Hot on the heels of a long day of theme park trekking, a slower pace for today is just what the doctor would have ordered. Checking my iPhone’s pedometer, I see that my step count for yesterday hit a record 15,377. When I’m not on holiday, I lead a more sedentary lifestyle, so this beats my typical average by an order of magnitude—not that I’m especially proud of that fact. Yesterday’s step count was all but identical to the previous record of 15,385 from last Sunday, which just happened to also be a day at EPCOT. The default daily step goal in my iPhone’s pedometer is set to 10,000. I’ve now smashed that no less than seven times since we’ve been here. Given we’re on holiday, I’m not entirely sure whether that’s a good thing or not.
Somewhat predictably, Joey was up very early, waiting for me to get up so I could drive us over to the Target near Tampa for his Transformer toy. Dave joined us on the car journey, which was expected to be around seventy-five minutes each way.
The drive out was largely uneventful, but for the chit-chat in the car. Dave tends not to let silences go unfilled, while I tend to drive in silence. I enjoyed listening to Dave recount memories, occasionally struggling to recall specific details. In many cases, a single word from me here and there was enough to get him over the mental roadblock so his story could continue. He and I worked at the same company in Jacksonville for several years, and I’d heard some of his stories before. He asked several times whether I minded him recounting his stories. I told him to please continue each time he looked for that validation—sometimes repeatedly. Oftentimes, his story was a little disjointed. It felt to me like this was therapeutic for him, as if he were relaying tracks from old train lines through his memory. I was happy to sit and listen, providing him the structure and opportunity to freshen his memory. The Dave I have known for so many years is still in there, even if he struggles occasionally to come through. He took solace in the fact that he could still recall many of his long-term memories, occasionally commenting on that ability. That clearly brought him some joy, which was gratifying to see.
We eventually pulled into what looked like a brand-new Target store. Everything inside was immaculate, as if it had just opened. Dave went to use the bathroom, so I said we’d meet back here at the front entrance in a few minutes. Joey and I went over to the guest services desk. Sure enough, Joey’s Transformer toy box was brought out from around the back, resulting in a wave of relief washing over Joey. My son has a very literal—sometimes binary— way of looking at the world. Nuances and probabilities aren’t his thing. Something is either black or it’s white. He has something, or he doesn’t. The promise of something in the future can be a difficult concept for him to process. For example, Joey has always struggled with the notion of spending less today so he can spend more tomorrow. He understands having something in his hand. His relief at seeing—and finally holding—his Transformer toy was palpable. He asked whether, since we were now here, he could go over to the toy aisles to see what they had. I made the point that he didn’t have any future spending money to borrow from, which he acknowledged…sort of. He was off into a sprint towards the toy section before I could finish my sentence, and even that was nothing more than, “Ok, then.”
In the event, this Target did in fact have much more of a Transformers selection than we’d thus far been accustomed to at the shops we’ve so far visited. There were several that were relatively new and not seen elsewhere. This presented another immediate dilemma for me. I had no intention of driving this far out again, but that created an immediacy issue. In Joey’s world of black and white, the prospect of not getting his hands on something he’s now seen puts him into an anxiety-inducing fight or flight mode. Rather than deal with the fallout of that for the next few days, I told him to grab one of the smaller boxes as a special treat from me. “Are you sure?” he said, looking at me with puppy eyes and a grateful expression that melts my heart every time. “Go on, before I change my mind.” That was all the encouragement he needed, and we left the shop toting two boxed Transformer toys instead of the one we came for.
Before making our way to the car, I noticed we had lost Dave. At least, he wasn’t at the front of the store as we had earlier agreed. Just as that revelation was dropping, the phone rang. It was Sandy. Dave had called Jennifer to say he had lost us, so Sandy called me to let me know. I spotted Dave wander out into view from one of the sections as I was glancing around for him. He looked perfectly calm, as though he hadn’t a care in the world. He was looking around but didn’t seem to be in a panic. That’s typical of Dave. He doesn’t look perturbed on the outside, but deep down, he could have been in a crisis. I was able to bring him back into the world just by walking towards him to capture his attention. No further fuss was needed. He made eye contact, and we were off again together towards the car. Disaster now averted, we reunited and made our way to the car.
Next door to this Target was a Waffle House, wouldn’t you know, so we stopped over there for some breakfast. My order was the same as it always is, as was Joey’s. Dave struggled to land on anything specific, but eventually said, “I’ll have whatever you’re having.” Whether that’s what he really wanted or whether that was the easiest way to break the decision deadlock, I’m unsure. He later recounted, with much humour, as is his trademark, that he thought the food was awful, which gave us all a good laugh.
I filled up the car with petrol from a nearby petrol station, and we enjoyed another hour or so of strolling down memory lane, passing the time as I drove us back to home base in Davenport.
Sandy and Jennifer were out (shopping, of course!) when we returned, although Jae was still cocooned in her bedroom. Joey disappeared into his bubble, leaving Dave and me to fend for ourselves. After some back-and-forth, we somehow managed to get the kitchen coffee machine working. Between me not being familiar with how making coffee with pods works (I don’t drink coffee, and never have done), and Dave’s dementia, we looked like a couple of neanderthals being presented with a computer for the first time, poking and prodding at the various buttons on the machine, wondering which made it go. You’d think that a couple of adult males would, between them, be able to figure it out easily. The machine produced a cup of brown liquid in the end. As a bonus, it was even hot.
