I hadn’t considered the rain.
If I had been thinking, I might have figured out that the email promotion for the plush beach resort on Vieques was dirt-cheap because it was for the earliest days of the off – that is, wet — season. What did I know? We are a two-artist family and for us a Caribbean respite consists of take-out Jamaican beef patties from a bodega in nearby Waterbury, Connecticut. My children, a girl and a boy, attend the kinds of schools where many if not most of their friends bolt for Telluride or Costa Rica or at least Orlando over spring break. Some years, when we have room on our credit cards, we haul off to Tucson to visit family and fill up on guacamole and those saguaro-studded vistas that wipe the winter from the brain. We are used to any sort of getaway being a wing-it affair and have grown – in some undeniably defensive way – to like it that way. Even my kids claim to genuinely love down time at home, our freezer stocked with Heath Bar Crunch and their mother willing to sling up eggs to order pretty much any time of day.