Back from Not Going

 

 

We’re officially back now, from not going.

And I have to say, quite a bit has changed since we left to stay home on our vacation.

Well, I don’t have to say it, I guess, but I need to say something, or else this would be a lot like this past Friday, where I said nothing, which is hard to read.

The weather, for one thing, has changed; it’s gotten a quite a bit cooler, bordering on the 40’s this morning with a cold dew blanketing everything.

So I’m not in my usual summer spot, out back, on the porch, under my umbrella ella, listening to my neighbors brush their teeth.

Some sort of weird acoustical phenomena, that sometimes makes it sound as if they’re broadcasting live from the next room.

We never noticed it in the previous 11 years we’ve lived here, mostly, I guess, because the preceding neighbors always had their windows shut.  

Not sure why; maybe they didn’t like to listen to me brushing my teeth.

Maybe they thought that was weird.

I don’t know…to each his own.

So I like to talk to my teeth, when I brush them…is that wrong of me?

And address each one by name…what about it?

So I’m inside, in the sunroom, with the big windows closed up tight, in my cool weather position…not listening to anyone brush their teeth.

I’m also wearing pants, which pleases the rest of the folks on the block; but not me.

I know when I'm wearing pants, the summer is on notice.

4 days and counting.

And that’s official.

But what the heck….there’s a lot to be said for fall.

Especially if you like to wear variations of orange.

 

And rake leaves.

Anyway, as I said, we’re back…from not going.

And like any vacation, when it’s over, and you’re back…even from not going…there’s a certain amount of mixed feelings involved as you look back and re-live all of your past week’s adventures, from the comfort of your own little corner of the world—which, officially, you never left for more than 8 or 9 hours at a time.

As I mentioned in my last missive, we kept pretty busy—from hiking some of the rugged trails of upper Dutchess County to some lazy days just sitting on the post-labor day beach, watching the waves roll in and out with our idle thoughts.

Well, my idle thoughts, which are idle on most days, regardless of the activity involved, but not Z’s, who’s thought are always compiling some sort of list of upcoming activities that are sorely in need of doing.

Like dusting that one pesky little coil in the back underside of the refrigerator that has vexed her for months because it’s impossible to reach with any kind of modern day cleaning utensil.

But someday…someday….

True to my previous word (what, you think I would fib) we spent a day at the Botanical Garden enjoying the exhibit on Mr. Monet’s gardens.

It was pretty cool…even had a reproduction of the famous bridge that he painted in various shades and shadows over the years.

Of course, everyone had to walk over it and pose for pictures, trying to recreate that iconic view…well everyone except me of course who instead wanted to capture the view of the bridge from the lilly ponds perspective.

Unfortunately, as you can imagine, that particular perspective was difficult to achieve, not to mention frowned upon, because some other exhibit goers (not mentioning any names…or letters at the end of the alphabet), didn’t appreciate being dripped on for the remainder of the tour.

Plus the security guards seemed to have a problem with it.

Anyway, from what I did see, and what Z told me about when she finally caught up to me in the holding cell, it was really quite spectacular.

You could see the same imaginative eye at work in the assembly of color and light that is found in this artist’s multitude of impressionistic paintings.

Who would have thought this man who looked like he lived under a bridge, rather than owned one, contained the capacity to capture and express the natural beauty that surrounds all of us, every day, in some for or another, if we only open our eyes.

Well, I guess Z would, and she never fails to point it out to me, whether were in some hollow deep in the woods or Mr. Monet’s garden.

And when it comes to creativity, it’s not the packaging that counts, but what’s inside busting to get out.

At least that’s what I tell all my neighbors, especially the ones that have a problem with the not wearing pants thing….

There’s a lot more to tell about our not going adventures but I’m already late, and I better get actually going…somewhere…not sure where.

Which is never disappointing….

 

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