The Yin and Yang of Vacations

My husband’s idea of a great vacation takes place before the actual vacation. Planning is the part he enjoys. Joy in hope is better than hope enjoyed, or some such thing.

He misses the days of MapQuest. On our trip to Idaho some years back, he had pages of print-outs detailing the route we would take out West. The first page showed the overall tour, then a page for each leg, then each leg broken down further on subsequent pages. Each page became more and more detailed, until I think there was a street level section for the last 10 miles. It was his personalized version of the old AAA TripTiks.

He spent days preparing that. It was very helpful, but a bit obsessive.

Today’s GPS system has taken much of the fun out of his planning, but he still finds ways to prepare.

He asked me about two weeks before our departure date for our most recent vacation if it was too early to start packing.

“Yes, dear,” I said, as gently as I could.

He looked as disappointed as a little boy who was told he couldn’t go to the park because it was raining. He perked up when I let him bring the suitcase up two days before we left.

Once we arrived at our destination, we did the usual activities: hours spent talking with relatives, a trip to the beach, reading, and napping.

It was on our trip to downtown Cheboygan when we experienced some unexpected fun. It was at a little shop called the Stormy Kromer Cap and Ale House. Yes, you read that right. It’s a shop on the main drag in town that sells warm clothing and serves cold beer.

Jeff had been looking for a new winter hat, but I became enamored of their vests and jackets.

“I didn’t know they made things other than hats,” I said to Jeff as I ran my hand over a particularly cute black-and-white checkered vest.

“No,” he said.

It was as if he knew where I was trying to steer the conversation.

“You know, honey bunch, sweetie pie,” I wheedled. “It IS my birthday today.”

“Oh, it’s your birthday!” said the sales associate, Cheryl. “That calls for a drink.”

She motioned to the bar. We sat down with a beer to discuss our purchasing options. A few people came in and sat next to us. It was soon common knowledge that it was my birthday.

Within just a few minutes, we were all chatting as if we had known each other for years. Kids, grandkids, and life on opposite sides of the mitten were all covered quickly. More people came in and joined in the festivities.

Cheryl even talked us into imbibing a mini beer shot, which is a shot of beer topped with heavy cream served in the most darling mini beer steins. Dairy and suds? Sounds horrible but it was very tasty.

I don’t know if it was because we were on vacation and very relaxed, or if it’s just true that small town folks are nicer, or if it was Cheryl’s ebullient personality, but this was the best time I’ve had shopping in a long time.

Now for the bad news.

My sister-in-law took a ton of photos during our vacation. Lots of photos. Some of me. Some of me lounging on a couch, resembling nothing so much as Jabba the Hutt. This is no reflection on Kim’s photography skills. It is simply true that I have packed on a few pounds.

I found it easy to ignore the rising number on the scale, telling myself it wasn’t so bad. I can lose the weight next week. Even the photos from Devon’s wedding didn’t cause me to fret about my weight. A long dress and strong foundation garments can cover a lot of sins.

Somehow the vacay photos broke through my rose-colored glasses.

SO…it’s time to go back on Weight Watchers. I used the program in 2019 and lost more than 25 pounds. It was easy, especially since the meetings were held at my office by fellow team members. Then COVID hit, and I spent two years sitting at my computer on my (apparently ever-expanding) backside for 10 hours a day, grabbing fast food or comfort food. Then a year went by where my psychic and physical energy was channeled into recovering from two knee replacements.

My goal this time around is to reach One-derland by the end of the year. Those on WW know that term. That means the first digit of my weight starts with a 1.

Jeff will willingly go along with the change, especially since it’s just dinners that will be different for him. He can keep his Cheerios and cheese sticks for breakfast and ham sandwiches for lunch. He will miss ice cream for dessert, though.

Since I know myself well enough to accept that I will not go to meetings with strangers, this blog will substitute for my accountability. I’ll keep you posted.

Wish me luck!

By the way, I got the vest. It’s a little snug in the belly, but that’s an incentive. Every morning, I put the vest on and try to zip it. Keeps me focused on the target.

I also got a cute little purple purse. There was a purple hat that went well with the ensemble, but I didn’t want to look greedy.

One last thought on our vacation: Where are all the bugs? When I was a kid, Dad would have to stop for gas every two hours (gas mileage then not being what it is today) and every stop required three minutes to scrub the bug guts off the front windshield. On this trip, Jeff and I made it all the way to Cheboygan and back without nary a speck on the windshield. What’s going on?