When I was a kid, vacation with my mom & dad meant getting up at the (butt) crack of dawn to hit all of the museums/churches/historical sites within driving distance. Going to bed and getting up the next day to do it all again. I always felt that I needed a vacation after such a vacation. They still do this; they are currently in the midst of terrorizing my nephews (who recently asked my mother if, today, they could just do nothing, for a change). I, on the other hand, am in Marin Cty, hiking, kayaking, hottubbing, and teasipping. Every time I come up here, I tell myself I’m going to meditate. This place is so perfect for it: no sound but the wind, no responsibilities, no interruptions. But I never get around to it. I think it’s because, unlike vacations with my parents, during which I most definitely needed a time set aside to meditate, vacations with my husband are so relaxing that they are, in themselves, meditations.

I’m going to go stare out the window, one of my favorite activities.