a true spring break, and a recipe: ruby red grapefruit pound cake

It took a good 36 hours, but eventually, the stress of the past weeks (months) abated and I felt the anxiety lift from my shoulders. I made a conscious effort to disconnect from life back home, to simply be present in the moment, with my husband and my children. And it took effort, initially, as thoughts of my father and work deadlines and obligations clouded my mind like an oppressive, grey fog.

Eventually, it became easier.

We woke early in the mornings, eating our breakfast on the patio of our east-facing one-bedroom villa. Each morning, we watched the sun slowly emerge from the horizon and rise over the mangroves and over the grey-blue water of Pine Island Sound. We lounged about, reading the New York Times or watching the mangroves for signs of life, until mid-morning, when we donned swimsuits and slathered on sunscreen.

The days were spent at the pool or at the beach or wandering the marina, watching the manatees and dolphins and ogling the yachts. Though the temperatures dropped into the chilly lower-60s, the kids took advantage of the heated pool and the hot tub, while Sam and I claimed lounge chairs and sprawled in the sun’s warmth. I read and I occasionally thought about napping, but I never did. I didn’t want to miss anything.

We wandered the beaches and the rocky inlets, searching for the seashells to take home. Sam hunted for the elusive unbroken (and unlived in) conch shells. Oliver picked up smooth pieces of chalky sand dollars and any shells that resembled a pattern – this one that looked like a giraffe, that one that looked like a leopard’s hide. Madeline searched for shiny shells, or big shells, or cute little curvy shells. I preferred the pink-hued scallops, so perfectly symmetrical and delicate. It was a treasure hunt, and we became hooked.

We had peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and Pringles by the pool. We ate pepperoni pizza and licked scoops of mint chocolate chip or cookie dough ice cream at the local pizza slash ice cream parlor. The grown ups drank fruity cocktails by the pool, garnished with pineapple triangles and orange wedges and bright red maraschino cherries. We shared a slice of coconut cake from the Bubble Room as a mid-morning snack.

I didn’t call my mom to check on my father one single time. (I felt guilty for this, later.)

For those several days at Captiva, I allowed myself to give in to the crashing of the waves on the beach, the rustling of the ocean breezes through the palms and mangroves, the screeches of the nesting ospreys defending their young, the laughter and squeals of the children in the pool. I became absorbed in the blue water of the Gulf of Mexico and in the pinks and whites and yellows of the seashells beneath my feet. For those days at Captiva, I was fully engrossed in my family.

It was perfect.

Leaving was hard, and we dragged out our last day as long as possible. This spring break had been a real one for me, a true intermission from our lives back home.

On the almost-5-hour drive home from Captiva, we stopped at a citrus stand off the interstate. My husband adores grapefruit, and the yellow mesh bags of Ruby Reds called to him from their bin. He listened.

Pound cake was on my mind that final weekend, and I knew I wanted to incorporate those beautiful grapefruits. Pound cake is always comforting, easy, and no frills. The simplicity of the dessert matched the tone of my week at the beach — flip-flops, t-shirt, wet hair, no make-up. Easy and relaxing. And the touch of Ruby Red grapefruit in the pound cake and in the glaze was the pineapple slice in the fruity cocktail.