Now That's a Vacation

My time in Virginia with my sister and her family was lots of fun, but what really made it a vacation was that for six days I didn’t have to make any decisions. ("Long or short sleeves today?" does not count as a decision.)

I can’t explain how wonderful it was to rest my brain. Like a tropical spa with a dozen servants for the body, that’s what it was like for my mind.

When I left the Portland airport on the shuttle bus and then rattled around the big parking lot trying to find my car in the dark, I had a feeling my vacation was over. Driving home confirmed it—I was back in responsible, take-charge mode.

Today, I am back to making decisions:
What’s on hand for breakfast?
Who can I get to pick up more milk?
Yes, Anne, you can get me, oh, let’s see, how about three or four packages of leg quarters.
What’s wrong with Amy?
What shall I make for supper?
What’s priority—food, laundry, cleaning, unpacking, or getting groceries?
Let’s see, why don’t we make it Monday for my doctor appointment and Friday to use the gift certificate to eat on the Willamette Queen.
How do I approach my new publisher with changes I want on the contract?

When a space capsule re-enters the atmosphere, it burns. This morning in the shower, I asked God to please keep me from burning on the inside during re-entry. I figured burning on the outside was inevitable, but I want my heart to stay intact, willing to get back into Mom Mode so I can do what I’m called to do.

Quote of the Day:
"Braveheart incarnate, aren’t you?"
--my nephew, Jason, when I pointed a broom at him as though it was a rifle because I had seen a few too many Confederate/Civil War references around town and he viciously attacked me with a couch cushion like a crazy Yankee and I screeeeeeemed and retreated down Barbo’s Gap (the hallway)