In probably 1985, my Mom, my Dad and I went on spring break to Kino Bay, Mexico.  Saturday, I got a Mexican orange soda at the international market, and drinking it brought back memories of that trip.  Some days, if you asked me if I had ever been to Kino Bay, I might have forgotten, because I was a teenager, and the trip was deliciously boring.

And strangely enough, with the complexity of our lives today, that is what I remembered.  I remember a nearly vacant beach, and nothing about the hotel room.  I remember getting up in the mornings, getting an orange soda and lying on sand.  I remember one night, we went to the end of the road, and were escorted in to a restaurant by men with machine guns, which, admittedly was strange.  We went on to order, and someone, likely Dad, ordered lobster, and when it came it was a lobster as big as an alligator and it was just sawed in half down the middle and it must have taken an hour to eat.

I must have read something that week.  I must have interacted with my parents and probably other people, but I remember none of it.  There was no TV.  No music.  No siblings.   I remember the leisure of having nothing to do for days, and the joy of an orange soda on a hot day.  It seems to me, even today, like a perfect vacation.