My Summer Vacation

My summer vacation was short because I had taken a winter vacation and a spring vacation. My summer vacation consisted of parts of four days amidst pine needles, by a lake, in a cottage, called a "camp" in these parts. The morning alarum was the whimpering of Maggie, a yellow labrador-German shepherd puppy asking to be let out. At 6:40 a.m., or later on two mornings, a walk along Long Point of Brantingham Lake, foggy mist curling up off the lake, the sun trying to burn through. Chickadees. Lots of blue jays. Then back down the opposite end of Long Point, up and down macadamed inclines. One day her gnawed-at leash broke. She stayed close, unlike the late but beloved Rosie, who would've been gone, chasing the wind. All this in my pajama bottoms, sandals, t-shirt, baseball cap. No bears. Return to the cabin: toast and tea. A nap. Still in pajamas. (Have I already told you the ol' Groucho Marx line? "I shot an elephant in my pajamas. How it got there, I'll never know.") Play Yahtzee. Trade obscenities. Young'uns howl. Eat. Sleep. Play Scrabble. "Assise." "Cruster." Walk. Eat. Sleep. Dangle feet in lake. Sleep. Finish Samaritan by Richard Price. No cellphone coverage. Buy fly paper ribbon strips; mostly feckless. Nap. Read. Return home. Two messages from work on cellphone when in range. Dread. Horrid dread. Work Wednesday. Somehow get through it all. Back up to camp Friday for a cameo return.

The aim of leisure is not to make us better drones.