The plant where my husband works shuts down for maintenance once a year, the week of Fourth of July. It's hot as Hades in Georgia about that time. I'm not as resilient as I once was, and rarely enjoy the fireworks anymore. I could do it, if I really wanted to. I get multiple invitations, usually from my children or sister and her family. I was the one who used to light the fireworks in our front yard or at the beach, bringing horror to the nieces and nephews because "Aunt Rose is smoking!" A lit cigar is the absolute best way to set off fireworks and you have to keep puffing that thing in order to keep it lit. That's my story...
The thought of all of it is marvelous -- patriotism, fun, watermelon...and the FOMO is real when I think of any kind of party ensuing. In recent years, my current lazy, chunky self can't seem to work up enough willfulness to brave the sticky, smothering, sweat-filled events involving celebrating the birth of our country. It would have been so much better, in the South, if the Framers could have dipped their pens when it was October, or hey, the April before. But then again, most of those dudes were from the Northeast, weren't they? Some bright people went on and invented air conditioning and ruined us for summers forever.
No matter, Ken was home all that patriotic week and volunteered to stay outside, every day, to help our kids work on their properties with his DR. I don't know what DR stands for, but it involves this thing that looks like a monster lawnmower and acts like a bush hog. He pushes it around and it cuts down fields and small trees. He does it for fun and love. Our kids think that the Dear Redneck is an angel. So by week's end, he was toast. His next week at the plant wasn't much easier, putting in 20K+ steps a night on 12-hour shifts. He asked me to plan something restful for the next weekend.
I looked at all the sites for somewhere to stay close-by, but they were charging a fortune for not-much. I wanted a pool to float in, and that seems to double the rates. It's July, people. Help me here! Google was spying on me and sending pop-up ads for places, when I saw the words "Banning Mills," which is less than a half-hour away. I had heard plenty about it, even gave one of our sons and his bride a gift card for their wedding night there several years ago. They have options for chocolates, champagne, food, what-have-you. It's a cool place with a lodge, cabins, yurts, and camping. They are known for an amazing network of ziplines criss-crossing their massive acreage. And they have a pool.
I booked the cheapest room they had with a King bed. It included breakfast as well as an option for a fancy dinner the night before. I clicked on that and made our choices. It was going to be a short getaway, but we were committed.
We threw a few things in our bag and made the quick trek there. Even though it was only minutes away, the stress and troubles fell off our shoulders as we wound through the countryside. Before the hour was out, Ken was lounging by the pool and I was floating in it. This is our way: him observing and me immersing. In short order he was fast asleep, as he should have been. I floated unhindered, watching the beautiful trees, the puffy clouds and azure sky. When my toes got perfectly pruney and Ken got perfectly relaxed, we cleaned up and headed to dinner at the lodge. It was a lovely place, rustic and soaring, with views all around of the forest. I felt like we were in the mountains somewhere, but no, we were very close to home. The food was scrumptious as we enjoyed talking with nowhere to hurry to. The next morning, breakfast was over the top. I was figuring on some muffins and juice, but it was a full-on meal, brought to our table by a sweet young lady.
Life is short and often too fast. We're busy then we're tired. We rush and then we laze around, recovering. It was a blessing to hit the pause button, even for such a short visit. A week later, I'm still feeling the serenity from our magical little expedition. It's good to remember each other across the table.
As to the ziplines, we heard them and we saw cute little behinds as they zipped right over the pool. We were not compelled to participate in such goings-on. Naw, we floated.
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