So yesterday my family packed up the Volkswagen for its maiden voyage and drove south.
We did something similar to this once, when I was a sophomore in high school, when we spent a day skiing at Pomerelle and then made our way south to California, where we stayed a couple days. I still remember that sudden transition to 100-degree weather: it was actually just after the beginnings of this blog, and I wrote about it in a journal that I’m sure I still have if I dig. The tranquility of those days is best summed up in a single image I have of drifting in and out of an afternoon nap as I watched the afternoon breeze set the curtains dancing, and the sensory memory of running water in the night.
I have read in Lucy Maud Montgomery that “the years from fifteen to nineteen are the best years in a girl’s life,” and all I can say is that I certainly hope not, because otherwise I’m looking forward to a lot of things right now that will not happen, and that would be abysmally sad. I was fifteen last time we drove south in search of sunshine and rest – and really, it had been a lousy year for nearly everyone in my family as I remember it and after a long, cold, dismal winter it was the best thing that could have happened.
This winter was not long or cold, particularly, though it had its dismal days. Mostly the flight south this time involves a search for respite from stressing about other people. I’m going to love the heck out of these days, quiet, simple, with some of the best scenery I have laid eyes on in my life, and keeping busy with books and taking pictures and being outside in general, and the only gripe I have is that there is no piano, and frankly that disappears quickly when confronted with the fact that I am about to fall asleep in front of a fireplace. (Well, sort of. I mean, if I leave it on all night I’ll be rubbing my nose all day tomorrow. But never mind that!)
It’ll be lovely.
Also, whoever I end up living with permanently in the future had better be okay with fireplaces.