It's hard to find much to dislike about a vacation, except that in even the most laid-back of environments, it tends to fly by in a blur of sand-filled swimsuits, sunscreen and red Solo cups (which may explain the "blur" thing a little bit.).
So this year, rather than "what just happened," I vowed to end the vacation with "and here's what we did," a carefully crafted documentation of the week sure to serve as a reminder of the wonderful time we had. Or an explanation of where all the money went. Either way.
So, in something resembling chronological order, this is "How I Spent My Summer Vacation."
Day 1, 6:45 a.m. -- Jumped out of bed to get the day and the vacation started on the right foot by eating a hearty, healthy breakfast of locally grown fruit and some fiber-y thing and then doing an hour of yoga before heading to the beach to swim a mile or so in the surf.
10 a.m -- The above was complete fantasy, except that fantasizes are supposed to be about something you actually want to do. As for the fruit, well, hopefully a strawberry Pop-Tart counts. And we bought it at the store down the street, which makes it local. As for the yoga, I did stretch a little before I decided to go back to sleep. Wouldn't want to pull something the first day. And, FYI, I can't actually swim. Or float. Or do anything but stand there, chest deep in the water, which really doesn't explain why I like the ocean so much.
10:45 a.m. -- Begin the process of packing the multiple bottles of sunscreen, drinks, phones, books, magazines, towels, koozies, bean bag games, Bluetooth-enabled speakers and snacks required for us to travel an entire block and a half and become one with nature on the beach.
Noon -- Packing done. Exhausted. Time for lunch.
1:15 p.m. -- Repack after everyone tore into the original load to get something they had to have.
2 p.m. -- Actually at the beach. Sort of like D-Day, except in reverse.
2:15 p.m -- Finally in the water. The Lovely Mrs. Smith spots something she's pretty sure is a shark.
2:15.01 p.m. -- In my beach chair. I've seen "Shark Week." And, apparently the key to walking on water is motivation.
2:30 p.m. -- Realize that applying sunscreen to one's feet after you've walked across the beach is, basically, like taking a smelly, oily sander to them. Make the executive decision that, heck with it, how badly burned can your feet get?
2:45 p.m. -- Pull out the 500-page dissertation on free market economies you decided to take with you to the beach so that you wouldn't spend all your time idly lounging in some chair.
2:47 p.m. -- Fall asleep. Sound asleep. Research-worthy, Olympic-caliber sleep. You are out like a light. Except you're in broad daylight.
4:45 p.m. -- Discover the answer to the question you asked at 2:30 p.m. And that answer? Very.
4:50 p.m. -- The Lovely Mrs. Smith assures me the coast, while technically not clear, appears to be shark-less. Venture into the ocean. Remember not to turn your back to a wave. Remember not to face a wave head on. At least not the super aggressive ones that are just a little less than waist high. Try to remember if you ever saw David Hasselhoff suddenly crumple over as he ran into the surf. Remember you were actually watching ... something else.
5;15 p.m. -- Time to call it a day so you can get back to the house, get cleaned up and join the hordes of other vacationers who decided to come in early and beat the crowds. Realize a day at the beach has a strangely disproportionate impact on things like distances and weights. For instance, the relatively light-ish load you carried down would now stagger a Sherpa. The two blocks from the beach to your house have grown to five miles. And those gently descending stairs that brought you down from the road? Suddenly completely vertical.
7:45 p.m. -- Fall asleep in your salad. Because a two-hour nap just wasn't enough.
9:45 p.m. -- Give up on the whole journal thing, mostly because it's hard to make "sat on my rear in a beach chair," sound like anything more than, well, sitting on your rear in a beach chair. And besides, after a few days in the sun, your writing is going to read like Tom Hanks sounded while he was talking to that volleyball. Only, perhaps a little less articulate.
And besides, for the first week or so after we get home, if I want to remember how I spend my summer vacation, I'll just have to take off my shoes.
GARY SMITH IS A RECOVERING JOURNALIST LIVING IN ROGERS.
Commentary on 07/03/2014