The Road Back To Reality…


CAM00211The trouble with vacation is that you have to come back from it. 

Yesterday I was driving to a family party in my husband’s truck feeling completely depressed at being home from our recent escape.  It was a wonderful and much needed trip with my little family.  Visiting old friends, dining at great restaurants on the water and playing with my children in the ocean and sand, we spent the week content in our home away from home.

As I cruised along in the little Dakota, I passed a few trailers and houses that had various assortments of junk in the front yard, one even had a toilet.  Sighing, I shook my head thinking about how vastly different the landscape was from what I had been viewing just days before.

Daydreaming toward a happier place, I began envisioning the week I had just spent on Cape Cod on the sands of Chapoquoit Beach.  My beach chair placed in the water at low tide, a pretty blue cup filled with cold Chardonnay, while I lunched on garlic herb crackers and lobster salad.  My older children swam and played happily in the water as the babies slept peacefully under a beach umbrella, a gentle breeze blowing off Buzzards Bay keeping them comfortably cool.  My husband sat sipping cold beer in the chair next to me.  Tan and relaxed, we talked and laughed as seagulls flew over the water crying out and waves lapped around our feet and legs. 

Suddenly, I was jarred out of my beautiful memory as an old tractor pulled out in front of me going ten miles an hour- mud and animal excrement flying off the wheels; hitting the windshield of my truck.  I jerked at the steering wheel as if the debris was actually hitting me in the face.  Shaken and annoyed, I went to look in the left side mirror of my vehicle to check for cars and pull around him and remembered there wasn’t one.  Weeks before, my husband had backed into a tree at his parents’ house ripping it off.   

Thrown back to reality, I began mumbling to myself; making a mental list of all the things that needed to be taken care of with the cars and house and kids and life in general, as soon as possible.  I puttered along the dirt road to my destination, responsibilities weighing down my shoulders, as rocks and dirt flew up from the road covering the car- Feeling as though I should be pulling up to the trailer with the toilet in the front yard. 

I took a deep breath as I rounded the corner of the road to reality, forcing me to leave my beach back on the Cape along with my lobster salad.  I found it vastly symbolic that the aforementioned road was dusty and dirty and that mud and poop were literally being thrown at my face.  Trying desperately to fight my melancholy, I willed myself to dig down and find some resolve.  There wasn’t much there, but I have faith it’ll return slowly.  I did however; find great comfort in that I at least still have my Chardonnay, if not my ocean and lobster salad.

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