,
honestly.
As I began my journey yesterday
toward Vero Beach and
points farther south,
my odometer clicked over again.
Oh! Cool mileage - 166000!
That was my only thought.

I was traveling east on FL-192, a sweet stretch of nearly empty four-lane under a blue summer sky.
It was already approaching 100 on the Fahrenheit scale.
What did I care? I had the windows down and the breeze of my own making to keep me comfortable!

When I got to town, I went in search of a local spot for lunch,
with Nuvi's assistance.
Spirit Sage?
Um.. this is an herb store.
Mama Mia's Deli & Bakery?
Gone. Just an empty building.
The Barefoot Cafe?
Closed, but would be open tomorrow.

Seriously?
Well, it was a Sunday, and a Father's Day, too.
(Nice coincidence, isn't it,
that I was in
Daddy's birthplace
on this particular day?)
Still, I had already parked,
so I would walk a little.

Pocahontas Park was full of swings and slides and inviting benches.
Very nice, and shady, too!
Patriot, the horse, had been refurbished and was near the entrance of the playground. I wonder what his story is?
The Vero Beach Heritage Center looked interesting, but was closed until Tuesday.

I immediately was drawn to the turtle statue.
What gorgeous colors!
Then I came upon another turtle statue!
It was decorated with bits of mirror and broken shards of colorful tile.
What is that all about?
Are they part of a fundraiser, like the turtles down on Tybee?

Maybe so!
When I reached McKee Botanical Garden, a Rhinestone Turtle was awaiting me.
So very shiny!
It brought to mind Glen Campbell's tune, a nice diversion from thoughts of how very hot it was outside.
Because it was ridiculously hot.
I bought a bottle of water and splashed half of it on me, before draining it.
It was the first water I had since leaving the condo.
Stupid, right?
And the cafe on the garden grounds was closed for the season.
So, I went ahead and toured the grounds, found the bathroom was air-conditioned and rested in there, and refilled my water bottle.
Time to check in to Comfort Suites, maybe take a dip in the pool.
THE CAR WOULD NOT START.
It didn't even try to turn over. No sound at all.
It was as if the battery was not attached.
Seriously?
Now? When I was so hot I thought I might explode?
Seriously.
Two young men, both fathers, both locals, at the garden with their families, tried to jumpstart the car.
Nothing happened.
I thanked them for taking the time, then called GEICO Road Assistance.
To my rescue they came, successfully starting my car.
Off I went to the hotel, no stops along the way.
As soon as I reached the room, I shed clothes and got into a nearly cold shower for the next twenty minutes.
Finally, cool again!
I had been afraid I might have a heat stroke.
Seriously.

Now, what about food? It was already 6 PM and I had eaten nothing since breakfast at 8:30 AM.
Stupid, right?
Fortunately, Country Pride was a short walk away.
I had the Cajun Whitefish with Fried Shrimp dinner.
Ate every bite, too.
That was in addition to the chicken soup and the big salad that I helped myself to at the salad bar.

Then I strolled back to the hotel, watched the last half of "Men In Black 3", and crashed out.
The next morning, I was not surprised when the car did not start.
I had expected it.
After all, I've been waiting for the battery to go out on me.
I take that back.
I had expected the battery would die during the winter months. When it did not, I forgot about it.
Good thing it didn't fail while I was in the mountains with Morgan.
For it to fail on just me, when I had no time table to be kept, was ideal.
How very fortunate and blessed I am!

So, I called GEICO Road Assistance again. Again they rode to my rescue, this time towing me to Firestone.
I had called before even leaving the room today, to make sure they had the battery in stock.
Not only did they, but they also had a special on a synthetic oil change!
Most excellent!
Good fortune blessed me more:
the Firestone was only one block from the downtown area I had explored yesterday. I could entertain myself while they took care of my girl!
How incredibly fortunate and blessed I am!

My first stop was at
The Barefoot Cafe.
I even ate my lunch at an outside table, shoes off - very nice!
(smile!)
The Black Forest Melt, the special of the day, was immense, packed full of meat and vegetables!
Wow!!!

I put half of it into a "hot bag" -
right there at the table! -
and got more iced tea to
take with me.
Very important to stay hydrated on these ultra-hot days, right?
(smile)
I took time for more exploration of the area, out of the direct gaze of the midday sun.

I made good use of several of
these cut-through courtyards between streets.
As well as encouraging a breeze, they serve as small art galleries.
Look! Here are more turtles,
and a graceful dolphin arching
out of their midst!

