Vacationing
It wasn’t really her indecisiveness. It had more to do with finding the right place at the right price.We’re talking vacation here. I have learned long ago to avoid the following scenario when discussing vacation venues.
Me: “How about we go to such-and-such?”
Wife: “Oh no. We were just there a few years ago.”
Me: “Ok. Well then, how about that-place?”
Wife: “No. I don’t think so. My friend went there and she didn’t like it. Plus it’s too expensive.”
Me: “Fair enough. How about this place over there?”
Wife: “No. I don’t know anything about it.”
Me: “Well then, where do you want to go?”
Wife: “Why is it always me that has to make the decisions?”
Now before you start passing judgments in my direction let me just re-state for the record, that my vacation requirements, demands and expectations are low to the point of being almost immeasurable.
A venue for me is all but superfluous. Activities and sight-seeing hold only marginal value at this point in my life. Wining and dining are merely aspects of every day nutritional fundamentals. What are my vacation requirements? Simple.
1. I’m not at work
2. My wife is with me
3. I have a guitar and music
4. I have books to read
Simple stuff, no? I could be at home. Granted I don’t want to vacation in a rat infested dungeon or spend my time freezing or burning. I’d rather not be hungry. So I suppose there should be a fifth requirement that wherever I am situated, I need to be reasonably comfortable.
But really, I couldn’t care less. And, owing to the fact that my wife is more particular to an order of magnitude, the aspect of vacationing venue selection falls squarely within her purview.
And so I would waftily gaze on my lovely wife as she ensconced herself comfortably in our recliner chair whilst she navigated peacefully on her laptop computer through what used to be termed the information superhighway. She would look at Facebook entries and also research locales for a nice vacation spot. She has long ago relegated my input to the status of ‘useless’ insofar as vacation spot selection is concerned.
What are my wife’s criteria for selecting accordingly? The following would probably represent a fair listing comprising my wife’s vacationing wish list: near the beach. Also, near the beach. Did I mention that it should probably be near the beach? On the other hand, on a handful of occasions she would throw out the prospect of what she, in her mind, has been loosely defined as a ‘road trip’. What does she consider a road trip? How far? What direction? Where to stay? What to see? Haven’t a clue. Who can say?
With respect to said trip and this would be tossed out as an idea, I would respond, “Sounds good.” And then, not five minutes later a venue would be suggested.
Wife: “Myrtle Beach”
Me: “Sounds good.”
Wife: “How about Rehobeth Beach?”
Me: “Sounds good.”
Wife: “Chincoteague?”
Me: “Sounds good.”
Wife: “The Outer Banks?”
Me: “Sounds good.”
Wife: “Hilton Head?”
Me: “Sounds good.”
Wife: “You’re a big help.”
Me: “Sounds good.”
What are the other criteria my wife probably harbors? I would throw out the following for consideration: A nicely furnished house or condo with a fully equipped kitchen so we can prepare our own snacks and/or meals. Local grocery shopping. Local outlet malls. A nearby beach. Something new to see. Nice nearby restaurants. A quiet spot. Pretty scenery A pool. A hot tub. A beach. If it involves substantial travel, flying automatically goes to the very bottom of the list. But perhaps at the very top of the list, over comfort, over dining, over scenery, even over an accumulation of sand is: the price. In other words, the whole enchilada has to fall squarely within these essentials, but it also has to be reasonably priced. So scratch the Hamptons or Cape Cod or Hilton Head.
Believe me. This is not as easy as you might think. Oh, one more thing. All this has to be a week long and it has to be available during the time frame within which my wife has unilaterally dictated regardless of how nigh approaching her unannounced deadline might happen to be.
In fact, at the book club widower’s dinner, the guys turned to me and said, “Say, I understand that in two days you’re going to go to Rehobeth Beach for a week.” My response was, “Is that so? Well, well. Live and learn.” Seems like my wife told her girl friends. The girl friends told their husbands. However, there was one small item omitted from this equation, to wit: me. Details. Details.
As it turns out, she found a better deal in a little golf community condo north of Myrtle Beach. It was a bargain. It was gorgeous. It was just right. Long drive down, perhaps. But again. I didn’t care. I was on vacation.
We stopped overnight in Richmond, Virginia at an inexpensive motel in a less than desirable part of town. But all in all, the place was clean and serviceable despite being far from our ‘A’ list.
We found a nice restaurant where we were served by, easily, the best waiter we’ve ever had.
Thanks, in no small part to our wonderful little GPS and despite traffic congestion, we got to our destination on time. It was a gorgeous perfectly sized 2 bedroom 2 bath second floor condo overlooking a golf course and pond. A pool and Jacuzzi were right across the way. Fully furnished. Fully equipped kitchen. They even had a semi decent selection of books. We even had wi-fi so we could connect to work and home email.
We had family vacationing about 45 minutes away. We had old friends who had moved to the area. We spent some time visiting both. There was a winery. There was ice cream. There was shopping. And, of course, there was the beach and the pool.
However, there was certain bit of reality that was insistent in its attendance and nudged to the point of annoyance. Information concerning the recent 5.9 east coast earthquake proved interesting. However, the more surreal bit of news revolved around the developing hurricane named Irene. Not only was she large and looming but she was headed our way and was threatening to strike landfall right where we were vacationing on the very day we were planning to leave.
My wife and I have become jaded stock and to us, all news is to be taken with a rather large dose of skepticism and several grains of salt. However, even we had to agree that this bit of newsworthiness was now beginning to develop into something substantive.
So we discussed the issue and decided that, number one, we didn’t want to drive in the pouring rain that was being threatened for that Saturday and, number two, we didn’t want to be on the road with every yahoo, bubba and their grandmother traveling to higher ground.
And so, in order to avoid traffic in DC and Philly, we cut across Maryland to Pennsylvania in order to go east towards Jersey. It turned out to be a slightly longer drive but it would have been substantially longer had we decided to brave DC and Philly.
And we arrived home earlier than originally anticipated in northern Jersey. The next day, Saturday was gloomy and gray waiting for Irene’s slam fest.
Saturday evening and Sunday evening welcomed the wicked witch of the South draped in her darkest and wettest gray finery, long unkempt locks flying, wild eyed and talon-like fingers outstretched and at the ready.
We were fortunate. There were downed branches all around. There was some water in the basement. There was a minor leak in one bathroom. We were without power for 12 hours. But we didn’t have over 4 feet of water in the house. We didn’t lose heaters and water tanks. We didn’t lose roofs. Trees did not crash into our house. We regained power within the day. We were a lot luckier than many.
The aftermath, is, however, something we are now living through in the guise of detours and blockaded roadways.
This deserves its own space and I will sign off at this point.
posted by Marty Brounstein @ 10:24 AM
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