Sunday, June 26, 2016

Need to Get Away

I am so stressed out. Too much work, not enough play, not enough sleep.

I need a vacation.

Wait a minute . . . I am going on vacation. That's why I'm so stressed out.

Oh, great. I'll never get anywhere with this kind of circular reasoning!

But it's true. There are so many things to think about, so many things to plan for, so many things to stress over.

Will my cats be too lonely? Will my plants survive without me? Will I survive six hours in a small car with my youngest children?

What if I forget to leave a light on? What if I accidentally turn on the stove? What if a window gets left open? What if I forget to empty the trash? What if I leave clothes in the dryer to get all wrinkly? What if I forget to pack my swimsuit?

I could go on.

The point is, getting away from it all is not all that easy. There are last-minute purchases to buy. Final plans to make. Bags to pack. Loose ends to tie up at work. The entire process is really quite daunting. How much easier it would be to stay at home, stuck in the same-old-same-old, following my ordinary routines.

But then I would never feel that beautiful, freeing feeling of having just a little bit of time away from all that work . . . all that sameness . . . all that . . . NORMAL.

And that is what it's really all about. Getting to see different places and meet different people. Eat different food. Maybe try something new.

And that feeling is so light and fresh and wonderful, I know I will forget about all that stuff I worked so hard to worry about before I left. After all, that stuff will not go anywhere while I'm away. It will be right where I left it when I get back home - untouched, unphased, unmoved.

No amount of stress or worry will change any of it.

So I will let go of all that stuff and enjoy every minute of my vacation - even those hours spent in the car listening to my sons fighting over whether the bag of snacks is too far over on their side of the seat, handing my husband fruit snacks and granola bars and water bottles while I'm trying to write my blog (!), and being reacquainted with every annoying road trip song I ever sang as a child.

Because when I finally let go of everything that has been weighing me down, I will truly be on vacation. Then I will be building memories that will live forever in my memory as a precious portion of my life that I may never get back.

But I will never forget.

Friday, June 10, 2016

These Feet Were Made for Walking

I'm not really a pedicure kind of gal, as you may have surmised from my previous posts. I have subjected my feet to hard labor most of my life, and it's not uncommon to find me running around weeding my garden or taking out trash without the benefit of shoes.

So imagine my surprise when I recently found myself scheduling an appointment for my first pedicure EVER. And I didn't make the appointment just anywhere, but at an upscale salon that I heard brings you free drinks while you're being serviced. (This may be more urban legend than stone-cold fact; but, hey, it’s still a nice thought.)

Wait a minute. Serviced? Is that the right word for this type of situation? Like when I take my minivan in for an oil change?

Close enough, I guess!

I had been planning to make this call for weeks. I received a gift card a while back and thought, why not? I'm going to waste it - I mean use it - on myself for a change.

But for weeks, I hadn’t been able to do it. I just couldn't bring myself to make the call. I kept getting cold feet (pardon my expression).

I almost gave the card away to one of my daughters like I usually do, but then I realized my name was actually written right on it.


I wasn’t getting out of it this time. I was actually going to be stuck using it for myself. Darn!

So that’s when I finally called the salon. As soon as I said, "I'd like to make an appointment for a pedicure," the lady responded with, "Is this your first appointment here?"

How did she know??? This wasn’t a face-time call. How could she tell I have poor, neglected feet over the phone? Was it evident from the tone of my voice??

Oh, brother. I hope they let me in with my poor, untreated feet.

Anyway, I managed to get the appointment scheduled and ended the call.

And I felt better already.

Imagine . . . me . . . going to a full-service spa.

My adventures in advanced podiatry have begun.

My feet may be just another pair of ordinary working feet, but they have suffered in silence for far too long. Their day in the sun is coming!

And I think I may even enjoy myself.