WAG - A Weekend Reprieve
It’s nice when one gets around to vacationing over their vacation.
I’ve occasionally found that relaxing can be difficult even when one has put aside the time to be relaxed. Just the act of scheduling time to be “at ease” imposes an air of formality on it that isn’t akin to a peaceful, soothing environment.
That still seems to confusing…
Let’s just say Taking a break takes work.
My “Summer Vacation” technically started at 12:25 p.m. on May 16 when I turned in my final Final. Yet, this weekend was the first chance I got to crash and unwind without any strings.
Of course, being the lone grandchild in your grandparents’ house is funny that way.
I’ve been able to catch up on my reading. I’ve already polished off four books since I hit Kansas City (well, Lee’s Summit if you want to get technical, but most people don’t know the distinction. It’s akin to a suburb within the Greater St. Louis or Chicago area. The sprawl goes on even when the city limits stop). I’m already halfway through the next AND I’ve had the luxury of taking an afternoon nap.
Life is good.
I’ve also been able to write at my leisure or laziness – depending on who is calling the shots.
My parents are currently camping out at Fort Osage, where they are participating in a Memorial Weekend Celebration of the last 200 years in history. Multiple reenacting groups, covering multiple eras in our nation’s history were gathering to host the first such event of its kind at the reconstructed fort (well mostly reconstructed. There hasn’t been enough money raised to finish the wall around the fort, and I’ve joked how easy it must have been for raiders to slip in [I’ve often rhetorically asked if they kept the grass mowed that short around the fort in the 1800s, or if they let it grow a bit higher, but my parents don’t appreciate that kind of comment either]).
As usual, they are portraying a couple from the War of 1812 (weren’t names for conflicts simpler back then). They regularly work with a group that is to represent the First Regiment of the Missouri Infantry. My Dad, who recently upgraded himself from militia man to full fledged infantry man, is spending time with surveyors from the Lewis and Clark expedition, Osage Indian scouts, colonial homesteaders, and a Vietnam War troop (complete with jeep and Vietnamese nurse).
It’s a wacky site to see and I only saw them in setup.
I had the invite to participate, but I preferred to sleep in and cozy up with a few good books. It’s not that I don’t like camping and reenacting (it’s what I was doing last weekend), but I was looking for even simpler pleasures.
In my defense, my grandmother even offered me keys to her car in case I felt like shopping or driving around, but I turned that down as well.
My life so often seems to be running at full tilt I know it’s nice to slow down every once in a while. I already have a number of weekends filled up this summer with family- and church-related trips and am looking to book up a few more.
More than once I have looked at the paradoxical pair of phrases: “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop,” and, “No rest for the wicked.”
I’ve tried to figure out which end of the spectrum I’m on, but it really doesn’t matter because the race goes on regardless. I know your “affiliation” doesn’t change the pace. It only alters what happens when it ends.
I know my end destination, and I know I’m still running, but the distance between the two is unknown. For the weekend, I’ve downshifted and am taking a breather; or as much as one can mid-stride.
My cross-country coach taught me never to stop. I was allowed to slow down, if I HAD to, but I was told always to keep progressing because that meant I was always getting closer to the end.
I finished every race I ran, even the one I got lost on (I wasn’t the only one, though I was the one conducting votes among the dozen to which direction we’d turn next). Some of them I slowed down, sometimes I walked, but I always remained in motion.
Granted, now the alternative entails more than the threat of having to walk home (which after one has gone several miles seems so much crueler and more serious form of punishment), but I don’t really mind.
I plan on getting to the end of the race as well, but I take some pleasure in the fact I know I can slow down – if only for the weekend.
'No_work_AND_no_chores_EQUALS_no_problems'
