I'm having trouble accepting the fact that the fabulous vacation of life is over. It's funny, with each passing day that I'm back, the experience grows more and more wonderful in memory. But we can't live in memories, and my first instinct is always to plan another vacation. I distinctly remember us saying that we should forgo a cruise next time in favor of a resort and stay put kind of vacation. Now, I find myself checking different cruises and pricing. We should probably try a gay cruise. They actually had a "friends of dorothy" meet and greet on board the ship, where we turned out along with a nice young man from Seattle. The others aboard stopped by and poked their heads in and moved on. Chickens. It was a nice idea though. Instead we made friends with our dining partners who are both well known in the Christian music industry. After the first dinner, I thought they'd move to another table but instead they came back and talked about the hairdresser uncle, beloved member of the family.
That paragraph was lousy and all over the place. So the bluesy post vacation thing is upon me. We walked the entire city of Rome in a day, so yesterday I figured I'd find out how much of Montreal I could walk. Pretending I was on vacation and exploring, the walk was marvelous as I admired the architecture, the musicians hustling for money, the huge sidewalk sale on St-Laurent street (scored three dress shirts originally $125 for $15 apiece), the bands practicing for the Fringe festival, the First Nations pow-wow where artists carved stone and bone while others sang rounds on stage, the new patio at Starbucks in the village. I sat there and people-watched for a while. The city is trying something new this year, they're closing down the street to cars for the whole summer. All the restaurants and cafes have been permitted to build temporary patios out into the street. It's going to be THE place to hang out this year. So I was mollified a bit. Vacation isn't over, it's only a state of mind accessible any time (except I suppose while chained to your desk at work.)