Vacation

Vacation Musings

I'm on vacation and one of the things on my agenda is taking a leisurely stroll to the mailbox. Either my lane is getting longer, or my life more complicated. I'm never sure which. All I know is that I have too many hours left at the end of my energy these days. Hopefully on my stroll I can figure out why this is and what I can do about it. Then maybe I can enjoy my vacation.

As I stroll, I find myself taking a visual tour of the neighborhood. Well you can't exactly call it a neighborhood...as in a city...because I live on a farm. I am one of seven families who live on a huge homestead with acres and acres of field edged by woods. My lane goes up along the edge of the woods to the country road almost a half mile away. The sights and sounds on the lane never cease to amaze me and make me appreciate country living for what it's truly worth.

Today, on my trek, I see the few remaining leaves on the elm tree at the end of my driveway which remind me of the design on the tablecloth that is waiting to be hand-washed and ironed. Animal tracks in what's left of a mud puddle from a spring rain remind me that I need to buy dog food for the cat again.

For some strange reason my cat refuses to eat cat food, but prefers dog food. Well she's not really my cat, I'm just watching her for someone else who left her here for two days until they could have her spayed. That was three months ago. She's still here, and she's still not spayed. Nor is she mine. But she eats dog food and nothing else. That much I know for certain. I guess she thinks she's a dog. So I need more dog food. (Author's note: a year later, cat still here, has been spayed, is now MINE!) (Author's additional note: two years later, cat has been given to my daughter, Jen, who recently got a new apartment and can't have pets so the cat is back and mine AGAIN!)

A few more leisurely steps and the rumbling of a dump truck up on the road for some reason sparks the thought that I need to burn the trash that's been piling up for days. It takes a village to empty the trash at my house. I don't know where it all comes from, but you'd swear that 22 people lived here instead of just three. Just another thing to add to my to do list. Boy I wish I had a honey to do them for me!

As I stick my chilled and dishwater-withered hand into the mailbox to extract a bill for my oldest daughter's eyeglasses I'm reminded of the call I need to make to schedule her sister to see the dentist to fix what she's lovingly dubbed her "snaggletooth". Just one more task on my ever-growing list. Gee this vacation is getting shorter by the minute!

As I turn to make my way back home I decide to turn off my mind or I'll be tired before I get started on my chores. I count my steps in an effort to free myself from the constant reminders of work that needs to be done. What used to be a scenic walk to the mailbox this week has become a tour through the saltmine of my much-too-busy life! One hundred and eighty seven steps later, as I open the front door and enter my kitchen I inhale deeply.

Vacation is over. It's time to get back to work. Where is Martha Stewart when I need her most?

Send me mail! I'd love to hear from you!

One is never quite certain whether these stories are true or simply a figment of this work-weary woman's mind. But any references to any events, persons or animals, real or imagined, are probably true, though not meant to offend anyone and may deviate slightly from reality, but then are two people's realities ever the same? No animals were harmed in the writing of this story, however the writer suffered an aching back after performing all of the tasks on the list and is currently at rest on her couch watching a good video and hoping to catch a nap. A writer's work is never done! Thanks for visiting. She hopes you enjoyed the story. Please come back often!

Here's a photo of Scott and I on a real vacation at Ocean City, Maryland. Perhaps you saw me strolling the boards in my patriotic garb. A lot of people seemed to be quite taken with my hat! This photo was taken the year after this story was written.