Usually I love this time of year.
A cool crisp feel to the air.
The deadliest heat of summer finally over.
Leaves not yet turned.
Nothing to wash, rake, store, de-mothball yet.
Yup, finally time for myself.
Time to get out and enjoy all that luscious green the summer has grown,
the gorgeous colors of the food and flowers in the garden,
the masses of berries and corn and squash,
the long walk through the country lanes.
If only people would leave me alone to do it.
Don’t you just hate it when people who have spent the last two weeks on vacation
screaming, loud music, drinking, club med type vacations,
come back re-energized,
fueled up,
ready to go,
and decide YOU are what they have to get working on?
First, of course, are the friends and neighbors for whom you have
spent weeks taking in mail and checking the house and watering the garden.
Who bring you back a key chain in the shape of a camel with
“My neighbor went to Tunisia, and all I got is this camel.”
Hmm.
Thank heavens they didn’t bring the real thing.
Then there are those who went to Majorca,
and want to show you how you can drink fifteen quarts of sangria
from a bucket with long straws.
Or eat a mound of seasoned rice from the table
with no plate or silverware.
Along with forty other people.
Or how they learned to hula.
Or…be still my heart…
to play the ukulele.
With a plastic instrument that would make Mickey Mouse blush.
Not that it can’t be fun at times.
If you can get a seat far enough back you don’t get spit on by drunks or rice throwers.
Or stepped on when they put on the flamenco costume they bought
and dance on the table.
And then there are the truly wonderful people who think
that when their vacation time is over-
ie the entire month of August-
their work week begins.
With phone calls to you about aluminum siding,
earthquake insurance, an appointment to have your teeth cleaned,
or your car inspected,
or winterized.
Enough calls to burn out the blinking light on your answering machine.
And THAT, my friends, is when:
you take it as an act of God,
pull on your tennis shoes,
and get out in the green.
Or on the water.
Or enjoy the corn and squash.
At a place so far away no one can find you.
Where you think about and plan YOUR vacation.
At a time and place where you have it all to yourself.
And enjoying it thoroughly, because:
Everyone else is on the phone:
making the third call back to try and sell you winter tires.
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Quahog on a Tightrope 