Even Short Vacations Work

My (late) addition to a wonderful idea...Take a gander...

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  Vacations are supposed to be fun. Whether you’re taking one for adventure or rest or visiting with good friends, fun should be part of the equation, right?

So how fun is it to go to a place you’ve never been, with some of your best friends, to stay with some of their family? Can I begin to tell you?

We took a tiny three-day vacation to pull ourselves back together after a summer (three months!) spent with a seventeen year old French girl who didn’t really want to be with us (until the end of course), and before school started again for my husband. We needed this getaway; needed it like drowning folks need life preservers. This was a serious need. Along with us we took our best companion, Bonaparte, who is a Mauxie, half Maltese and half miniature red short-haired dachshund, who needed a vacation too.

The drive would take about five hours to our destination, but first we had to stop in Atlanta to partake of an Atlanta tradition, lunch at the “Varsity.” Best hotdogs in town, best onion rings you’ve ever had, not to mention the ambience of the “Old Timey” restaurant. Around four in the afternoon we got up into the north Georgia Blue Ridge mountains, found a liquor store so we wouldn’t arrive empty-handed, and then made our way into the lush, dappled-green hilly terrain to find our home for the weekend. No other word describes it like Lovely does. Three stories of a house built of wood right on a steep incline leading down to the river, which was at record high levels. This place breathed relaxation, nature, rejuvenation and peace. The ambient rush of the river loosened up even the tightest of stressed muscles and calmed the mind with ease as one sat out on any of the four decks or balconies associated with the house. Paradise does come to mind.

And so our hosts welcomed us, showed us the house, our rooms, gave us drinks and walked us down the long and winding stairs to the deck situated about ten feet above the river. There we ensconced ourselves for at least an hour, eating baked zucchini and drinking wine and beer. It only got better. Dinner was a mass of vegetables cooked in different southern styles, squash casserole, green beans, salads, fried okra, finished off with watermelon and cantaloupe.  There was even enough left over for a re-embellished dinner the next evening.  We talked about going out to dinner somewhere but no one wanted to!

The next day we left the haven of the house to visit two small towns, Ellijay and Blue Ridge, where my mother had lived when she met my other dad (step-dad is not a fun name). We visited the farmer’s market in Ellijay then headed over to Blue Ridge, where all six of us proceeded to window shop and shop. We even took our little Bonaparte with us and he dazzled everyone with his cuteness, especially when we met a female that looked just like him!

We lucked out with visiting a shop, Out of the Blue, right as a wine tasting event was about to commence. Also, the host was French, from Paris and we enjoyed speaking French with him and drinking his wine, of which, of course, we bought three bottles. Not to mention a lovely sheep cheese the shop sold, and a present for my sister. Too fun.

We got home, had lunch, vegetated for a few hours, everyone doing whatever it was they wanted to do, and around five we all came back together and discussed what to do with the rest of the afternoon/evening. We’d talked about tubing down the river, but as it was late in the afternoon and not a lot of sun, it looked as if we wouldn’t do it. But I wanted to, even if only for a little bit, so I asked how far from the house was the point where one could get out. As luck would have it, the landing was just around the corner of the river, about a quarter of a mile. So I said I’d go alone. Well, our lovely hostess wouldn’t hear of it. So all three women changed, grabbed our tubes and took the stairs down to the river. My husband photographed us getting in and floating away and our host gathered us at the landing. The weather was perfect, the river flowing nicely with all the previous rain wasn’t too cold, and we three “girls” enjoyed experiencing the water and ease of the short trip. Then

our hostess surprised us by saying the hot tub was ready and that’s where we would go upon our return. The view, the water heated just right, and, with all of that, champagne to be partaken of. My husband even dared to play along and gave us a strip show (to his underwear) before indulging himself in the hot tub with us! River, hot tube, hot dude, champagne, shower outside, then drinks and appetizers followed by another tasty dinner before we all six sat in comfy seats in the living room overlooking the river as the sun went down. We all talked while the guys watched the Braves game without sound. After that we moved to the closest porch outside and talked some more. By the time we hit the bed it was eleven and we slept the sleep of well-rested and happy folks.

That, my friends, was one of the best, even if too short, vacations we’ve had. I hope you experienced something the like as well this summer. Now, back to the “real world.” 

Images from: http://writeeditpublishnow.blogspot.com/

A Weekly Writing Challenge: 1,000 words

Photo: Cheri Lucas

Here is my story inspired by this photo, found at 

Weekly Writing Challenge: 1,000 Words

I hope you enjoy it!

Late for work again. Would I never learn time management, or was I doomed to forever spend my life running from place to place anxious, and harassed by my watch? That Friday morning I skipped out my front door onto the tiny Portuguese street where I lived and, even after four months here in Lisbon, I teetered until I found my balance on the steep incline of the hill. I checked down toward the bottom of that same said hill looking for the tiny street car that ran the length of my street.

