One of my Mastermind group goals over the next two weeks is to travelogue Deborah's and my Caribbean escapades daily, with short journal entries as time permits. One such opportunity is transpiring now, as we sit poolside at the Airport Ramada in in Tampa FL awaiting the shuttle but to the port where we'll board a floating city with a few thousand other people for a week upon the high seas.

I was remembering this morning, while taking a poop (clean blow, just fyi), years ago seeing old family pictures of my maternal gramma and grampa jet setting around the world in the 50s and 60s, when America was in its post WW2 economic heyday and middle class people could do that sort of thing on the cheap. They spent a lot of time in the South Pacific, probably because my mom studied abroad in New Zealand in the 50s and married my Australian dad in the 60s before giving birth to me in Melbourne in 1968.

Now here I am with the love of my life, Deborah, doing the same thing, also on the cheap (albeit by exercising a surplus of credit card points), and gathering memories by way of smart phone.

I don't plan to have any kids, much less grandkids, who will see and reflect on these special memories, captured digitally and stored permanently in the realm of social media. But I have a niece and nephew who will appreciate them and perhaps someday they will have kids, if there's still a habitable planet by then. Deborah's son Devon, a college student now building a foundation for his own future, may appreciate them. And his potential kids might look upon my travel snapshots someday and wonder about their gramma's middle years galavanting around the world with that strange, dashing, tall dark stranger...

Well, time to board the shuttle soon. Signing off for now.

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