Why is it so much work to go on holiday?
I know that this is far from being an original thought. I also know that it could be worse, I could be going camping, and that the further you get from civilization, the more carefully you have to plan.
I’m going to Buckhorn, Catchacoma Lake, to catch a small coma in an adorable little lakefront cabin. Although it’s not the end of the earth, it’s certainly right next door to it. This involves: cleaning and vacuuming the house, doing laundry, making sure the cats have food, water and clean litter, banking, transferring money and paying bills, grocery shopping and packing. I have to make sure I have the directions, and phone numbers, and all that nonsense.
I have big plans. Books to read, blankets to knit. I have to make sure I keep on track with the fitness stuff, too, so I’m bringing my little stairstepper. I figure, though, that paddleboating should be just as good as a bike, no? And a little tiny glass of white wine? Maybe a spritzer?
Connor, sadly, can’t join us, but the good news is, it’s because he landed a job. Elliot and I will be The Giant People In The Tiny Cottage. We will swim and lay about and have lovely times.
Apparently there is interwebz there, but I don’t know if it’s real internet or country internet. I just hope my cel phone works.
And if I hear banjos, all bets are off.