A sporty new car calls for a road trip. It’s a month of travel, more or less. The last part is at the family cottage in Ontario and I can always cut that short if social judgment becomes something the wine can’t ease. It is a tiny cottage after all.
I am lucky to have a job that allows for extended summer vacations. I spent the last two summers in Los Angeles and had a wonderful time. It would have been easy to go back, but Minneapolis won out. Clearly, I am travel-challenged when a vacation comes down to L.A. versus Minneapolis, but I have future summers to become more refined. Omaha awaits!
One of the nice things about this trip is that I don’t have a relationship prospect waiting for me upon my return to Vancouver. It’s not that I plan to have wild sex in a hotel in North Dakota or by a stream in Montana. No, I fully expect to pass through those gay hot beds without even a flirtatious nod. I’m totally okay with that. I’m not exactly the poster child for espousing all the glorious advantages of being single, but I do like looking ahead without having to look back.
Four times in the past I’ve left on long vacations only to have a nascent relationship waiting at home. Twice those links evolved into love upon my return and twice they fizzled faster than a Fourth of July sparkler. A vacation is all about being in the moment and I don’t do so well when my head is wondering what will be or won’t be with the guy who is waiting or is not waiting back home.
Let this vacation be a time when I can linger with my feet in the sand or on a bike. Let me order a double scoop without the guilt…or, at least, not quite so much. Let me rotate through a suitcase of clothes without feeling I need to make a fashion statement. Let summer be summer.
No summer lovin’ just loving summer. I’ve already Googled several ice cream stops.