Even though I ran perpetually late, I still marveled at my location whenever I stepped from my tiny apartment. This morning was no exception, in fact, I paused even longer than usual because not only was the street car approaching my stop, but a young couple embraced each other on the cobbled steps of the sidewalk not fifteen feet from where I stood. On the far side of the tracks a group of tourists, having just descended from the street car and looking decidedly American, like me but not, ambled as if unsure exactly of where to go. They had no real time schedule to worry about. Neither, evidently did the young couple.

The street car clanged a warning before resuming its daily climb up the hill. It lurched its way toward me as my eyes lingered on the young couple now talking to each other as their eyes remained locked. The street car stopped and I climbed, reluctantly, on board. I sat toward the back so I could watch them until we climbed too high to see them. I didn’t feel like the voyeur that I was. I felt instead a profound loneliness. I loved my work. Here in Portugal I helped small businesses get back on their feet during these recession-torn times, and I did truly love seeing the look on a proprietors face when he realized he would, with a bit of refinancing, which my company afforded, be able to keep his family restaurant open, or his family’s garage without owing interest unto his unborn great grand children. Helping people had been my goal since high school and I’d spent long hours volunteering through high school and college as well. Which had helped me land this job.

So to see that young couple deeply entranced with one another touched a part of my spirit that I’d denied. I realized I’d done the typical, forsaken human relations for work success. The young couple had me questioning if what I’d done was still necessary.

At work I made it through five appointments, got three new loans in motion, and closed out two. By any calculation a successful day and my boss would be happy. But I left the office ready to go home and mope. The young couple on the sidewalk had stayed in the back of my mind all day and I dragged my feet toward the street car stop. I checked my watch. I’d left the office late, of course, tidying up so on Monday when I came back to work I’d start with a clean slate. My shoulders slumped. I had a television in my apartment. I had food and wine. I had a hot shower waiting for me, but no person to ask me about my day: no one with whom to discuss how to spend the weekend. In the four months I’d been here I’d taken many weekend trips to anywhere close. Now the novelty of traveling had passed and I wished for someone to talk to instead.

The familiar clang of the street car sounded and I roused myself to board as it pulled to a halt in front of me. I barely heard shouting from within the street car before I found myself flat on the sidewalk, a hulking mass of man on top of me struggling to get up and away. “Detê-lo! Ele roubou minha bolsa!” I heard a woman yell her purse had been stolen. I grabbed the edge of the man’s coat as he pushed himself away and I hung on for all I was worth. The thief struggled to get to his feet, staggered almost losing his balance as my weight inhibited his escape. I still lay prone on the hard cobblestones when a large hand reached past mine and grabbed the man’s coat farther up. Within seconds the thief lay on his face. A man in a black uniform jumped over me to sit on him, pinning his arms behind his back.

Someone helped me to my feet and clucked over me and my bravery. Someone else picked up my purse and handed it back to me. It had fallen during the scuffle. The policeman cuffed the thief and pulled him to his feet where he glared at me and then started cussing until the policeman shut him up. Disorientated, I stared at the scene. Everyone had gathered round from the street car. The driver shouted at the policeman what had happened, then shouted that he needed to get moving or he’d be late. I started to giggle, and then rolled into full fledged laughter. The driver was worried about being late and I wasn’t! My tardiness this evening had made me a hero. I laughed at the irony of it. Another policeman drove up, parked behind the street car on the tracks, and the two of them stuffed the criminal into the back of the car.

The first cop walked back to me and asked, “Senhora, posso perguntar-lhe algumas perguntas??” Could he ask me some questions? I gazed into earthy-brown eyes, polite as they were deep. His smile warmed me, told me that here was my true reward for my habitual delay, that maybe, just maybe, this weekend I’d travel on a voyage of a different kind, and I wouldn’t be alone.

I smiled. “Claro, Sr. Policial. O que você gostaria de saber?” Of course, Mr. Policeman. What would you like to know?   

 

Photo from:

http://cherilucas.com/page/2/

Regeneration

I did something today I have never done! I “clerked” at a garden show. That means I was the gofer for my group of judges. I was on my feet from nine am to two pm with each minute worth the effort.

I learned much about plants and what judges look for in a specimen in different types of plants. The reason this post is “regeneration” is because clerking this show not only gave me a whole new world to look into, but it rejuvenated my gardener’s soul. I will never look at my plants, whether in my yard or on my porch, in the same way. I can't wait to get out there and encourage the beauty I have already in the works.

There is SO much to be said for doing something you’ve never done before. I hope you give it a shot and see what it “rejuvenates” in you!

 Photos:

 thephotogardenbee.com

 naplesnews.com