A Weekend Away, in Three Acts.

Technology.  Beautiful, terrible technology.  It's the thing that allows us to have 6,000 photos on our phones (for better AND for worse).

The internet, like a great cosmic dryer sucking up single socks, never to be seen again, has just dumped a post that really mattered to me.  One that was history- and tear-filled.  I wept right out in public while writing it, but told myself it didn't matter; it had to be written, tears or not.

*publish*

.... nothing.

*blank page*

I will try again. But not now.  Now I will tell you about now, and try again soon to write that dear, tender post.

*******


Act I

We have reached a magical age, my sweetie and me; the age when our kids only kinda-sorta need us, and we can sneak away for a night or two and return to mostly intact children (although Jonah's self-mashed toe was bandaged and Tessa now knows that cooking oil is flammable).  Guy's new job as a principal for Sacramento County Office of Education started last week, so before he embarked on this very intense adventure, we stole away for a weekend ALONE.

Not far.  Ellie doesn't have her licence yet (thanks Covid, they’re not even making appointments at the DMV), so we stayed within an hour's drive of home.  In these hills of "Gold Country" are tucked many tiny towns all staking a claim, pun much intended, on the Gold Rush.  "Birth Place" of this and "Gateway" to that, and all.  The towns are mostly cute and somewhat run down, with boutiques and bistros tucked in amongst old hotels and DOZENS of antique stores.  We strolled past manor homes with historical landmark signs out side, and hair salons and notary offices inside, humoring over the modern attempts at mending 200 year old brick walls and wooden window frames with Gorilla Glue and duct tape.

I don't know that there was anything particularly unique about this venture, except for us.  We are different these days.  We recognize and appreciate this little lull in our typical chaos, but we are battening down the hatches.  I don't know that anything specific is coming, but something always does.  In February, just before the universe spiraled out of control for everyone else, we were hustling back and forth to a hospital in Sacramento for my dad, who had a heart attack, a bleeding ulcer, plummeting blood sugars, bladder issues and pneumonia, all at once.  He's doing better these days, but there will be hard times to come.  That's just how mortality works.

And Guy's new job is a bit of a wild card.  Who knows what the school year will look like with Covid in the mix.  His hours will be longer, days off fewer, and stresses much, much greater.  Add to that Chex-Mix of life our six kids and you have predictable unpredictability. The summer days are warm, but like an old mariner, I feel storms coming. 

My mom would say, "Don't borrow trouble".  That was her way of cautioning that we not worry before we know what we have to worry about.  And truly, I'm not worried.  I've just been in enough antique stores to know that I'll see Carnival Glass, dusty smelling furniture and old lace doilies in the next one, same as the last. 

Continued in Act II