When it comes to vacations, there is a fluid, ongoing disagreement of the pace. I don't want to be completely sedentary; I want to do stuff, but my main objective is to relax. More than anything else, I am happy made in the shade. I'm also happy being in the pool, careening about a float with others, or about to jump in, clapping my hands saying "This is CRAZY." I don't need to be on the go that much. The other side is constant planning, daily discussions, and a "let's go" attitude. These 2 waves crash when we're out of town, and I'm hopeful yet weary of the blend.
I think I was still settling in to my new surroundings when the Big Scoop herself came out of the owner's home. "Dad! Look! It's a leopard gecko! They said it's a great pet, easy to take care of and everything!" Upon quick inspection, it sure was, and it was resting on her forearm. Look, that's fine for YOU, but when do I get to have this pet hang out on me? Well, ask, and next thing I know, it was climbing up my arm to my neck. How about this, huh?!
(I want to reiterate again one of the qualities she has that I don't is her way to become America's Guest and just immediately make fast friends with anyone under any circumstance. She'd known this family less than 24 hours and they offered to make her chocolate chip waffles the next morning)
A trip to Coronado one day was supposed to yield more of that: we'd sight-see, wander, dine, and hit the beach. Such items in sum shouldn't become an ordeal under any circumstances. But when someone pushes for "riding" a contraption that looks like a man-powered golf cart...it has to be done until all agree that life is now done the hard way. It's unneeded effort that was paid for. I was more than hesitant on this idea, went along with it to stop someone talking about it, and yet we only went a block. "I don't like this." I had to be polite but blunt, sounding like a child...which is a coincidence since an actual child was saying the same thing in even saltier language. We received an immediate refund. "OK, well now what?" I was asked. Who says "now" has to be anything?
The following day, La Jolla remained scenic, the food delicious, and the waves angry. Mother Earth was sending a message, yet a companion wanted to push ahead. So there I found myself hours later surrounded by people I've never met, wearing a wetsuit that was previously worn maybe 30 minutes ago, missing vital instructions because there was always someone uncomfortable. As such, I went out to sea getting 2 giant waves right in the mush, paddling and seemingly getting nowhere, exhausted and cold, all to see a sea lion asleep. On the way back in, I tried my best to follow instructions only to wipe out and have the kayak land right on my noggin. I was fine because kids: wear a helmet. Always take the helmet option. Last time I went horse riding I wore something called a "polo helmet" and I don't give a fuck how I looked, because if Buttercup got spooked by a squirrel or something, I'll be...well, not AS hurt.
Like the sea, we were all salty. Once cleaned, we searched for nightlife and found it. Tasty food, funny waiters, goings on in the dark. Now, isn't THAT a vacation? Or am I the only one who thinks so?
Day of depart it was sorrowful looks, one last swim, one last gecko visit. "Dad, let's look up getting one." And so it begins. I returned home, sat on the patio in the backyard, and drank beer. All I heard were the birds ready for Summer and the occasional prop plane. Maybe it took this vaca for some in my surroundings to realize that, because I’m not talking, or simply being quiet, does not
mean I want or need to be talked to...and if after this physical vacation I needed a mental one, too, it makes me think I'm not the first and it won't be my last.
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