home sweet home

Today I crossed the border between Alabama and Georgia, and felt immense gratitude. Last week I traveled through twelve states and stopped in double that number of rest stops from Kentucky to Kansas. I was on vacation.

What did I do? Well, I got sunburned learning that 1.8 miles IS a long way when it's straight up the side of a mountain. I was approached by an unfortunate man at a rest stop who wanted me to know his house was paid for and he was lonely and missed sex. A dapper gentleman made my day by telling me he liked my dress and thought I was "delicious." Another old man, living in Loveland but retired from Chicago, shared his french fries with me while telling me about Loveland bronzework. A man walking his dog stood with me, staring at the shadow of the Stanley Hotel, and said he was living in the most beautiful place on earth, and said his son worked for the National Forestry Service, a job that didn't pay much, but supplemented his income "in sunsets."

It is unusual for strangers to approach me during my day. Perhaps I have a routine which insulates me to much contact with them, I'm not sure. But during this vacation, strangers approached me all week long. One woman told me all about her physical therapy session that morning. Another told me that her best friend had died that day, and she was all alone in the world. A young girl of about five told me an engaging story about the squirrels we were watching.

And I sat on a bench next to an old church on Main Street in Longmont wrote notes about an intersection I hope will be part of my future. I drove through apartment complexes. I drove miles and miles of Colorado road, looking at green farms, beautiful old trees, white capped mountains and grain silos. I almost got my classy Pearly Lee stuck in a soggy patch on Sugarloaf Mountain. I almost got her stuck again in a soggy patch near Estes Park.

And I ate mexican food with a woman who will be my friend for the rest of our lives, a great friend who used half her well earned vacation to fly out with me and listen to plans for my future. She also helped me drive home, through the North Texas plains, where dust is so thick that your tears won't roll again.

Speaking of which, when I arrived home, I was faced with grass thicker than I've ever seen it. In my back yard. And a pile of things I need to burn. This week. And I learned while on vacation that my last living great-aunt has a brain filled with cancer, and is not expected to see April's end.

I guess when you start planning for the future, you have to balance that with the present. Work still needs to be done. Grass still needs to be mowed. Goodbyes to dear great-aunts need to be made.

On the other hand, I also have new tile in my kitchen, and that makes the house more rentable. And in my miles of conversation, I came up with some new ideas for managing a move that's two time zones away. We exposed some weaknesses in my plans, but found some solutions too. I know it sounds funny, but that makes the grass easier to mow. It also makes the goodbyes easier to say, tinged with less regret even when it's a dear great-aunt.

In year's past, I've been kind of a slacker, choosing the path of least resistence because I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life. In reality, it looked like I only had one choice: stick it out and live with the less-than-ideal. But this year I've discovered what I want to do. And I've learned something about myself in the process. I'm not a slacker after all. I don't have to live my life making the easier choices. When the better choices require more work, I can pony up and make the sacrifice. When I see something I want, I can do something about it.

My April vacation didn't involve pampering this year. I didn't get a spa treatment or float on my back while soaking my pedicured happy toes in the Lazy River. I've floated before though, and there will be time for that again. Right now, I'm doing some swimming. Or rather, I'm climbing 1000 feet up a granite mountain, not to a Lazy River but to a Gem Lake in the Rocky Mountain National Park. There's a different kind of reward for me in that kind of climb. This vacation is where it began to pay off.

---Laura