Almost vapid post, saved by Vacations.

Sunday, November 05, 2006

Grr. That Ebay order got canceled because the little racer's on backorder. (I thought if they said they had an item, they HAD it, not had access to it via their supplier...? But whatever.)

I canceled and ordered it from the evil Wal-Mart's website in hopes that it might actually arrive before Thursday's birthday events. It's a long shot, but let's hope.

Not that you care. Not that I think you care, or want to record this for posterity. But I promised to post every day.

Yeah, this is pretty weak.


Okay, here's a tidbit that has a bit more substance:

If I could vacation anywhere, I think I'd go back to Ireland, rent a thatched cottage on a cliff by the sea, and get myself an old bike with a wire basket. I'd spend my days pedaling through the mist, nearly killing myself because I'd forget to ride on the correct side of the road. I'd take pictures, eat brown bread and tomato sandwiches with salt, write, read, bike, and hang out in little village pubs. I'd take rubbings off old Celtic gravestones. I'd drop stones down the cliff and listen for them to hit water. I'd climb up to the top of a lighthouse. I'd find my mom's relatives. I'd hope that my coat would grow moss like Frank McCourt said it would. And maybe I'd take a class on Irish lit or the Irish monks during the dark ages (they saved civilization, after all-- or so I've been told).

(This is sounding more like some kind of a sabbatical than a vacation. But whatever. That's my dream.)

If I could vacation anywhere in the US, I'd haul my husband's butt off to New Mexico so that he could experience everything I love about it. We'd attend a festival day at one of the pueblos, buy me lots of lovely silver jewelry, and eat green chili food until it altered our-- um, output. We'd take that amazing drive that took me past desert and snowy fir-covered mountaintops and Indian reservation and cliff dwellings and Los Alamos all in one afternoon. We'd explore that ghost town that the artists have reclaimed as their own out in the middle of nowhere. And we'd eat enchiladas flat while we watched The Milagro Bean War.

Then, so I could do something new for me, we'd rent a car and drive out Route 66 to the Grand Canyon in Arizona. We'd stay in either the concrete teepees or the vintage trailer motel. We'd rent llamas and do a little hiking, mostly just so we could rent the llamas. (They would not spit their carrots on us like the ones behind my old house in Florida. Hey, this is MY fantasy, I have the Llama Control here.)

Of course, I could always combine the two, and we could hike with llamas through the Irish hills while looking for concrete teepees, trying to take photos of Native Americans, and downing Guiness and hot tea with our green chili enchiladas.

Eww. It just doesn't sound as nice when you combine 'em.


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