One of the reasons I decided years ago to go into business for myself was the fact that I hated having to ask for time off. I have no idea why it bothered me so much. Basically I found it degrading to have to seek permission from someone to go on a vacation. It wasn’t the only reason I decided to become my own boss, but it was a major factor. Fast forward 36 years and I can now go on vacation anytime, anywhere and for as long as I want. However...and life is always about the howevers...in order to finance such freedom, it takes lots of patience, planning and manipulation. I will finish up this manipulation today.
The Dunnevant Family Beach Week will come first, and it will be the polar opposite experience from what follows in Maine. They are two different things entirely. The DFBW is a family togetherness thing. It’s 19 people in a gigantic house. It’s noisy and chaotic. It’s hot and muggy with lots of sand and sweat. There’s a pool and floats and squirt guns and all of the tomfoolery that comes with that combination. There are practical jokes which feature all manner of crude gags and slimy things. There’s a huge snack table. There will be many feasts around large tables with delicious food made even more so because we have spent all day on the beach. There will be lots of laughter and horseplay, teasing and playful ridicule between siblings. There will be a thousand memories from past trips. We will all think about Mom and Dad every five minutes. By the time the seven days are over we will be exhausted, completely spent from all the fun and...all the work. I will be with all of my kids, an entire week where all six of us are together under the same roof, something that only happens once or twice a year. That alone makes the week a win.
Then we pack up and drive back to Short Pump long enough to rearrange the packing of the car, and pick up Lucy, and head back on the road for as long as I can stay awake. I’m hoping to make it to Connecticut and the safety of a dog-friendly hotel. The next day we will finally make the .8 mile trip down the dirt road that deadends into Loon Landing. The sigh that will escape from our lips will probably be audible in New Hampshire when we see this for the first time...
The time we spend at this place will not be noisy or chaotic. It will be neither hot or muggy, with very little sand or sweat. There’s no pool...unless this counts as one:
Meals will be taken not at large sprawling tables, but at a little round one out on the deck:
My kids will not be with us this year. We will be alone, just the two of us. This is simultaneously sad and delightful, for reasons that require no explanation.
Maine will be slower, the kind of pace that lends itself to reading and other contemplative arts. We will spend lots of time gliding across the still waters of Quantabacook in kayaks, lost in our private thoughts. I will spend time standing on the edge of this dam, the cold water rushing over my bare feet, fishing...
But, despite the much calmer pace of life that Maine affords us, by the end of the day we will both be exhausted...just like we were on Hatteras Island, its different somehow and yet the same. Nights at Loon Landing are darker than dark, the skies filled with a million stars. We will sleep hard and deep and wake up rejuvenated...
So, two different places, two different experiences. It’s not a matter of which one is better. They are both unique. They both serve a purpose in our lives.
I am eternally grateful for both of them...and the decision I made all those years ago to go into business for myself.
No comments:
Post a Comment