vacation

I often talk about vacation, it's one of my favorite subjects. I like to travel; I like to get away.

I have a pet theory about vacation: the enjoyment of vacation comes from two sources: "Going To" and "Getting Away." 

The Going To part is pretty easy to understand. For me, I love tropical vacations, and those destinations are marvelous. Above all, the sea! One of my favorite things in life is diving off a boat into the warm sea first thing in the morning. I also enjoy trying new things, new foods, new drinks, (usually containing rum, of course). I love meeting new people, and interacting with the locals. It's easy to see why going to a good vacation site would be wonderful.

...But the Getting Away part is often just as important. I enjoy my work, (sometimes more than others), but after a particularly stressful stretch, vacation gives me something to look forward to. I firmly believe there is a time and place for everything, and it is the contrast between working hard and vacationing that makes the vacation that much sweeter. Yes, contrast. 

I am surprised at how often I see people on vacation hell-bent on not enjoying themselves. Yes, the 'ugly American' is a real phenomenon, but it's not just Americans. When studying these creatures, a pattern emerges. All too often, they are affluent folks with far too much leisure time available. Their vacations are watered down by the fact they don't have anything to get away from. They aren't taking a respite from hard work, so I think, deep down, they feel guilty or something. I really don't know, because I avoid these people.


A certain boat available for charter in the beautiful Virgin Islands does a brisk business hosting people all winter. (Winter in the VI is actually the high season. 80 degrees, breezy, gorgeous...). Many of the charter guests are from the Northeast. These folks flee the weather at home for a week in paradise, and they are ridiculously happy to Get Away from the weather. I admit, living in Southern California as I do, I will never know the singular joy that comes from escaping horrible weather. As with my Facebook account, when others complain about hip-deep snow, I sagely keep my mouth shut--it is just bad form to tell them we hit 80 degrees today. 


Vacation for me starts in about an hour. Work has been exceptionally busy, and I'm flying to the Caribbean, so I figure this one will be a goodie...

springy

The other day, I pulled into my driveway and noticed all the Indian hawthorn bushes in my yard were blooming, pink and pale lavender. Bees everywhere. 

I picked up some tomato plants at Costco and potted them. I would like to put in another half dozen plants in my garden, but these potted few pretty much guarantee I'll be making bruschetta by summer.

Aphids are munching on my many bamboo plants, so they needed a good blasting with the hose.

Last Saturday, the sun was shing and my backyard looked very inviting, so I got some sun.

Spring is here! 

(I'm glad no one on the East Coast reads this stuff. They have fresh snow. The closest thing to snow in my life is crushed ice in a cocktail). 

The spring air is full of promise, this year. Everywhere I look, I see plants eager to do their thing. For me, work, although very hectic for a while, is busy and almost fun again. (Recession was icky). Just a couple of weeks and I'll be taking some vacation time on Safari in the Virgin Islands. Although we've made plans for the full moon party at Bomba Shack, on Tortola, the rest of the week is blissfully open--that is so unlike me not to have an itinerary mapped out! I'm blaming Spring Fever this morning...




I think from here on out, when someone mentions a season, any season, I'm going to say, "Oh, that's my favorite time of year!"

ch-ch-changes

I am maturing. That strikes me as kind of funny because, in a certain sense, you continue maturing, then you die. I guess the right term is “aging.” I am aging.

I am not terribly upset about it. It’s been a couple of months since my birthday, and that one was a big, round number. The day before, I was 49, then I was 50. No difference, really. 

The other day, I bruised my leg. Suddenly, I was 12 again, playing little league, and having some slight injury. “Walk it off, Slugger!” So, I walked it off. It helped, but the magic of walking it off must have faded, somehow. The next day, I was limping through the airport, quite unhappy about it. When I focused on it, the limp would be barely noticeable, but then my attention wandered and I was gimpy again. Good old Advil, some rum and some time and everything was back to normal. Not “good as new,” but normal.

I remember being very concerned about parenting when I was younger, before the boys. What kind of father would I be? There was so much to do; so much to learn. Helping out in what small ways I could during the pregnancy was a chore, what would it be like when that alien was born? When the bun was in the oven, I got down to business. I had just 9 months to become the perfect father. What I didn’t figure out right away was: you only need to learn to be a father to an infant; I had plenty of time to figure out how to talk to my teenagers about sex, drugs and rock & roll. Everything in its season.

(By the way, the parenting book that I read back then is likely banned and burned in this 21^st century. Times change!).

Aging is a little like that, too. This may surprise some, but I have noticed changes in my body. By and large, these changes are annoying. At first, I ignored these changes and occasionally paid the price. Growing older is like preparing to be a father: there is plenty of time to adjust, and it really only needs to be mastered gradually. Again, not really upset, just realistic. To tell you the truth, I am very happy. I almost said “the happiest in my life,” but you’re a dick if you wax poetic about your kids moving out. Let just say, I am happy and it is a different kind of happy than being a new father. Both seem(ed) natural for my age.

Although there do not seem to be any perks with aging, “being older” comes with some benefits, and I’ve learned to take advantage of those benefits. Mostly it’s just efficiency. The very best perks are associated with work. Dye the white out of my beard? Heck no! In fact, since I am now a fan of sunscreen, I notice it whitens it more. I have cultivated a serious, don’t-bother-questioning-just-obey look. I have to be careful not to smile when it works, though. The positives of being older dovetail nicely with a lot of the other stuff that is going on in my life. I like puttering around the empty house. I like having the time to garden. I love vacations and traveling! 

Aging: different, gradual, inevitable, not all bad…