Thursday, July 9, 2009


I know, it's Thursday. You have work. You have family to deal with. The kids aren't in school, and they are driving you nuts. But just sit back for a moment and close your eyes. Forget all your cares, forget the laundry (oops--you probably had forgotten about the laundry! Sorry!), forget all your obligations. Where do you really want to be? Can you put yourself there? Just for a moment? Can you have a mini-staycation for a moment?

Try it.

I'm trying it out right now. I'm in a tiny room filled with books and aged wood (just take a whiff), and the softest recliner is beckoning to me. My laptop sits there on the arm, also beckoning. Classical music drifts through the quaking aspens outside the open window, making their leaves sparkle as they flutter. I sit down, and the breeze slips around me. I start to write, with only the wind and leaves and soft music and smells of books and wood to remind me I'm not adrift in the clouds themselves. No kids, no pets, no noise but these... 

Okay, five minutes is up. Got to go make waffles for the kids. But it was nice. 

And now it's your turn. Spend five minutes, think it up, and write it down.


  1. I read this, but I've got work to do for work. I'll have to have a mini staycation in a bit. Mine will undoubtedly be different though.

  2. See, my staycations aren't peaceful at all.

    See, I'm on site, sitting innocuously in a meeting when all of the sudden half a dozen bad guys bust in waving automatic weapons. We're hearded to one corner and they threaten to kill one of the folks in there who won't behave.

    So, I have to pretend to be hysterical (easy to convince these guys because many believe the fat=stupid stereotype) to distract them. As I fake a faint, I get close enough to two of them to whip out my totally unexpected ninja skills and incapacitate both of them, snatching a knife from the vest of one as he goes down and taking out the next to last one with a shot in the eye.

    I stand face to face with the last guy, each of us holding an automatic weapon. I remind the last guy that I took out three when I was basically unarmed so the odds don't look good for him, particularly because, if he kills me, there are 20-odd ex-military men behind him that can take him out with their bare hands and will. He won't be able to kill them all. The others inch forward menacingly.

    The terrorist gives up and throws his gun on the floor. Only as he's being slammed to the ground by one of the other meeting attendants do I hand my gun to someone else, telling them I hope they know how to use the safety because I know nothing about guns.

    I am so weird.