ELIZABETH RECOVERS

This blog is late because Evan and I took a “vacation.”

Why is vacation surrounded by “…” ?

Webster’s Dictionary defines vacation as “a period of time free from work.”

That definition conjures up relaxation, lack of stress, “down time,” and a whole bunch of other wonderfully lazy images.

My “vacation”?

Well, gee, it started with a two-hour drive to the airport through rush-hour traffic. Breakfast was an Egg McMuffin. Parking was a nightmare. Race with bag to stand in line to check bags because we aren’t certain what carry-on is allowed that minute. Mega lines at check-in. Security line an endless boa constrictor trying to swallow a cow. Finally get to strip down to blouse and slacks, put purse in scanner, shoes in scanner, wade barefoot through public heath menace (aka walkway through metal detector)—no, there weren’t any paper booties—emerge at other side, get called over for secondary check (new person hadn’t ever seen a Mercedes radio/remote-lock car key), hurry to gate only to find previous flight hasn’t left yet.

Snarling people everywhere. No place to sit and read. No place to lean and read. Go to nearest food place and wait in line for twenty minutes to get an overpriced ham sandwich for the lunch flight. Our plane finally is called. We settle in cheek-by-jowl with a horde of harried travelers. Find ourselves in one of those seats where you can’t pick up anything you drop. No way to change seats, because there’s a warm butt in every seat on the plane.

Wait for customary back spasm from cramped seat. Don’t have to wait long.

Captain leaves seatbelt sign on for whole flight.

Land hard, wait in line to get off, wait in line for bathroom. Wait in line for baggage which airlines repeatedly advised us to check, wait in line for rental car, wait in line on San Diego freeways. Arrive at son’s house just in time to help him shop for dinner. Wait in grocery line. Cook dinner while grandpa (Evan) and son bathe kids and Jenni recovers from a long day at work. Eat dinner, clean up, read to grandkids, take one apiece up to bed and try not to fall asleep with them. Visit with grown kids until we all crawl to bed. (Air mattresses for us because Heather’s knee gives her first dibs on the downstairs guest bed.)

Grandkids up a dawn.

Grandmother is not a dawn raider.

Two days later, get up at dawn, repeat airport clusterhug, with added attraction of gassing up rental car before returning.

Arrive home late due to rush hour traffic in Seattle and have to write a blog.

Run screaming into the marina.

Do you need a vacation after your “vacation”?