Labor Day has passed…that signals the end of summer. Come January, I’ll be daydreaming again of the kind of vacation I like best.
The best kind of vacation
Is a putting off of things to do that for once is healthy
A scrap the to do list
A crumple it up and drop kick it to the curb of your mind.
That’s a vacation.
Once that’s done and out of the way, now wipe your hands, roll up your sleeves
And take a nap.
The kind that goes too long. When you wake and don’t know your own name
With a pool of drool on your pillow. And your limbs tingling
From the humility of gravity.
A deep sleep in the heat of the day.
Open the suitcase, and let the insides ooze their way out day after day.
Don’t sort. Don’t rearrange. Don’t refold.
See your vacation in expanding, concentric circles around the suitcase.
Resist the urge to feel useful.
Don’t clean up.
See what happens.
Of course, I’ve had the other vacations too. The ones with foldout maps
of the old city. Of guide books and diesel and the museum closes at 4pm,
So let’s hurry.
These are grand. And photographic. And smart.
But you never quite know what to say about them afterward.
When someone asks, How was your vacation?
No, come mid-January I won’t daydream of on-the go
All engrossing, pavement slapping vacations.
I’ll dream of the supine kind,
with my hands, my head and my feet still for hours.