We’ve been home a month but my husband and I are still talking about our trip to Florida where we vacationed at a property along the Gulf of Mexico. Inside and out, it looked just like a postcard. Everywhere we went, hotel employees smiled and asked if we needed anything. We felt like the rich and famous. I even had my hair washed in the hotel beauty salon. Just because.
     Each morning, a complimentary copy of USA Today waited outside our door. We read it as we ate fresh fruit and omelets from room service. Each evening, we rode the elevator to dine at Kurrents. The person at the front desk promised they would have the seafood I had hankered for since the plane landed.
     As we stepped into the dining room the first night, I was happy to see there was a tall counter that ringed the cooking area. It had the high stools I seek out now that I am unable to exit a regular chair gracefully. Alas, these chairs were so tall, I would need a catapult. We would have to find another place to eat.
     The hostess and manager scratched their heads. "I know," shouted the manager as he ran outside towards the poolside bar. In his hurry to come to my aid, he ignored the rain pouring from the sky. Five minutes later, his suit soaked, he arrived with a bar stool. At the same time, the hostess dragged a stool from the other side of the room. I felt like Cinderella.
     Until our departure for home, that stool waited for me at the end of the granite counter. One night a woman sat a few seats away. The server said she would be selling time-shares owned by the hotel’s vacation property company. We introduced ourselves and asked for her business card. We were intrigued and had some questions.
     The time shares would be in a brand new building (Perhaps we’d seen the wrecking ball demolishing an old hotel a few doors away, she said. We had.) The head chef had already purchased a week in paradise, we learned. Judging by the fabulous food we’d been eating, we knew he had excellent taste and we should follow his lead.
     But wait! I told my husband as we looked through the brochure upon returning home. What part of our vacation had we talked about most? The warm welcome we received each night from the restaurant’s hostess and manager. The smiles of recognition from the cooking staff as we took our places alongside the food prep area. The goat cheese they bought especially for me.
     Hadn’t we loved sipping a glass of Robert Mondavi while our jicama slaw and rice cakes were prepared? For seven nights our toughest decision had been Hawaiian sea bass or salmon.
     While they cooked, we talked to Robert about Canada where he had played hockey and to Doc about the college philosophy class he teaches. To the others about where they had trained. Often, the manager, Eyal, stopped to say hello. Wasn’t all of this part of the enchantment?
     Doc had even read some of my columns and showed me the handkerchief in his pocket as proof. If he reads my column, he’s family, I told my husband. How can we turn our backs on family and vacation elsewhere?
     "You’re right," my hubby said.
     So we’re saving our nickels and dimes to return to the hotel next winter. When we do, I’ll try to remember every detail to share with you. Better yet, I’ll send a post card.