Social media was abuzz with people vowing to curtail all travel ‘down there’. We’d already invested in our trip so …enough already.
A friend was recovering from surgery and needed a pair of comfortable walking shoes. We hit the stores – my least favourite pastime. Our first stop seemed like a winner. She found a pair she loved. But they didn’t have her size. Sure, they could order them but she wanted them now. We’ve all been stung by that back-order nightmare.
My dog wants to say hello, she told me. I looked from her to her dog. It was a strange moment. I mean, how often does someone stop you on the street to make introductions…to their dog? Wish I’d said something clever like, Oh, I’d hoped the attraction was mutual, or at least pulled out my phone for a selfie. Come to think of it, why didn’t I?
The woman explained. She noticed you earlier at the other end of the street. And when she saw you now she got excited. She likes you. I can tell. She patted her rump affectionately – the dog’s rump.
Our lives took a turn when an entertaining habit declined into obsessive enslavement.
Life in the country had been good. Lots of time spent outdoors in the fresh country air. Sometimes the air was a little too fresh, if you get my drift. We kept busy maintaining the yard and the gardens. Playing with the neighbor dog, Lola. Talking about the weather. You know, regular country stuff.
It was a head scratcher. I double-checked the cover. Maybe I’d goofed and this book wasn’t written by a bestselling author. Most established writers, embarrassed by fledgling mistakes, wish their early works would vanish. Even though this book read like a debut novel, it was published thirteen years and mega books after the author hit it big.
Reader beware! This is not the usual mirthful rhetoric. Debbie Downer is sitting on the corner of my laptop. She’s irritating. I’m filled with cheer and she keeps reminding me of the less fortunate. Those who face the holidays with dread.
Not everyone is bubbly excited about Christmas or the coming New Year. There are lots of reasons for heavy hearts.
Following last year’s vacation, the cruise line sent an email. They’d be eternally grateful if I’d fill out their evaluation review on Ports of Call, Accommodations, yada yada yada (my words, not theirs). They said it would take ten minutes tops. Well, two minutes had already ticked by and I was still staring at the first multiple-choice like it was an algebra problem. It was certainly a different approach to a usually routine question.
We followed our friends into the muddy lot. Though recommended by locals, the small weather-bleached building looked like something out of the Wild West. The parking was erratic—vehicles scattered everywhere—but my biggest concern was how the heck I’d navigate the puddles and gooey ruts wearing sandals. I somehow managed—not without complaint.
I was browsing around The Book keeper looking for nothing in particular, which I guess defines browsing, when I thought of buying something for my friend. She’s scheduled for weeks of treatments. That means hours in hospital waiting rooms. What better distraction than a book? Perfect! An ideal gift.
Never underestimate a two-day getaway. A change of scene might be all it takes to de-stress and restore the juices. Long vacations leave us more tired on return than when we left.
Last fall when we flew the coop, the Innkeeper suggested a suite at the back. The balcony overlooks the gardens. It’s quiet, he said. HECK NO! We have peaceful quiet gardens at home.