Making It Up As I Go Along #616

The Things I Miss

Vacations are just not plentiful enough.  Too many choices have to be made for people in situations like mine.  I  live in one city alone… have parents and family in my home city, thousands of kilometres away… and a sister and her family in another city, even more thousands of kilometres away… in the opposite direction.  Choices have to be made.  Two visits can not be combined into one.  And there are limits.

This year, thanks to carrying over some extra time off from my CPSIC days, I’ll have 6.5 weeks of vacation time.  And that sounds good.  Seems like plenty.  But when I plan things out, it whittles away quickly.

I’ve booked two weeks off for September.  A flight home is already purchased and reservations on Fogo Island made.  And, with that, I’m down to 4.5 weeks of vacation to go.

Set aside another couple of days I plan to take off for a five day weekend around Canada Day, and I’m pretty much at 4 weeks remaining.  

Christmas will take a bite.  At least one and maybe two weeks will go towards that.  Leaving me with two or three weeks for the rest of the year.  The parents are likely coming in October and some time will go towards that and a week will likely be used up in the height of winter drudgery, either for snowshoeing or a get away to the sunny south.  

All of this sounds fine and good except for the fact that I haven’t visited my sister yet.  And when is the time to do it?  September, October, December are all accounted for from a time off point of view.  Do I dare try to squeeze in a week or two during August?  Or am I resigned to wait the better part of another year… and next spring’s thaw?  

There simply doesn’t seem to be enough vacation days in my bank, nor months in the year for me to arrange that extra trip.

And all of this leaves out the consideration of travel.  Heavy duty environmentalists would hate me.  My average year probably has three, sometimes four trips in it.  All these trips taking place via plane.  I sometimes imagine the burnt jet fuel that has been sacrificed for me.  

It all brings me to the things I miss most.  They are little things.  Not brought about by the fireworks of Disney.  Not breaking into scheduled TV programming to be shared as soon as possible to the throngs.  

I miss the simple visits of family.  To pop by the parents house on a Sunday afternoon, check in to see that all remains well… stay for a ball game on TV… decide to stick around for a home cooked meal.  All family time that costs virtually nothing.  No booking of a flight.  No sacrificing of valuable vacation time.  Just a few hours of family, slipped in to the routine of life.

I’ve barely had such times with my sister.  The great majority of my adult life has been spent with us on opposite ends of the continent.  A Sunday pop by has never happened between us.  All visits have had to become routine stopping events.  Flights must be planned.  Time off booked.  Guest rooms made up.  

Our visits are always good, happy occasions.  But I’d love them to be able to become routine.  To be bored at home on a Sunday and decide to pop by.  Or to casually suggest a lunch on a Tuesday… just because.  

It isn’t just the routine of family that I miss.  But the routine of place as well.  I love where I grew up.  The hills that surround St. John’s.  The smell of the sea air.  The maze of hilly streets downtown.  

I also miss more.  The barren lands just outside the city.  Where car and house sized boulders are left strewn about as reminders of its glacial past.  The constant foam of sea that breaks just outside the harbour mouth of Joe Batts Arm.  Even the reddish tinge of the dirt in and around Botwood.  I’d remember seeing that dirt from my backseat window on drives to my grandparents and it would tell me that summer was here… that evenings would end with bowls of fresh picked blueberries, drowned in milk and topped with sugar.  And mornings would begin with my grandmother gently suggesting I start my day with some home made porridge.

I miss the casualness of an exploration of Fred’s Records.  Where it would be ok to pick up some music.  But also a fine time even if I don’t.  To just flip through CDs and LPs and listen to the music playing in the store speakers.

I miss movie nights with long time buddies.  And Friday evening phone calls with friends where we would just say “why not come on over.”  

My trips home are much less routine and much more planned events now that I no longer live there.  Reservations are made with friends for lunches or evenings together.  I’m no longer a part of their regular life routine and so my times in town must be announced and fitted into schedules.  

A checklist of things to do is often discussed and planned with mom and dad.  A trip to Bidgoods for a nice lunch.  A drive out to Cape Spear.  A visit across town to uncle Wince’s.  Or a pop in to the closer uncle Wayne.  

Most trips home include a few days on Fogo.  Where I can check to make sure the sea still foams outside the harbour and relax, for a few days, with memories of warm bread and jam tart, while my grandmother puttered about the kitchen.  

That kitchen remains, but in a strangers house now.  These days, we have to book reservations to stay on Fogo.  Calling well enough in advance to be able to get our rooms.  It remains good and something I treasure.  But I miss the ease and casualness of those family visits there, decades ago.

And Botwood often is cut out of my plans entirely.  For a two week trip home only comes with so many days.  I dislike the need of prioritizing actions while home.  To have to try and balance the amount of time I spend in St. John’s versus going out into rural Newfoundland.  To try to fit in family visits with those of friends.  

In fact, I almost have to go about scheduling quiet times around the house on visits home.  Those times where I go nowhere.  Where I sit in the living room and look out at the old neighbourhood… with memories of long gone dogs, propped up on the back of the sofa, next to me, watching the world go by as I scratch their backs.  Where I wander the back yard with thoughts of soccer matches with teams of neighbourhood kids and games of catch when only a few of us were about.

It’s those quiet times around the house I miss.  Because it is then that a trip home seems almost routine.  And it is then that those trips feel most like home.        

MONDAY…

--- Softball looked like a rain out for much of the day.  But things cleared a few hours before game time and we got it in.  8-7 win with me on the mound.  A tight game is always more fun than a blow out.

TUESDAY…

--- Not much going on other than work.

WEDNESDAY…

--- Where Monday looked bad all day but turned for the game to get in, today looked good much of the day but then turned to rain us out.  

THURSDAY…

--- Not much once again.

FRIDAY…

--- Take it easy around the house after work.  Do a 40 minute walk right after work but then it’s just some TV and napping.  

SATURDAY…

--- Get the driveway sealed.  And pop over to Harley and family’s place for supper in the evening.  Stay around in their backyard talking until after ten.  A nice evening.