We went on vacation this year. It was heaven! Ten days of resting in the bosom of Mother Nature; sipping spritzy drinks on the water, beside the water, and on more than one occasion in the water. We played games, enjoyed one another’s company, ate great food and soaked up every single ray of sunshine from the single week that was summer 2014. I came back to work toasted golden! I feel a little like the potato chip in the bag that stayed in the fryer too long. Not many people picked the right week for holidays it seems. I’ve been spending a lot of time in my office, door closed, avoiding green-eyed pale people.
It’s sad that summer is over, that vacation is over. I love those days far removed from snow squalls and filled with social gatherings and late-night sunsets. I wish they could go on forever without, of course, the ramifications of kids never returning to school and my waistline never recovering from picnics and bbq’s and the latest fruity concoction of the LCBO.
On the flip-side I secretly love how the first week of September quietly reveals our desperate need for routine. The kids go back to school, dinners get eaten before 9pm, I realize that my hair and skin tone are competing with one another for a beach chair in Miami. Rather than contemplate what kind of dog I should get for my beach bag, September inspires me to opt for a corrective colour. September is a blessing! Some routines transition back seamlessly. Those first cool weather crockpot stews, the invasion of hoodies and jackets upon the backdoor coat hooks, Thursday evening gatherings in the living room for season premieres—these things happen so naturally. Other things require a gentle shove to get them going again; making lunches at night instead of franticly between showers and dressing in the morning, keeping bus tickets stocked and remembering how much time a teenager needs in front of the mirror—these things take a little more effort. For the record I am surprised by the amount of time the male child needs.
Something else that requires a little priming is my pen. It happens each year, my creative process needs a vacation, a time to rest, recharge and reset and I find myself traipsing barefoot, wordlessly though the warm summer days. It’s not unwelcome, this time to refill the creative well with face-time and memory making, the touching, smelling, giggling, crying, take your breath encounters with family and friends and strangers destined to join the ranks. I submerge myself completely. I don’t write a word! Not here, not in my private journals, not in my poetry files or short stories—nothing. Wordless and barefoot and by September feeling just a little out of step, as though I’ve stayed a few days too long on vacation.
Time to prime the pump! So, I’ve promised myself 500 words a day for the next 30 days. That should do it.
Some of those words are bound to land here and I certainly expect them to be a little mucky, the first few buckets drawn from the well always are.
Happy Back to 'Normal' :) ......day one 535+ words! did any of them make sense?