We did not all come over
on the same ship, but we were all in the same boat. – Bernard M. Baruch
It is something of an oxymoron to confess that while I have
been retired about a year now, my wife and I haven’t really taken time off to
enjoy a vacation.
Unless you are desperate for some sleep, I don’t need to
bore you with the details of what we’ve been up to this past year, but suffice
it to say it has involved moving to our new house, settling in, and doing everything
we could and can to make it into a home. I am pleased to report that while it
is still a work in progress, we seem to have moved forward far enough to risk
taking some time away to simply enjoy days that, in the short term, won’t
involve mowing lawns, weeding gardens, unpacking boxes, or vacuuming floors.
Our plan is to head over to the Olympic Peninsula to visit
some beaches and historic sites, do some hiking to see some of the waterfalls
for which the Olympics are noted (assuming the rivers and creeks haven’t all
dried up; they are reputedly most impressive in early summer), and otherwise
relaxing in the shade of old growth forests.
Vacations aren’t something I do well, however.
I suppose some of my reluctance to enjoy summer holidays
stems from my youth, where vacations meant piling into the back of the family
sedan, four kids smooshed into a space designed for three, driving for several
days straight from our home in Seattle to visit relatives out near Chicago, and
having little to do upon arriving except to sit in the sweltering heat of
summer while the adults sat in the shade shooting the breeze and enjoying their
adult beverages.
Not all vacations were hot and boring, though. I remember a
trip the family took one time to a nearby lake when I was just a wee lad of
seven or eight. We stayed in a small travel trailer, which I presume was a
rental as we didn’t own one. My dad bought my brother and me a kid’s fishing
rod, which had about five feet of string attached. I presume it had a
kid-friendly hook, but don’t recall for sure. It didn’t matter as I knew, even
at that tender age, that I would never catch fish a foot or so from shore – and
didn’t. On a positive note, it wasn’t hot. On the flip side, it was boring.
Another time our family took a trip to the very same Olympic
National Forest we will soon be visiting. We were a family of four at the time,
and it was summer (I’m sure it was before I was in school yet – the memories
are very faint). My dad, ever the soldier, set up the tent in quick and
efficient fashion and even went to the trouble of digging out a small drainage
trench around it “just in case.” Well, that night it poured. To be more
accurate, a tsunami came down from the darkened sky and nearly washed us away
into the River Hoh (or whatever creek we had camped beside). The next morning
we poured the campsite back into our rusted ’49 Plymouth and drove home. I’ll
be honest; I don’t remember much fun happening on that trip, either.
These incidents, though, do bring to mind the one thing I
enjoy doing more than pretty much anything else. I love to complain! I am never
so happy as when I’ve got something to criticize. I resonate with Saint Paul
who says at one place in one of his early columns, “Oh, who will deliver me
from this body of death?”
Now there’s a saint after my own heart!
The answer, of course, is one who took the ultimate trip
from paradise, set up his tent in our world, and went to the grave that we
might live. Keeping that in mind, I find it helpful to pause from my carping
and to be simply thankful. When I let go and let God, so to speak, life becomes
much more bearable – even vacation-life!
Furthermore, not everyone gets to go on vacation, and with
any luck, I’ll have more stories to share with you when I get back here in
this, God’s valley. Until then, I’m outa here!
