LAUREN…It’s summer time – those lazy hazy days of summer – and I just came in from my version of a leisurely lunch eaten out on the back deck.  I would like to tell you that I basked in the sun as I ate my black bean, quinoa and pico de gallo salad, that I relaxed into the afternoon, breathing deeply, my mind at rest, my spirit floating like a puffy white cloud in the cerulean sky.

But that ain’t me, babe.

What I did was eat while alternately reading the New York Times, scribbling a grocery shopping list in the margin of the op-ed page and thinking about what I want to write in this post.  I was interrupted by the crowing of Mr. T, our rooster, and that reminded me that I hadn’t checked the chicken water yet, so I ran out to coop and did that.  But on the way back, I noticed that the cucumbers in the first garden bed were being overrun by weeds, so grabbed a hoe.  The sun was hot and high in the sky, which reminded me that I hadn’t put sunblock on since my early morning run, so I ran upstairs to do that.  The sunblock was sitting next to my contact lens solution, which reminded me that I had yet to make an appointment for a three-month overdue eye exam.  I did that, then went back out on the back deck to finish that salad – and the Times.

Have I forgotten how to “do nothing”?  It would be tempting to say that as a kid or as a teenager, I knew the Art of Chillin’ and that it was my big, hectic adult life that robbed me of that ability.  But actually, I have never known how to chill.  Chillin’ was synonymous with being lazy in the household I was raised.  And lazy was bad.  Lazy was a sin.

I think I can demo this very easily by relating my father’s idea of a vacation.  The vacation begins by waking up everyone at 5 in the morning (all packed and gassed up the night before, of course).  It is important we are all in the car by 5:45.  We need to get about 100 miles down the road before we can stop for breakfast (Howard Johnson’s).  When we reach our destination, wherever that happens to be – usually 3 or 4 days down the road with the same drill every morning — there is no rest for the weary.  Or the vacationer.  If we’re some place with a pool, for example, there is no lying around on chaise lounges.  There is swimming.  There is pool volleyball.  Finished swimming?  How about a set of tennis?  Toss the ole’ pigskin around?  Rent a bike? Whatever you do, do NOT sit down.

I have to say, I loved it.  And I love it still.  Well, “still” is a poor choice of words.  It is something I am not often.

Share/Bookmark