With nothing else pressing left to do, we sat by the pool, where Dave continued recounting stories from the past. I did my best to listen as intently and with genuine interest, but the warm air and wildlife sounds coming around all around were sufficiently intoxicating to send me into a much-needed nap. I was half-reclined in one of the low-back pool chairs. It was pretty uncomfortable—like trying to sleep on a plane. After a few minutes of dozing, I had to find a more completely horizontal position to alleviate the aching in my lower back, so I got up, walked over to our bedroom, and fell asleep there. Dave had moved to the front room with his coffee and was chilling, so I thought it would be fine to let him sit and rest for a while, too. The girls had all returned by the time I awoke about an hour later. While I was snoozing, Dave had apparently called Jennifer again, looking for help getting the coffee machine working, since I was nowhere to be found. They called Jae, who came down to help out, bless her.
For the remainder of the afternoon, we all chilled out, enjoying each other’s company, ribbing each other at every opportunity. A running gag between us is this notion that Chris is never wrong. Other than the fact I’m always right, I can’t for the life of me understand why the others all insist this is a thing. Can I help it if it’s true? The laughter constantly spawned by this in-joke made the past twenty-three years feel like they never happened—just like yesterday. We agreed we’d head up to St. Augustine next week to spend a day or two with Dave and Jennifer over Halloween. This would also allow us to fulfil one of Jae’s ambitions of experiencing a traditional US Halloween, complete with kids trick-or-treating around the neighbourhood. By mid-afternoon, Dave and Jennifer had to make a move. We’ve had a fantastic couple of days with them and are now eagerly awaiting a reprisal of the same next week.
With it now looking like a gap was forming in the rest of our day, I decided to buy myself tickets to the Cirque du Soleil show at Disney Springs. None of the others were keen to join me, so it was just one seat. Tickets ranged from $68 to over $200. After studying the auditorium map, I ultimately landed on a nice seat high up for $121.
I would have been more than happy to grab an Uber there and back (around $25-$30 for the one-way trip, depending on how busy it was tonight). Sandy suggested she could drop me off, taking Joey along for the ride so he could check out the Once Upon a Toy shop, which he felt might stock Transformers.
Sandy parked at the Lime garage just in time for me to make it to the purpose-built Cirque du Soleil show building with a few minutes to spare for my 17:30 early evening showtime. I was huffing and puffing with a really sore back by the time I made my way to my seat. Sandy and Joey went ahead into Disney Springs, although Joey was ultimately disappointed that the Once Upon a Toy shop didn’t stock Transformers at all.
The Cirque du Soleil show is called Drawn to Life. I’ve seen Cirque du Soleil a few times over the years, including several times in Las Vegas. This was, as anticipated, a brilliant show by any yardstick—but with a more Disney storytelling blend than, say, Mystère, O, or even La Nouba. It was immediately clear that this was a joint venture between Disney and Cirque du Soleil, and not solely a Cirque du Soleil performance. Disney’s storytelling was clear from the get-go. The story’s premise is that a young woman’s last message from her deceased father was a request that she complete the final drawing in a three-second animation, which he had been working on. The show’s story was about how life was drawn into existence—hence the title, Drawn to Life. The young woman battled with inspiration and the rigours of artistic endeavour, with life-sized depictions of the elements around her factoring into the artistry. These included things like the pages she was writing on, her writing hand, scrunched-up pieces of failed attempts, the wastepaper basket, the writing desk, etc.
For the early showing this evening, I estimated the 1580-seat auditorium at around 20% capacity, so there were plenty of empty seats everywhere. I didn’t feel that was warranted, given the show’s exquisite quality. Like all Cirque du Soleil shows, they made full use of every part of the auditorium space. Things emerged from the floor, the walls, and the ceiling; projections onto larger-than-life props throughout the auditorium gave a real sense of presence everywhere you looked. Much of it was pretty abstract, often defying description—one of the Cirque du Soleil hallmarks. Uncharacteristically for me, I didn’t spend much time taking photos. I was there to relax and enjoy the show in the moment, so that’s what I chose to do for the whole ninety-minute show.
Jennifer messaged me that they had arrived back home safe and sound just as I was exiting the theatre. After briefly chatting with Sandy, I decided to wander around Disney Springs to see if I could find some lovely buffalo wings for dinner. Many restaurants were packed to the rafters; indeed, Disney Springs itself was so crowded, it felt like standing room only at times. I eventually found a quiet space on the upper-level balcony of Planet Hollywood—a fitting setting for a relaxing meal. Alas, the atmosphere and setting turned out to be better than the wings. They looked delicious, but tasted like I was chewing on reheated chicken—dense, lukewarm at best, and dry.
I spent some time wandering aimlessly through some of the densely crowded shops, half attempting to find a white doctor’s lab coat, which Jae had asked me to watch out for as a Halloween costume for her girlfriend back home. There was little chance of finding anything that specific, and I wasn’t really enjoying myself anymore (I rarely enjoy shopping).
I had made it about halfway around the main crescent-shaped complex when I asked someone for directions to the ride-share pickup location. It was time to bail. A $27 Uber ride later, and I was home again, writing up my daily blog notes ready for the next day.
Today I helped Dave find his words in the car, eased Joey’s anxiety with a Transformer, and took myself to Cirque du Soleil alone. Three small acts of care—two for others, one for myself. The show was about drawing life into existence, but what struck me was the father’s unfinished work, stalled on the page. Dave’s memories are like that now—still there but harder to access, requiring someone to help coax them forward. Joey’s anxieties work in reverse: immediate, binary, impossible to postpone. Between helping them both, I needed those ninety minutes in a dark theatre where nobody required anything from me. Caregiving isn’t sustainable without breaks. Tonight was mine.