Wednesday, June 13, 2007

One Month Later: Reclaimed Relaxation

I’m back, as if you cared, from a day at home precuperating from a cold I could tell I’d really get badly if I had gone to work.  You like that, “precuperating?” Prophylactic rest to avoid future illness?  You love it, admit it.  Go on and use it.  Don’t even give me credit.  Why should you be any different than the rest of the world? 

Ah yes, the bitterness of a man whose 65%-of-a-blog-post got erased when Windows decided to do an auto-update on me last night and erased an open and foolishly-unsaved screen.  My delight boils over like scalded milk on a cast-iron stove.  Today is to be chock-full of rigors and workosity, though I do fully intend to get out for my afternoon Ashtanga session at the Y.  Plus I’ve got four budgets to read, three site visit letters to revise, and a handful of random humus to scatter to the fields of my labors.  After which, of course, all I need to do is vacuum, dust, repaint, replaster, and probably re-roof my apartment in anticipation of the visit this weekend (starting Thursday) of my sister and her lovely family.  Oh, I’m relaxed already. 

So relaxed, in fact, that it’s time for me to hearken back to a time – was it only a month ago? – when K and Z and I ventured up to the north coast for a weekend away.  I’ve got a handful of notelets about that weekend and I’m going to re-experience them now by sharing them with you.  And you, my friends, being stuck here for the ride, are, to coin a phrase, ride-stuck.  Next time make sure you get a window seat so you can escape at a traffic signal or something.  Meantime, here’s what you missed when I left you for a weekend last month:

Accommodations:

* We stayed at a fun little cabin-cluster in Little River, the “Fools Rush Inn” (no really), where each residence had a name derived from a local landmark or town, in mostly alphamabetical order.  We stayed in the “Gualala” cabin, and it rocked.  It ranked a full step ahead of the Humboldt cabin, and just barely behind the Farallon cabin.  It was even right across the drive from the Albion cabin, so that means we were basically even with #1, right?

* The cabin was heated by a gas-fueled fireplace with fake logs and a thermostat, so when the temperature dropped a hair below “cozy” (it was a remarkably balmy weekend, for sure) the fireplace burst automatically into flames with a cheerful “whoosh” of igniting fumes and consumed oxygen.  Very cheerful, if not always calming or expected. 

* The next morning as we drowsily broke our nocturnal fast, we were jolted into full wakefulness by the sound of footsteps pounding across our roof, small but heavy and fleet.  Was it a raccoon?  A vole?  An iguana?  Well, not likely an iguana, but we have no idea to this day what was using our roof as a footpath.  We only know that it really seemed to know where it was going.  I’d like to think it was a gnome, but I like to think a lot of stuff. 

* I’ve grown used to getting soap at my hotels, but this time the soap was a bit more exotic: “Sweet Bouquet #3/4 Indian Face/Body Soap.” I wonder what a full Number 1 face/body soap would be like, because ¾ was not bad at all.

* The place was run by a guy who had a reputation from on-line reviews as a bit of a coot, and when he had returned my telephone call to make a reservation he announced himself to me as “CIA.  And FBI.  And IRS,” before admitting his true identity.  I therefore feared for his being a true coot, or “troot.” But in fact, he was younger than I expected and only showed signs of preliminary cootness.  I consider it a “prototcoot” sighting, both rare and wonderous.  Good for me, eh? 

Moving on to my notes on other places and personages on the trip:

* We drove several times past the Philo School of Herbal Energetics before I really believed what I read on their sign.  I’m still not sure what they do there, but I’d have to say, the lower end of the Anderson Valley looks like a damn fine place for whatever it might be.  For all the New Englandism of the Mendo Coast, the ol’ P-SHE really confirmed that this was Northern California. 

* A few quick tidbits: Fort Bragg – unexpectedly and very pleasantly mellow and interesting.  Booneville Hotel – lovely place, great food, and one of the nicest cats I’ve ever met in a public setting.  On the wending road back home – a galvanized wikiup, which is a phrase I am aching to apply to something in my own life but the obvious reference escapes me.  And finally, the glory of a deep coastal ravine and alluvial outflow that was shamefully tainted by my inability to overcome the giggles at the name, “Jack Peters Creek.”

Category three, which is the last one I’ve got – Activities:

* We had supper at a low-key diner one night, overlooking all of Mendo town and the cliffs and sea.  Of course, Z basically wanted none of the food and nothing more than to play with crayons, which brought to my attention that crayola crayons are one hell of a lot more weirdly-named than they used to be.  First, give yourself a crayon-name test, and then check the official site’s chronology of names.  The bizarritude of these names was amplified by Z’s having received at the fantabulous Navarro Winery, a set of coloring pages and some crayons from the Quill (“So Fast, So Simple” – not unlike myself) Corporation.  Those crayons had names like “black,” “blue”, “brown” and “red.” There were 8 different colors and I recognized every name.  Is that a good thing or a bad thing?  I pick good.  That’s why I’d have made such a great hobbit.

* While vacating, I availed myself of my vacation p.j.s – specifically, some purple paisley drawstring deals that make my lower extremities scream “relaxation” at full volume.  However, as has been the case with too many of my clothes lately, a button seems to have fallen off of them while I was wearing them.  The next morning Z gleefully sought to jam his tiny finger in my navel, as is his wont, only to find that the missing fastener had actually lodged itself there in my omphalos.  It was, I believe, my very first honest-to-god belly button.  I hope that it will be my last, but Z, who was delighted by his discovery, would probably cast his vote otherwise. 

* On the way home, Z played with a book full of pop-up and tab-pull-motion figures of Elmo and his hairy monster friend Zoe from Sesame Street.  By the time we stopped for snacks down in Cloverdale, we discovered that he’d removed all the moving parts of that book and basically filled the back of the car with shredded muppet.  I had to congratulate him – I’d been itching to do just that for months, and he finally picked up the hint.  Good going, Z-man. 

Yep, that little trip down vacation memory lane was just what I needed.  I’d better get back to some actual work now.  If you’ve got some “instant vacation” snippets to share, I could definitely use them.  I’m pretty sure I’m going to tense right up again within an hour or so.