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…

mmmmm

I am pleased to be spending more time with my lovely GF lately! 

New Year's found me visiting her place for 10 days! Quite the luxury... I had a lot of fun house painting and working on a honeydo list while she worked a few days. The nights were far more fun! Then she took a few days off and we spent our days shopping and goofing off. It was lovely!














Jenn flew to California for Valentine's Day. It was the first time we've every spent VD together, a real treat. Although we had only a few days together, we made the most of it, with a couple of luxurious dinners, a party with some of my old friends, and a stay at a swank hotel. Sweet!

Soon, I'll be visiting Jenn again in Florida for a few days in March. Not a lot planned for this adventure, but I love the downtown area near where she lives. There are quite a few restaurants and bars, and I am looking forward to playing Restaurant Roulette again. Last time, I added ostrich to my list of delicious creatures.


Coming up, Jenn and I will spend a week in the Virgin Islands in April. This is the second time we've cruised down there on our own, and I am really looking forward to it! The last time was Halloween, 2011; one of the best vacations of my life!




There's still adventures to plan for the rest of the year, but I am glad that Jenn & I have booked an Alaskan cruise with my sons in August! It sounded so fun that my mom and aunt booked a cabin, too! It should be a great time!

It's a big, round number

It’s a blog entry one half-century in the making!

Well, isn’t that dramatic?

I have been on this planet 50 years now, and this is an occasion for reflection. I remember turning 40. It was no big deal; in fact, I kinda liked it. For some reason, when I was younger, I thought my forties would be “my decade.” Gone was the baby face, the ineffectiveness, the immaturity. Largely gone, too, was the self-doubt and anxiety, replaced by a confidence in myself and my talents. (Which is not to say I was happy about my inability to sing or dance, or the annoying changes in my aging body). I was a little too intense as a teenager, a little too awkward in my 20s; and my 30s were the decade of change. In my 40s, I expected to come into my own, and that was mostly true.

So, now that I am officially on the other side of that, what now? I have a new shot glass, compliments of dear friends, that says “50 is the new 21.” Throughout the past few weeks, I have also been reminded that 50 is just a number. This is true, of course, but it is a big fucking number!

At 50, I am different. There is no denying it, and I really don’t want to. There are pros and cons, good changes and bad; some, downright evil. For the good, I feel good, sometimes I even feel groovy. I am happy. There is a lot of contentment in my life, mercifully free of a lot of regret. I feel I’ve grown into 50 pretty well. Sure, I feel I’ve left things undone, but this doesn’t seem to bother me as much as I expected. The anxieties of my younger years have changed and been replaced. My sons have grown into men. That’s something that concerned me greatly when I was younger, and now they are launched. It’s like those halcyon days of late summer, when it is time to pick the fruits of previous hard work. Gone is my marriage, which is a topic for another time, but the point now is the marriage obligations and duty, the highs and lows offered by that station are gone—favorably, at least in my mind. (It’s funny that I consider my marriage a success even though it is over). I am me, a ripened me—my potential filled as much as it is likely to be.

Don’t get me wrong, I am not ready to lay down and be chow for the posies! It’s more a fulfillment I feel.

The bad stuff doesn’t bother me as much as I thought it would, but I do not want to pretend it doesn’t exist. 

I guess it all comes down to a series of questions:

Is it good to be 12 years old? Is it good to be 18? 21? 32? 40? 50? At the time I asked myself these questions, the answers were surprisingly consistent. There were pros and cons to each age. I appreciated the pros, far less the cons, but in the end it was life. And I’ve always been happy to be alive.

autumn

About a month ago that we had our first Cool Snap. (I am hesitant to call it a cold snap out of respect to folks that actually get cold weather. I need a blanket—big whoop). That was followed by some delicious weather; a mixed bag of hot, warm and cool days. Recently, Fall has fallen. The nights are cool and crisp, the sun sets early and it is not unusual to see a little mist in the morning. Heck, it even rained this morning! 

The fact another summer had slipped past was weighing on me when the joys of this season washed over me. Candles! Soft lighting, a fire in the fireplace. That chill in the air. Thoughts of the holidays come unbidden. True, I miss a lot of what summer brings to the garden, but the daffodils have been busy pushing themselves up. I often feel sorry for them, having been planted in Southern California. Each year, it seems, they break through the soil, hoping for a long bloom only to be scorched in a day or two—we always seem to get warm days just as the open. Maybe the sun hates the daffodils?

Candles are such a delight. When visitors drop by, finding me alone and surrounded by candle glow, they ask if I am expecting anyone. No, I reply, and smile. These candles burn for me. It’s nice when people share, though.

bittersweet

My youngest is on his way to Utah for seasonal work at a ski resort. He visited for several weeks between his gigs in Alaska and Utah. Over breakfast this morning, we talked about timing. He’s been anxious to get back to work, which is quite the change for him. He’s maturing. I told him that time off is like a half gallon of ice cream—a little bit is a real pleasure, but too much at a time is a problem. My guess is that after a long summer session in Alaska, a couple of weeks off are plenty. Of course, this varies from person to person, but I have definite opinions about vacations. It’s good that he felt it was too long in more than just his wallet.

For me, I am sad to see him go. I missed him while he was away. It was nice having him visit. But, like time off, having a houseguest can go on a little long. That, of course, varies from houseguest to houseguest.

Returning from LAX, I am strangely upbeat. The boy is off for another adventure and he’ll mature. It will be fun to find out how much when he comes back. 

For me, personally, I am very pleased to have my house back. I cheerfully set to some chores and it was a genuine delight to clean the kitchen and restock the fridge. My plants are being watered and laundry is spinning. As much as it was nice to have Kevin around, it’s invigorating to have my privacy back. This is my space.