This past weekend I decided to flee the city with my girls to stay with a friend and his family, who live in a lovely plantation-style (I cringe at the name itself) house steps away from Lake Chelan. After coming back, I was asked what we did, and replied "Nothing." In other words, most of the time there was spent relaxing, whether that mean having tea on the candlelit porch after dark or watching far too many movies instead of spending time outside. One morning, I inexplicably woke at 6:30 in the morning and decided to not return to dreamland. I tiptoed downstairs, poured a cup of coffee, and joined another house guest on the porch. We enjoyed the morning and spoke of our respective times at the college I attend. He's more or less of my parents generation, so naturally there have been changes. Later we were joined by my friend's parents, so my morning was spent having conversation and coffee with signficantly older human beings and working dutifully on a crossword. You may be surprised to hear that the latter was far more agonzing than the first. I cherish my conversations with the generations that have come before me.
To be sure, I didn't just laze about all weekend. I swam quite often, went wakeboarding only to be sore for the next two days, and took a less than leisurely bike ride. My friend Bridget and I decided to bike into town. She rode her road bike, while I rather idiotically mounted an electric blue cruiser. Coincidentally, a triathlon was taking place at the same. While I didn't look or sound anything like a serious biker—in sandals and oversized button up, ringing the bell in sheer glee—my effort to keep up with Bridget was much like competing in a race. As we got to town, it began to rain to my relief. I was already hot and absolutely exhausted. We passed triathletes sporting pained faces and while I was tempted to ring the bell at several, I resisted to save myself from a potential punch in the face. As soon as we arrived home, I ran upstairs and changed into my swim suit. By the time I got to the dock, it was pouring, but I was undeterred. I dove in and gasped as the cold enveloped me. Not long after, the water felt less hostile. Pulling myself onto the dock, I stood in the nearly warm rain, taken with the way nature can look and feel. Perhaps rain is the last thing many Seattlites would want to encounter on vacation, but I couldn't have been happier. I'm so very glad I haven't lost the ability to find joy in the little things. While you mope, I'll be dancing in the rain.
