Vacation: from the Latin, Meaning “Not Long Enough”

I’m back from Seattle and St. Augustine, ever-so-slightly tan (okay, really- less pale, and with a couple extra freckles on my nose, for Stanley to laugh at me about), tired, and wishing I was still in either location.

Walked over 20 miles in the 4 days I was in Seattle, and it was all cool, and caffeinated, and awesome. I love Seattle. I took my nephew to Gasworks Park, and we flew a tie-dye rainbow kite above the ruins of industry, and the inflated head of the Statue of Liberty. I managed, for the second time, to pick the week Salumi is closed every year, so I did not partake of the cured meat feast. I bought a whole salmon from the fish market at Pike Place, and they yelled at each other and tossed it back to be cleaned and wrapped, and then I cooked the hell out of that thing, and it was beyond excellent. I met a new family member, in the form of my sister’s gentleman caller. I had a raspberry mocha at Peet’s, and about half a dozen other drinks at my new favourite coffee shop, Bedlam Coffee. I made my Mom laugh, and we talked and sauntered and shopped, touched anemones, and gaped at otters, all a-touristy. Thank you, Seattle. I love you, in case I didn’t mention it enough.


Left Seattle, and flew to Jacksonville, where the partner in crime picked me up, and we scooted back to our condo. Friends were already in from their Disneyland vacation, so there was more visiting, and lots of food, talking, shopping (window, in my case), and eventually naps of great glory. It should be noted that this half of the trip was decidedly less caffeinated, and it showed. There was much beaching, some swimming in the pools, catching up with still MORE friends (these by proxy, though the time I spent with them was lovely and amusing), and heaps of fried seafood. The perfect date night was had, in the form of neighbourhood-cruising, the St. Augustine art walk, dinner in a charming cafe, plotting out the desires for our dream home, and topping it all off with milkshakes. I did some painting at the beach, fried my hair to a crispy crackle of salt-cured tangles, and thought about all the things I want to write, and how I can accomplish them.


I’m back at the day job today, fighting the air conditioning wars with my co-irker, drinking sub-standard iced coffee, and wishing I was looking up through purpled glass at a world that barely knows I’m there, or tripping over my own toes, caught in the cracks of a city celebrating its 450th birthday. Instead, I’ll go do the payroll, to remind myself of the check that keeps paying for these things.

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