Believe it or not, I am just about to go on “vacation.” Usually my vacations are writing retreats. This is decidedly not. The hubby has arranged for us to see the Grand Canyon — something I have wanted to do all my life (probably since reading Brighty of the Grand Canyon, by Marguerite Henry).
I wasn’t ready for this. “It’s too hot right now!” (Triple digits–my sister in Arizona tells me.) “Covid-19!” (We’re both fully vaccinated.) “Who will take care of the dog?” (We hired a dog-sitter.)
Hubby came up with answers for all of it. I’m going to spend two days with my sister and her family — I get to see my two little great-nephews (very excited about that), and I’ll have lunch with a cousin who I haven’t seen in about 15 years — and before that, about 50 years. And then I’ll join Bruce and his friend, a former colleague, in Prescott. Bruce’s friend is an artist and loves the high desert. From what I hear, he is planning the perfect visit to GC. I am putting myself in his hands and not trying to control any of it.
So. I’m taking my poetry manuscript. And a small notebook to write in (not my regular journal). I’m maybe going to read my novel on the airplane. But maybe not. I bought another pair of shorts and new hiking shoes. I’m packing my swimsuit. I’m going to va-kay.
Meanwhile, on my walk this morning I listened to this podcast from On Being, and I think y’all should listen to it, too.