Relative Something

College basketball is over and Major League Baseball has started. Time marches on.

Have you ever noticed how slow time moves on the first Monday back at work after a vacation week? I started the day in a sluggish fog, but then I actually began to get the hang of it by quitting time. I think I already wrote about how mind bogglingly fast the days passed while we were in Florida. Makes me wonder if a person who has learned how to truly live ‘in the moment’ at all times, ever has any sense of time passing faster or slower.

It makes me dizzy just contemplating it. One thing I am certain about, it is disorienting to suddenly switch from the quickness of the NCAA Championship basketball game to the slow pace of  the Twins’ opener against the Angels. It’s a good thing that sleep beckoned and I could at least enjoy the quiet calm of a slow night’s rest to reset my equilibrium.

Time to test a Tuesday following a week of vacation. Do we really work five 8-hour days in a row? Oh boy. I think I need a vacation.

Flying is amazing. I think the majority of the world takes flying for granted. For the first half of my life, I had no experience with commercial air travel. Since then, I’ve had what I consider to be ample opportunities. I feel like I have both perspectives.

If you never fly, it really doesn’t hold much meaning. You remain oblivious to all the nuances of activity related to being a customer of the airline industry. For that reason, I include in that majority group who take flying for granted, those who don’t fly. It’s not like they can hold an opinion that flying doesn’t happen. It happens, and they don’t get to participate, so the end result becomes something along the lines of disregard.

On the other extreme, there are those who fly so frequently, it appears equivalent to stepping on a city bus. The wonder of it all is gone. They come to expect the whole operation to serve them without hassle. It becomes a minor inconvenience in their larger goal of traveling long distances.

Meanwhile, there are clouds to see from above, where the sun shines down upon them. The ground becomes a tapestry of geometric shapes defined by roads, rivers, farms, and communities. Sleek machines with jet engines roar to life and then float along to a mesmerizing hum. Worlds of people come and go, mixing culture and commerce at an insane pace. You can find yourself in two different parts of the world, in the very same day.

The middle group of people, those who don’t fly often, are the likely ones to find the experience still a remarkable one. For me, as amazing as it is to fly, I get a little disoriented by it. Getting home last night was nice for all the reasons it is good to get home again, but it is a little freaky to have been sitting in the Florida sunshine at 3:00 and then in the time it takes to watch a movie and have a little nap, find myself back in my kitchen in Minnesota.

I’m happy to trade the luxury of frequent flyer miles for my comforts of home. I guess it is easy to say when I know I already have tickets reserved for a flight to Portugal in the fall. I certainly won’t take for granted that opportunity to fly. It will be worth the challenge of managing the disorientation.

If ever you want to feel like a herd animal, or maybe it is a migrating flock, or penguin, or lemming?, …just decide to head to the beach of Florida’s Gulf coast on one of the first warm, sunny Fridays in the time span that encompasses many a school’s spring break.

Wait in a line of traffic trying to just get there, then wait in a line of traffic vying for one of the last spots in the parking ramp. Carry an assortment of beach chairs, towels, drinks, reading material, and the all-important umbrella and march in the line of humanity, all carrying their version of optimal beach paraphernalia, headed to the very same limited expanse of sand. Then as you descend the boardwalk, pick a direction –right or left?– and begin the trudge in and around the throngs of fellow humans in the herd whom arrived prior to you and settled their six square feet of real estate.

Be careful, because if you walk too far in hopes of out-distancing the masses who arrived before you, you run the risk of coming face to face with a clan of humans who parked at the lot down the road and are now doing the same thing as you, only from the other direction.

You suddenly realize the need to forgo any previous discretion about personal space and just plop down with complete strangers, elbow to elbow, knowing that doing so reduces what little walking space previously existed, and which you just used to get to this spot, down to almost nothing such that the line of humanity still flowing on to the beach –well, half the line, the ones who chose to turn right– will need to pass over and around you in their search for a similar small space to settle.

Then, enjoy!

One way to get over being too close to so many scantily clad human bodies is to go to a show where the crowd of people are fully dressed and all synchronized in joint adoration and celebration of a classic American rock band. We celebrated The Beach Boys by going to a concert where two of the original band members, Mike Love and Bruce Johnston, along with part time celebrity member, John Stamos  of television’s Full House fame, and Mike Love’s son, Christian, among other supporting musicians, did excellent renditions of the songs already permanently stored in our heads. If you notice in the photo I captured of the event, their music has been around so long that the audience is starting to show its age. On stage, you can see Mike Love, on the left, and Bruce Johnston, right, all lit up in white as the actual Beach Boys. John Stamos is highlighted a little more subtly, playing congas.

Not a bad way to spend my last weekday far from the confines of the day job up north. It has been one of the fastest weeks that I recall ever experiencing. How come they never seem this fast when I’m working?

With due homage for the balance of all things, spending time with my wife’s family provides many blessings and a fair number of stressors. It is, as in all things, a balancing act. While it was just Cyndie and me down with her parents, there was a pretty even balance. Now with another brother and his spouse joining the mix, I can detect the shift in balance away from my ways of thinking and doing. I am definitely an in-law.

Meanwhile, vacation luxuries of immersing myself in indulgences continues. We are lounging, playing cards, eating too much, shopping, reading, writing, and enjoying beautiful warm sunny weather. Dinner out last night at the Bay House restaurant was superb. Every aspect, from spectacular setting, beautiful building and appurtenances, to the spectacular service and excellent food, made celebrating Cyndie’s brother’s birthday a wonderful event.

On schedule for today, a visit to the beach. May the sunscreen continue to protect. Yesterday, I was able to avoid the greasy stuff, but I put myself at risk during a shopping expedition to a large collection of stores that are located out in the beautiful sunshine. I needed to strategically seek shade between strolling in the exposed areas. I picked up enough color to appear as though I have been in the sun, but not enough to be classified as burned. Brought home several new shirts, too.

Another successful day in paradise. To those of you still toiling away at your jobs, keep up the good work. I’ll be back to pull my own weight again in a few days.

I am a great fan of the fine art of doing nothing. In a way, doing nothing is actually doing something. Wrap your head around that one.

Witnessing someone doing nothing has a tendency to bother some folks. There are some who are quick to judge harshly, those who do not demonstrate an obvious effort of activity in some way, shape, or form. Sometimes I just have to let those people be bothered. Vacation is an excellent opportunity to do nothing and pass it off as having valid purpose.

Of course, for me, doing nothing is usually a springboard for many, many things to actually be happening. Yesterday, during one particularly enjoyable moment of doing nothing, I became acutely aware of how much sound is generated by wind blowing through a palm frond. It deserves a better description than I have to offer right now, but suffice it to say that compared to the wind sounds I am familiar with from my home state of Minnesota, or neighboring state, Wisconsin, palm trees make a gentle breeze sound like the onset of a dramatic storm. More than once since we’ve been here, I have caught myself looking up to check why the wind sounds to threatening, only to find that it is simply the leaves of the palm tree creating the impression.

During a few other moments of doing what appeared to be a whole lot of nothing, I caught up on reading some of my online community and did some writing of my own. A very enjoyable and entirely relaxing way to spend day 3 of my vacation week. In addition to that, I have again succeeded in avoiding sunburn for another day!  TaDaa!!