I am blogging today from my tub.
It’s warm and bubbly here. Two of my favorite things, as it happens. Warmth and bubbles and plenty of ahhh!
In between catching up on sleep (there’s a reason they call it a red eye flight) and rooting around for food that doesn’t yet resemble a science project, I’ve been noggin-izing.
Reflecting. Picking up the pieces of me.
Jet lag, too many pop tarts, a grouchy lumbar from hauling luggage; this messy mix leaves me needing a vacation from my vacation.
Friends, let’s be real. Vacation is work! Even if you’re not camping, it’s labor camp a la carte.
Holidaying for adults means taking a mini version of All Your Stuff to a faraway place, then trying gamely NOT to do the things you do at home. Because dagnabit it you are enjoying the thrill of being unleashed!
And buster, if you can’t wrangle fun out of THAT then something is wrong with you. So wrongly wrong that even pecan flapjacks swimming in syrup won’t fix it.
In other words, really fricking serious.
But I digress!
Truth is, after the gobsmacking beauty of the Oregon coast and much jamming to vintage funk with an old friend, my favorite part of nine days in the Pacific Northwest was dog watching.
I go on vacation and I dog watch. Yep. It makes me happy. Simply said, I am a human made happy by the sight of dogs. Corgis especially, but any dog will do.
I spy one and my neurotic mind forgets itself for a blissful minute. Great Jehovah in the mornin’, it happens every time.
They’re like a mini mental vacation, these brief, enchanted encounters with random dogs. My phone is full of shaky pictures of lovely dogs ambling along, thinking their inscrutable doggy thoughts.
I count them as riches. Today, I call them souvenirs.
The very best kind.