Las Vacaciones
Published by Talula August 17th, 2005 in randomBack in Brooklyn after six lovely days swimming in in the lake with beautiful B, my niece, and five gorgeous nights dancing on the deck with screaming G. How I love them so. This was the second of two incredible vacations for me over the past few weeks. I had only just returned from Europe when I left New York again to see my family in New Hampster (as B is wont to say).
Vacation changes a person in the funniest ways. The day before I left Barcelona I made extravagant and elaborate plans: I am going to go running every day as soon as I get home; I am going to write more; I’m going to work harder, longer hours, more weekends; I’m going to wake up early and go to church! And then I got back and cracked a beer and relaxed into the same old routine. If I change a little bit for having traveled a lot, the city hasn’t changed at all. She still whistles at me when I go to the corner bodega, blows her steam up my skirt when I walk past her grates. And I still roll my eyes.
For every resolution that is forgotten, for every fresh start you plan and then carelessly leave at the airport, there are little pieces that linger. B’s fingers running over my heirloom necklace; her wild laugh. G’s sweet and frustrated attempts to get her thumb in the vicinity of her mouth. The way my arms feel different for having held her solid weight. Slipping through the lake at night in a canoe, watching the buoys arc around the boat and losing perspective as the fog obscures the land. Watching the moon bend back behind the hill; concentrating on pushing the water back with the paddle as efficiently and quietly as I can, listening to the silence behind me; moving in refrain.
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Electric lights on the horizon of that New England lake fading away, the faintest stars in the fog. Taking note of the wind’s direction to guide us if the haze removes all visual references. Bubbling up with thoughts reverberating in nature’s spectacularly quiet amphitheatre. Delaying speech to slip below the distractions of the talking self. Falling back into the depths of that warm water, through time, through space, our canoe surely sinking slowly with the persistantly leaking hole we were too lazy to plug. Caught suddenly between the worlds, glimpsing landscapes through others’ eyes, the smells and sounds cascade over me still. I remain with one ear cocked like an animal following the path of distant footsteps. We are all so close together even if thousands of miles seem to keep us all apart.
The day before I left Barcelona I made extravagant and elaborate plans: I am going to go running every day as soon as I get home; I am going to write more; I’m going to work harder, longer hours, more weekends; I’m going to wake up early and go to church! And then I got back and cracked a beer and relaxed into the same old routine. If I change a little bit for having traveled a lot, the city hasn’t changed at all.
beautiful descriptions. . .this always happens to me too.
Are these the Heliolithic neices?
We are all so close together even if thousands of miles seem to keep us all apart.
very true Michael.
Thanks for your comments. These are the Heliolithic nieces, the two and only sunshiniest Heliolithic nieces.
Lovely post, Talula (and comments, guys). I had to laugh out loud: I just got back from Puerto Rico yesterday and on the flight back, I started a list of things I was going to do differently or accomplish when I got back. We’ll see if I get anything done.
Beautiful description of your canoeing, too. I had the pleasure of kayaking and swimming in a bioluminescent bay in Vieques, Puerto Rico last week. It was truly extraordinary. Though it was dark, the water was still like bathwater - something like 90 degrees and whenever you moved you left glowing trails in the water (caused by the thousands of excited dinoflagellates per gallon of water). If you raised your hands from the water, it looked like a stream of tiny stars was falling down your arms. Truly, truly extraordinary. I only wish I’d gone with a friend instead of going alone, so I could’ve shared the experience.