I'm not good about taking vacation. My idea of time off is time away. From everything, everyone. I don't want hassle. I don't want to be disturbed. I don't want to travel to unfamiliar places or do unfamiliar things. No bumps in the road, thank you very much. I work really hard to get as much off my plate at work as I can before I leave. This makes me a little nuts as I gear up for being gone, and unfortunately, there's leakage. My coworkers are clearly glad to see me go. Sometimes I use vacation to work on a book, and that's okay because it's part of the plan. But once a year, the plan is pretty much to turn off the switch in my head and breathe deeply and slowly.
Obviously I'm setting the bar way too high. (Or it could be that I need to invest in room with no sensory stimuli. Wait, isn't that a padded cell?)
My vacation plan is simple. I make arrangements with one of my brothers and his family in the DC area to visit them following a 3 day conference in Charleston. I have training responsibilities at the conference and some duties as a member of the committee that organizes the conference, but knowing that I will be going to visit the Gaithersburg gang and that they will just take care of me is the carrot that keeps me moving.
I don't know what makes me check my phone before I leave the conference center parking lot, but I do. Voicemail. Work has called. I think, hmmm. Vacation isn't quite here yet. It's not 5. So I return the call. It doesn't matter what the call is about. It's just taking the call that makes my head go to a place that is difficult to leave. It isn't an auspicious way to begin my vacation, and as I head north I am not certain if I will be able to go east when I reach Morgantown, or if I am going to have to head northwest and back to work. Two more calls (and 80 miles) and I have assurances that I can go east.
I don't know what makes me check my email soon after reaching my brother's, but I do. There is a note from my editor that he's reviewed a manuscript I sent him and is attaching his suggestions. The manuscript is something I wrote quite a while back, so I don't have any expectations that the suggestions will arrive now. There is no pressure from him to return it in a hurry. In fact, he tells me to take my time. The problem is that it's not in my nature, and the manuscript isn't in my plan, and now I'm away from my Mac and the manuscript, and I want it all behind me, not in front of me.
I don't know what makes me answer my cell three days later, but I do. It is work, and I know this is a call I'm getting because someone thinks it's really important. It is, but it's not easy to shift gears when I'm getting ready to play Wii bowling with my niece, and it's even harder to shift back.
I don't know what made me decide to leave for home that day, but I did. I don't have to return to work. I just needed to be home. I arrive at dusk and pull into the driveway, hit the button for the garage door, and wait for it to go up. And wait. I hit the button for the other garage door. And wait. I see the lamp on in the house so I know I have electricity. I take a moment to think what to do. I finally remember I have a key somewhere. I enter through a side door.
As I prepare to step from the garage into the house, I hear a high-pitched beep. I recognize it as the smoke detector's low battery warning. Jeeze, I think. Do I have to deal with that too? (Yes, the whine in my head is as annoyingly pitched as that beep.)
I open the door. The low battery warning fades to nothing as the sound of roaring water fills my ears. For a moment, I can't move. Dropping everything, I run to the kitchen where the sound is the loudest. I can't see any problem. I run downstairs for the main shut off, but the sound is less intense in the basement. I realize it has to be coming from the bathroom connected to the master bedroom. I run up two flights (and I don't do running well) and discover the problem is in the bathtub. The shampoo/conditioner caddy (suction cup variety) has fallen off the wall. On its way down it hit the cold water handle, turned it on full, and the faucet is the source of the cascade. I turn it off, stare disbelieving at the shower caddy lying on the tub floor, thank God the drain was open, and then wonder how long the water has been running. Because of the conference, I have been gone 7 days already. I pause to contemplate the possibilities.
Beep. Silence. Beep. That blasted smoke detector. I take a breath, calm myself, and go to check my house phone for messages - where I discover the receiver is dislodged from the base, completely draining the battery. Just shaking my head at this one-more-thing, I set it properly in the base and figure it will be good in a couple of hours.
I go next door to get my neighbor to help me with my garage doors. He finds a breaker that I don't know I have, flips it, and the doors rise. Really, it's like the parting of the Red Sea, only not.
Beep. Silence. Beeeep. Okay. I'm getting to it already. What I don't like about replacing that battery is this: the smoke detector is mounted on the ceiling at the top of the stairs, and I have to stand on a chair to reach it. It is many steps to the bottom. I am afraid of heights. Even more afraid of falling. Girding my loins, I soldier on. Blessed silence is my reward.
I unpack the car. Unpack the suitcase. I realize I am still in a fragile place. I breathe deeply, slowly. I sit in the recliner and pick up the remote. I turn on the television. There is a message for me on the screen, courtesy of DirecTV:
THE BATTERY IN YOUR REMOTE IS LOW.
It is too much for me. I shout plaintively at the TV while poking myself in the chest: "What about me? What about my &*$% batteries?"
Dare I hope that 2010 finds you all well and with your batteries fully charged?!
PS - For those inquiring minds…I usually use between 1 and 2 thousand gallons of water/month. My November total was 10,000 gallons. The $$$ damage? $42.60. That's right. I have septic. ;-)
