Get Your Motor Running

Last night I told Mr. Moon that we could make our road trip a boat trip to Dog Island. Dog Island is a small barrier island near here where we have a little house that we share with a partner and it's a beautiful place. No commerce there at all, no bridge, only some houses and a few year-round residents. Mostly the houses belong to people like us who get to the island when they can.
And I have had some very traumatic happenings there, on that island. Not quite two years ago I went completely and utterly insane there. The scary kind of insane. I was by myself, something I had always loved before- being on the island by myself. But that visit was not good and Mr. Moon had to come and rescue me.
And since then I've had a hard time going back but for some reason last night I thought, well, it's gorgeous there right now. I know it is. Let's just go.

I told Mr. Moon and he was so happy. He loves it there. And he's a descendant of Vikings, that man, and he is himself on a boat on the water. And for a few hours, I was sure that was what I wanted to do. Even as I type this, I think it would be a good thing to do.
BUT, as the evening progressed I thought some more about it. So much shopping to do beforehand- every meal must be planned and bought for and the list is brought out of the things we need there and I know that once we get there, there are going to be things that must be thrown out because they've been in the pantry for so long.
And water- did the pipes burst during the winter? It sounds so easy to say that we'll get there early enough in the day so that if we need to replace pipes or even the well-pump, Mr. Moon can just get in the boat and go back across the bay and then get in the truck and go to Eastpoint and buy them. Hours and hours of travel.
And the hauling and the loading. Oh, it is gorgeous there. I know it is. But oh, it is work.
And right now, well, I don't feel like working. I feel like sitting in a car and watching the landscape go by, little pink houses and fields of greening things and great plantings of old pecans and when we get hungry saying, "Let's stop here."

I don't want to have to do the laundry or cook the meals. Not right now. I do that every day. I work hard every day. And so does Mr. Moon.

Lily was curious the other day about why we would want to go away. I told her that I do love hotels. She said, "And what do you do in hotels?"
"Uh, things." I said.
"Hotel stuff?" she asked me, somewhat in wonderment.
"Yes. Hotel stuff."
"But you don't have any kids at home. You could do hotel stuff any time at home."

Well, yes we can. But at home is where I work. There is never a moment when there isn't something that needs doing. And most of it is work that I glory in. Especially this time of year. The planting and the weeding and the hanging of the clothes on the line. The picking of the salad for dinner.
Okay. So I don't like the housework. And there is always housework. And I look around and see evidence of that and it just isn't relaxing. You know?

You know.

So back to Dog Island and as the evening progressed and I was cooking and finishing laundry and tidying this and that and it occurred to me that I didn't really want to take that sort of trip right now. Two days on the island is lovely and wonderful but the down-time is hardly enough to make the work worthwhile. Sometimes it is. But right now I think what I need is rest and something new and different and all of this was something I was thinking about but I didn't want to tell Mr. Moon. He was so excited about going to the island. He wanted to catch fish and clean it and have me cook it for our dinner.
But I knew that if I went to the island and I didn't want to be there, it would not be good. Not good at all.
Finally, after fifty-five years of life I know myself that well.
If what I really want is to eat in restaurants and to wear make-up and to feel like a girl and to perhaps see things I've never seen, be someplace I've never been, then I do not need to go to Dog Island.
So I went to Mr. Moon and I said, "What if I change my mind? What if really I'm not sure I want to go to the island?"
And he, bless his heart, immediately said, "That would be fine. I want to do whatever you want to do."

Now of course, me being me, I wonder if this means he has a girlfriend and feels guilty.
I don't really think he does, but this is how my crazy mind works. After twenty-six years with the guy, I'm still not quite sure he loves me.

But I think he does. And when I woke up this morning to find that note you see above, my heart lifted and yes, I will run away with him. You bet.

And when we get back I will do laundry and cook meals and pick salad. I will watch the wisteria bloom and the peas gain height and leaves, and the ash magnolia blossom. I will fill my pots with flowers and papyrus and ferns. I will transplant phlox and I will water everything and I will spend time with my grandchild and my children and I will be happy for this life.
Happier than ever because I will have run away with the man I love who has made it all possible, who has made my dreams come true.
The dreams, as I always say, I did not even know I had.

The ash magnolia's velvet glove opens slowly to reveal a flower.



The tiny peas break through the dirt, strong even in their delicacy.

Did you know that this is what dogwoods look like before they fully open and turn white as snow?

I've always wanted to grow papyrus. If I had to make paper, this would be where I would start.

The prosaic impatiens. I can't help it. I love them.

The buckeye is ready for the bees to make love to them.

Wisteria buds and bamboo. What more is there to say about that?

We will go to Dog Island maybe soon. But not this weekend. Instead, we will go away to someplace that doesn't need our work, our labor.

Sometimes, when we are on the island, Mr. Moon grabs me up and says, "I love playing house with you."
And I know what he means and I giggle because I love playing house with him too, although there is a part of me which wonders how much he'd enjoy it if we were playing car salesman. Probably not so much.

I don't really want to play house this weekend. I want to play grown-up-on-vacation. I want to wear my hair down. I want to do hotel stuff.

With Mr. Moon.

And so we shall.