Back from our twenty-four hour mini break, we walked through the front door, dropped our bags, turned around and walked down to the pub for a pint before getting on with the business of unpacking and preparing for Monday. We left the house yesterday in such a tizzy; bed unmade, dishes unwashed, which is absolutely not my personal taste. I enjoy a clean and organized post-holiday home (who doesn’t?). But my husband was so keen to go on a spontaneous, whirlwind holiday, that once home from work, I was suddenly stuffing my overnight bag with the urgency of a fugitive running from the law.
“But we had plans!”
“Cancel them. You have Sunday off, I am taking you on a holiday”.
“I can be ready in five minutes”.
As we head towards Sicamous, the Houseboat Capital of Canada, (thank you very much), I am discovering just how tightly wound I am. I’m an ice sculpture slowly thawing in the hot sun. Ben and I are back on the road, and it has been way too long since we’ve traveled. We used to holiday all the time. We were constantly planning, executing and recovering, from said adventures. Holiday, then lather, rinse, repeat. Somehow, Canada has not been that way. Well, not really ‘somehow’, life is just different here–the immigration process has held us in a choke hold, and work schedules have not been conducive to travel. The work versus play quotient has been extremely imbalanced. And you saw how the how the old adage of ‘all work and no play’ worked out for everyone in “The Shining“, creepy children, freaky mazes, eerie hallucinations and a whole lotta red rum.
See? This is a man in serious need of a holiday…this also an example of writer’s block gone terribly wrong.
Jack was a frustrated, off-season caretaker of an isolated mountain lodge that just happened to rest on top of an Aboriginal burial ground. He believes that the long winter spent snowed in with his family and typewriter will be fruitful. Cabin fever, evil forces, and the dreaded creative block leads to some heavy shit. And I reckon that ten minutes before we hit the highway, I was just short the ghost story, and as Meatloaf always says: “two out of three ain’t bad”. But this is just not the case. I was feeling caged in. Trapped. Stuck in a labyrinth, not knowing how to escape. Being on the road reminds me that we can go anywhere; I need to know that we can go anywhere.
Though we are in our own house, the holiday continues. Fostering a decent buzz, the sun still shining, I am happy to have gone away, but am happy to be home as well. But it is decidedly a good thing to take a break now and again. Nothing good comes from not taking a break.