And oh, look at this one!
What a sweet moment of time between a boy and his dog!
I sent that one along to my artist pal, Bill, for him and Tucker.
(smile)
I sat and watched the traffic for a while, from the comfort of a shady wall, then went to check on my car.
She was done!!!
Time to hit the road for South Beach, y'all!
And I have breakfast from Barefoot for tomorrow morning!
(smile)

pushing too hard every night and day

I am definitely a child of the 1970's.
This song, "Pushing Too Hard", is from 1966 and it immediately sprung to mind for this blog post.
Now, just let me say this before you get a wrong impression.
No one has been pushing me.
Okay?
No one has been trying to get me to do anything this month of travels.
I have no one to blame but myself.
Before coming to Kissimmee on Sunday, my left shoulder was aching, my left hand would tingle if I put too much pressure on my arm, and my right hip and thigh ached badly.
But you know what?
After three days and four nights of not driving anywhere, those aches are all gone.
Vanished.
POOF!
Just like magic.
I gotta face it: I'm not as young as I used to be.
Shite.
Driving from Savannah to Hiram to Dora, Alabama, and back to Hiram that first week of June may not have been the best idea. It had seemed like a logical course of action at the time. I was even taking some breaks along the way, but the time factor was constantly pushing me. I had obligations to other people, so I pressed on.
Driving from Hiram's rolling hills to the Blue Ridge mountains of North Carolina was another difficult drive. I was leading the BFF's daughter, so I was continually checking behind me to make sure she was still in view, taking care at traffic lights so she didn't get left at a red, taking care when shifting lanes so she would have room to squeeze in behind me. Also, the resort management company for Fairway Forest closed at 5 PM, so that time factor was pushing me. We only stopped once.
Then I had three solid days of driving on two-lane mountain roads. I wanted the girl-child to be able to enjoy the views while I operated my ton of death machine. Neither of us had been us there, specifically, though I had been to Franklin and Cherokee when I was in high school and about her age. Better that she be allowed to soak in the ambiance. But those twisting, curving roads pushed my nerves more than I wanted to admit. I was glad to be done with them.
I came home for just about two days before settling into the Saturn once more. Southward, this time, but southward from Bluffton, SC, not Savannah. I had chosen time with my stepmom over an early start. Good choice. Then I drove straight through, not making a single stop. Bad choice. Pushing too hard, trying to chase daylight.
I had noticed the aches before leaving Hiram for the mountains. They settled in for the long haul while up in North Carolina. They were constantly digging at me on the drive to Florida.
And they're gone.
Vanished.
POOF!

The moral of the story?
My body is not as young as my mind is.
More consideration of that fact must be given.
If it takes a little longer to get somewhere, guess what?
The fun begins with the journey,
not after the destination is reached.

With that firmly in mind, I have planned a nice long stop at McKee Botanical Gardens on my southward drive tomorrow.
That should be a nice journey, and a good walk, too.
And if you see me, be sure to tell me to look for the trees in the forest.
You know: s l o w d o w n.
(smile)

no wild hogs for me, thanks

Yesterday afternoon, I was taking a break from the insane summer heat, watching movies on the small screen. I don't even recall what the preceding movie was, but I had enjoyed it.
Then, "Wild Hogs" came on.
I know what you're thinking. "What a great buddy movie! John Travolta! William H. Macy! Tim Allen! Martin Lawrence! Ray Liotta! Marisa Tomei! Motorcycle adventure!"
True, all true.
When it came to the silver screen in late February of 2007, I had been eagerly anticipating it.
So, when Jeff had to go into the hospital for another two stents in his heart, I needed some distraction. My friend Deborah had been right there to help me through it, as had been Jeff's coworker, Debbie. I had known her for a couple of years, ever since she became Jeff's colleague. He and I had even been to a Christmas party at the house of her and her husband, just two months earlier.
To thank the two women for their hugs and help, I had invited both of them for a "girls' afternoon out". They had enthusiastically agreed and off we went!
The theatre was packed, so we weren't able to sit in the same row. We were, however, able to sit vertically aligned, in three rows, such that we could still share popcorn and camaraderie. And laughs! What a great time we all had!
How vivid that memory still is, 7 1/2 years later.
I had no idea that Debbie had been screwing my husband for two months by that time.
That knowledge did not come for another four months.
And now, every time that particular movie comes on, or I hear about it, that memory of the three of us women in the cinema springs to mind.
And the betrayal by her and my husband.
Maybe, one day, I'll be able to enjoy the movie without the memory.
Here's hoping.
Perhaps if I were to watch it in someone's arms, making a new memory, that would do the trick.
Maybe, one day.

165000 for a NC adventure

Well, would
you look
at that?
Here I am,
with my BFF's
darling,
dancing daughter
following along
behind me,
and my odometer
clicks into
this reading.
165000

Where am I?
Or, rather,
where are we?
Somewhere
between the
soon-to-be-sold
house in
Hiram, GA,
and the two-bedroom
condo at
Fairway Forest,
Sapphire, NC.


