It's Monday, and we're on vacation.
For the first time in a year, I didn't teach yoga this morning. Feels a bit weird, and like today is still Saturday or Sunday. I suppose time always blurs somewhat when you're traveling around and staying in a new place.
It's been a busy few days. Mostly nice though. We made the drive in the fastest time ever, and I feel that this year is the most mellow vacation that our family of four has ever had. The girls are old enought to be self-responsible and able to travel well. My parents are aged and slower than before, and my brother's family is still all the wacky fun and drama of getting together with two toddlers. Case in point, the one year old threw up at lunch today, in the restaurant. Boy, I do not miss those days!!
So, pretty much par for the course.
It's surreal to do the same things year after year, and yet still do them differently as well. I don't even know what I feel this year. less exhausted and stressed out than in previous years, I suppose. I'm more calm and balanced. But I'm not as excited to be here either. Maybe just because I've done it before, or maybe because my own usual life is pretty much this fun. One more year we've cruised through every city along the coast. One more year of Santa Barbara and the tunnel, the vineyards, the hills rolling into the distance and dotted with cows. Betteravia Avenue again with the old, abandonned white house on the hill by the freeway and wondering what it's story is and if I want to try to write a story about it. Watching the girls play with their cousins, and watching the rain fall, the fog roll in, and today, the sun shine on the glinting, moving ocean. This rented house is on a farm, and white board fences are sloping away all around the property while a breeze blows in, lifting the curtains of the room where everybody is napping or reading. My dad is snoring softly, which is cute, and the only other sounds are my fingers tapping at the keys, the occasional turning of a page in someone's novel, and some distant lawnmower noise from a few farms over.
I would be reading too, but I have a piece to write for my class, due tonight. So I'm taking advantage of the lull to get my thoughts going. I really don't want to be writing it at 11:00 pm when everyone else goes to bed, something I've done before.
Today's topic is Love. Any kind of love. Write about one of the stages of love (beginning, growth, challenges, end), how you felt, your life at the time, physical descriptions and dialogue, and your perspective now. I haven't decided yet what to write about. So I thought I'd just sit here and type while my unconscious mulled it out.
My family? My brother, since he's here with me? Who or what else do I truly love? My children, but that seems awfully obvious. Maybe a hobby or interest. Reading? yoga? Writing seems too cliche. SAme for work - I don't think I want to write about the past. I haven't loved many partners and I don't think I want to do anything with romantic love anyway. I could write about a pet? Or a friend? Usually I like my pets, and I'm fond of them, but I don't adore them and become inseperable. But I probably could do a good piece about Phoebe, my rat. She truly is adorable and I haven't written about her yet.
I don't know. Is that weird? I get some ideas there of how I could structure the piece. I'd start with the beginning, seeing her photo online from the breeder, adopting her, wanting to write about her. Talk about bringing her home. Yeah, I like it. It's fun, it's not heavy or depressing. It captures a part of my life, and it helps me to think about her to support my other stories. Okay, my pet it is.