Okay, so I'm a hypocrite.
A couple of weeks back I grumbled
about being left behind in the city while everyone else decamps, but this week
I get to spend four
days in Vermont and New Hampshire. E. and I are taking the train up to see
our friend James and family and to admire the work he's done renovating
their 1850's house.
I have a loaner copy of the new Harry
Potter book and a bunch of crosswords to keep me occupied on the train,
and E. always brings enough snacks to last a week. When we arrive in New England,
I'll instantly start trying to cajole James' wife Cybele into making her famous
Dutch
Baby, and hopefully we'll be invited to work off the extra calories by helping
with some of the ongoing renovation. Then we can make ourselves useful by reading
a couple of bedtime stories to the handsome and charming Ramon, and hop out
of bed early enough to do some grocery shopping at the farmer's market.
I enjoy a nice lay-in-a-hammock-and-do-nothing
holiday every now and then, but, looking back, most of my favorite hideaways
have involved a fair amount of labor.
It's not all work I want to hide from,
just my own. For some reason, all the drudgery of meeting our daily food, clothing,
and shelter needs has a new charm when we take the show on the road. It's not
the crisp mountain air that makes our fresh trout--or burnt Tofu Pups--taste
so great on the grill: it's the delicacy of unaccustomed work we savor. Pitching
a tent in the Peekskills, grabbing a guesthouse room in Bangkok, foraging for
edible greens in the Carolinas or for curries in Mandalay, chopping wood in
Alaska, digging clams in Washington state--I've loved it all.
So how come it's so hard
sometimes to bring a spirit of initiative and adventure to the Q train commute
and the vendor cart lunches?
I find--and forget, and
find again--that the more I pay attention to my life, the happier I am in it.
But I can get from 25th street to Brooklyn on autopilot, without once thinking
about where I am. So it helps just to mix it up a bit, whether it's with a cheap
weekend getaway or just a change in the daily routine, taking another route
to the subway, trying a new place for lunch. When I was a kid, jealous of those
who got to go to summer camp, my parents indulged me in a DIY hideaway by letting
me pitch a tent inside my room. But somehow I don't think E. will be thrilled
at that change in our decor...does Lenny Kravitz have a yurt line yet?
(SGH)
Photo credit: de.ef.ha
via Flickr
Pitching a tent in the Peekskills, grabbing a guesthouse room in Bangkok, foraging for edible greens in the Carolinas or for curries in Mandalay, chopping wood in Alaska, digging clams in Washington state--I've loved it all.
WOW! YOu're quite the adventurous yuppie!
Dork.