So we didn’t go to Florida. And the first thing I said when we canceled our flight, our car rental, our Steamship reservation was, OMG, now I have to write another piece.

I probably got more than 100 emails from you all, with so much celebration and love; messages like: So happy you’re going to Naples. You deserve it. So happy you’re going somewhere warm. Thrilled for you that you are better, and Joel gave in.

From the minute I made the JetBlue reservations, I felt guilty. I knew in my heart of hearts that Joel acquiescing to flying, knowing what he knows (let’s reiterate, for those who forgot or didn’t read my last column) — every gallon of jet fuel puts out 20 pounds of carbon dioxide, and that flight would have been 60,000 pounds of carbon dioxide; to be even more specific, 400 pounds for two people in a Prius and 900 pounds for two people by jet — went against every fiber of his planet-loving being.

It was an act of pure love that he said yes when I said I need sun. I need heat. I need pink. I need yellow. I need green. I can’t look at this brown and gray any more. And because I had just undergone this major health event, he didn’t hesitate. His yes came faster than the palpitations that got me flown in a helicopter to Mass General four months ago.

So here’s what happened. We went to a wedding in Washington, D.C. One of the most meaningful, beautiful weddings we’ve ever been to.

I had Googled the weather beforehand, and packed accordingly. We drove, that is correct, we drove the Prius (48 miles to the gallon) from Woods Hole to D.C. 

As we were approaching Connecticut, I took off my big down jacket. When we got to the Jersey turnpike, I turned off the heat in the car. When we got to Delaware, I took off my heavy wool sweater. When we got to Maryland, I changed from my fleece pants to my cotton yoga pants. By the time we checked into our magnificent hotel in D.C., I was wearing a T shirt and pedal pushers. 

Outside the entrance, there were two pink — in full bloom — Yoshino cherry trees. (I only know the name because I asked.) They were just flowers to me. But not just. Flowers that were making me exhale for the first time since maybe before my surgery.

We checked in in time to change for the dinner and the Friday night party. On our way to the restaurant, the yellow of the Cornelian cherry dogwood felt like spring was springing specifically for me with every step I took. The party was sheer joy. The food was spectacular, and the love in the room was palpable.

We had all day Saturday free, so Joel and I walked the charming Dupont Circle neighborhood. Everyone was out. Runners running, parents pushing carriages, dogs walking their owners. It was the best of what cities can be. And here’s the kicker: It was 86°. We sat outside (yes, outside) at a café, and I actually sunbathed! I found a spot on my face without a deep crevice. Apparently I’m working to fill that in. 

That early evening, walking to the wedding venue, the street was lined with purple saucer magnolias. (Lest you think I have become an arborist in the past few weeks, don’t forget I wouldn’t have known the names if someone hadn’t told me.) The point isn’t the names. The point is, Washington was bursting with beauty and heat, and I felt it right into my bones. 

On the way back to the Vineyard, I said to my driver, the self-appointed energy czar, Joel Aronie: I don’t have to go to Florida.

He looked at me and said, Are you serious? We can cancel? Yup, I said. I got exactly what I needed. That heat, that sun, those trees, being outside and ambling in the warmth, instead of rushing to get out of the cold, was just what the doctor ordered. Probably literally, too, if I had asked her what was the best thing I could do after open-heart surgery.

My being able to think about my husband and not need to gild the lily with another trip South makes me wonder if, when they opened my heart, something more than the valves got healed.

Meanwhile, thank you, all of you who wrote supporting my trip to Naples. I hope you feel just as happy for me that I was able to cancel, which was my act of pure love.
Before you get too happy, and before you think I’m an unselfish high being, just wait till next winter, when I use the travel refund to rebook.