I am not, for the most part, very good at vacations ...
but this time, I actually took a serious one. My impulse, even on breaks, is to maintain some connection to work. Still, when I left the office a week ago, that was it in terms of filing. (All right, I left one story in the can, which I think runs tomorrow.)
And aside from the brief notes a few days ago, I did not blog. This was especially weird for me, since I love blogging and there are always things to write about, both in pop culture and in the world in general. But even when I had a mild urge, I said "Nah." Until now, of course.
Not sure what the difference was. It may have been that the bride and I agreed to go to a place -- Sanibel Island, Fla. -- where our major activity involved sitting on the beach. And where the temps in the 90s and humidity with the same digits combined to sap what little energy we had.
There was dozing on the beach, there were midday naps in the room, and then there was more relaxing (and dozing) on the beach. A big event was walking into the water to cool off.
A big meal -- well, there weren't any. Lots of eating light (although the portions at places like the Hungry Heron and Island Cow meant that even light eating could involve taking a box back to the fridge in the room.) By early evening, we were nearly settled in, watching bits of TV -- although nothing more demanding than "Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader?" -- and one of the DVDs we brought. ("Children of Men," very good, very challenging. My beach-addled brain is demanding that I watch again.) Plenty of reading, though. Almost done with the sixth "Harry Potter."
The one drawback was the bride's getting bronchitis. But even that encouraged more resting, and did not keep us off the beach for more than a day. So we built up a store of mellowness that helped a great deal on the trip back. Not only because of the sardine cans that pass for airplanes these days. (I've some sniffles I'm convinced are airplane-generated.)
Can there be a greater thrill than having your rental-car GPS send you along an airport path that is suddenly adorned with "Road Closed" signs? And, when you turn around to find an alternate route, the GPS tells you to U-turn back toward those "Road Closed" signs?
Anyway, with a stop to ask for help and some maneuvering around, we found our way to another way. And even the rush-hour traffic from Cleveland airport to home was a relatively minor inconvenience. We had had the break we needed.
And today I picked up my backlog of office mail.