William had learned to trust my travel plans. Look, if you're not going to marry an ideas guy, at least marry a go-along-with-the-ideas guy.
I pored over guides and checked out spots online. I put together a ten-day trip that would turn into a marriage of travel and vacation. We would be on the move, as I defined travel, but so would we be still and quiet in places worthy of contemplation and relaxation.
We spent two days over Christmas with William's brother, wife and three small children. It was gift-filled, food-filled, laughter-filled and screaming overloaded kids filled. On that high-pitched note we drove off to explore our state and our state.
We traveled along curvy highways with deep forests on either side of us and stopped in a National park to hike in a redwood forest. William's parents had given him a fancy digital camera for Christmas and as he clicked away at squirrels and trees I walked ahead into the deep silence and piney air of the timberland. We passed occasional fellow hikers but mostly we were alone.
What would the new decade bring? I wondered and walked the pine-needled ground. What was important? I looked over my shoulder at William and saw a man, content. The dismay of the New Orleans job had waned. Our summer had been spectacular together, in our house, with our pets and writing. Peace, purpose and creativity in balance.
The camera immediately transformed William into a man observing. This was new. In the past if I squealed when spotting an unusual cornice on a rooftop, William would roll his eyes. Now he was studying and appreciating.
You know, we better super-enjoy this time, I called to him.
Why?
Because you will work again. You'll be super-busy and we'll wish for days like this.
You think so?
I know so.
No comments:
Post a Comment