My Vacation

When I visited England back—way back—in 1984, my friend Paul Hooper took me on some amazing walks on the moors near Manchester. He called them his moors and claimed he had the right by virtue of the fact that he walked them year round. When the weather was nice, he often had company. But when the chill fingers of winter gripped the hills, or bone-cracking wind was intent on finding its way through leather, he often wandered the hills alone. Because he didn't abandon them when times were rough, he laid claim to them, and enjoyed aspects of the moors that fair-weather trekkers did not. I got a small taste of what he meant. It was March when I was there and by no stretch of the imagination was it warm. The walks were awesome none-the-less, and tea never tasted as good as it did after those hikes.

I am leaving in a couple days for Marrowstone Island. When I come home I imagine I will take the weather forecast patch off the left side of this blog and find something else to look forward to. Probably NaNo. Maybe a trip to Galveston in the spring. But this—this trip I have been eagerly anticipating since my sis booked the airline tickets months ago. I can remember when the counter on my Google home page had well over 100 days left to go. Now it's down to 3. For 3 more minutes. Then it's down to two. (And boy do I have a lot to do in those two days; I am a slave of urgency I think.)

Yesterday I was wishing I'd never put the weather patch in such a handy location, because out of curiosity I clicked on it to see what the weather was supposed to do while we were there.

Rain.

Yep. Every single day.

Truth be told, I guess I'm still a bit disappointed, because I envisioned early morning walks on the beach watching the sun come up, or sitting there letting sand sift through my fingers while I listened to the rhythm of the waves. And who knows—I may still get that. Maybe not the sand-sifting part, but why not the rest? Dad gum, though, none of my "visions" of this upcoming trip included rain. Even though I knew the rainy season started in October—but it still didn't seem like they got a lot of rain. Just a few inches. I must have thought the season would have the decency to wait until after I'd come and gone to get going in earnest. Like that wasn't dreaming!

Earlier on I told my sister that I hoped I wasn't putting so much in the way of expectation into this trip that it could never live up to the fantasy in my head, and then by definition it would be disappointing. So in a way, I guess this realistic expectation keeps me grounded. Honestly, weather is only a small part of the equation, and like the moors in winter—there is often a beauty in less-than-ideal times that not everyone gets to appreciate. Right?

Then, thank you Maya Angelou and whoever else had the wisdom to say it: If you can't change the situation, change your attitude.

So what's a little rain? Who's to say I won't fall in love with this place rain and all. And if I feel an affinity when the island is at its less-than-best, perhaps I can claim a little bit of it as my own. Thank you, Paul.

Plus I will be with my mother and my sisters and have the prospect of reading up on a little family history that I've longed to learn for seven years, since I last saw my mom's cousin and she told me she had it; we are staying with her and her family on Marrowstone.

No way the trip can be all bad. See I'm already feeling the excitement come back.

Work on the attitude. It really does make a difference.