Truth to tell, the BFF was the one who was to accompany me on this trip.
I had booked the stay in the mountains specifically for her benefit.
She is the mountain lover.
I am the beach girl.
However, work precludes her ability to come with me. As her ex has been so remiss in his duties as a father (has not paid child support, has not paid the mortgage, to provide shelter and sustenance for their daughter), my BFF has had to take on extra work to try to at least keep food on the table and the lights and AC working.
That meant I was going to be traveling alone, to the mountains.
Drats.
Last night, at the Mexican restaurant, she had asked if I would take Morgan instead. Morgan was between graduation from high school and being a freshman at Georgia State University.
I knew what granting that request meant.
The expenses would be on me.
Sigh.
I responded that I had already told the girl-child that she could come up there. Notice the semantics I used. Those words meant she would have a place to stay, but be responsible for her meals.
Last night, I said she could come with me.
Different meaning entirely.
The only stipulation I made was that Morgan would have to drive herself to North Carolina.
I would not be going back to Hiram, as that would add four hours, easily, to my trip home. (As it was, I had scheduled this northern adventure to end roughly 48 hours before my southern adventure would begin. Whatever was I thinking???)
The stipulation was agreed to by all.

And there we were today, on the road between Hiram and Sapphire.

You know, I try to live as Sam Johnson said: don't give up, don't look back, and always give forward. It's the best feeling in the world.
He was absolutely correct.
Life is short.
We don't always get what we want, but that doesn't mean we can't enjoy what we have.
I'm looking forward to getting to know Morgan better.
And I'm going to enjoy the mountains, too.
I've never been to Sapphire, but I do like the name.
(smile)
I seriously doubt I will ever come up here again.
As I said, I'm a beach girl.
So, I will make it a point to have a good time!
Right attitude, right place, right time.
(smile)

goodbye to Hiram

Ever since the divorce was finally completed on March 31, I knew things were going to change for my BFF.
The girl-child was soon to graduate high school and head to college.
The house's steep mortgage would soon be off her back onto her ex.
Her ex would pay off the credit card debt and remove that burden.

Well, that last one hasn't happened yet.
The divorce lawyer was totally incompetent and didn't add that bit to the final draft of the paperwork. It had been in the previous drafts... just not that final one.
Ernest Herbert Delong, the ex, is still sticking it to his two mistresses, literally, and to my BFF, figuratively. (He has been impotent with her for several years.)
He has continued to shirk his responsibilities. He has not paid the mortgage. He has not paid the insurance on his motorcycle. He has not even paid child support for his daughter. That's a violation of court order and he can find himself in jail for that lapse of judgement on his part.
I hope he will.
Chances are he will not. Chances are that he is in Dubai, shacked up again with the South African adultress. He could go to jail over there for that lapse in judgement, as could she. The folks in Abu Dhabi don't put up with adultery at all.
I hope he will be punished, and that she will be, too.
But who knows how to make that happen?

Tonight, I will spend what will probably be my last night in the house in Hiram. It's for sale and has already been shown multiple times. In fact, an offer has recently been made.
I hope it will sell soon.
But I will miss the loving home Sam decorated for herself and her kids.
They have repainted the rooms downstairs and several of the upstairs rooms, removing the messages on the walls.
"If walls could speak..."
These did.

at the golden corral with Ronnie

There he is, with his goofy "I love you" face.
Every time I look at this photograph, I sob.
I do so wish he would opt to be sober.
I don't know how many more times together we will have.
I am about to leave for my GA-AL-NC adventures and will be gone for almost two weeks. Then, after a brief weekend return, I'll be off to my Kissimmee-S.Beach adventures and will be gone for two weeks. That means it will be nearly a month before I will see my middle brother again.
If he has not killed himself with alcohol by then.
With the hot summer weather and him living in a tent, the odds are not in my favor.
In my heart and mind, I am sorely afraid that this was the last time I will ever share his company.
I had invited him to join me today for my free birthday meal at Golden Corral. To my surprise, he had enthusiastically agreed! I picked him up and off we went.
As we're standing at the register, I see the penny. The bright copper gleam on the dark mat, there on the clerk's left, at her feet.
We were in the right place, at the right time.
I knew to capture the moment, to crystallize it in my memory.
This was a special day.
The clerk rang up my free lunch and free drink in return for the birthday coupon. I prepared to pay for Ronnie's meal.
With his gray beard and scraggy appearance, the clerk gave him the senior discount.
He's four years younger than me.
He's only 52, and, hopefully, will see his 53rd birthday next month.
Hopefully, but maybe not.
At one point when we dined, I talked to him about alcohol abuse treatment centers, of course. I've been singing that song to him for at least the last ten years.
No, he was still not interested.
As he put it, "I don't see that happening, sis."
Maybe, possibly, he would consider a totally secular approach?
Maybe, possibly, he agreed, saying what I wanted him to say.
Meanwhile, he filled up on two plates of food, including some of his favorites: deviled eggs and salad and fried shrimp.
And sweet tea.
The man drank six glasses of sweet tea! After his third glass arrived and he drained it, the waiter had filled the three glasses on the table. It was an incredible amount of tea!
As I told him I would, I've signed him up for their "Gold as Gold" Club, so we can come again for his birthday.
Hopefully.
I do so enjoy spending time with him when he's sober.
I do so enjoy having my brother back, the one I grew up with and love joking around with.
I do hope he will still be alive to enjoy his birthday.
But my tears tell me he may not.