Back to the Lake

Here is the short version: I got back Saturday from a week in Vermont. I had a wonderful time. I don't think that I knew before what it means to "need a vacation," but I really needed one. Time away from the insanity of the Frack and from routine and from the city. Getting a nice vacation when one is in need is a fantastic blessing.

I spent most of the week swimming and floating in the lake, but I also bonded with my family, ate delicious food, and read HP6. There were only three minor disappointments about this vacation, but they all came at a fair exchange:
1. We didn't go see Fantastic Four, but only because we had great weather every day.
2. There were no seaweed eating machines, because there was no seaweed to eat. Lake St. Catherine was recently "nuked" with herbicide to destroy the invasive plant species millfoil. This may or may not have been ecologically sound, but it definitely made swimming and boating more pleasant. I totally would prefer no weeds to watching the machines chew them up.
3. My favorite house on the lake, which I have dreamed of one day owning since I first discovered it about eight years ago, has been marred by an ugly addition. This bothers me not only because it makes it less attractive, but because its owners are investing in it, and therefore less likely to sell within my lifetime.

Also, this is the first vacation in recent memory that didn't make me desperately homesick. Nevertheless, I am very glad to be home.


Saturday: Getting to VT was the worst part of the trip. Fearing the unreliability of the 71C, I made the foolish choice to take the EBA downtown to catch the Airport Flyer there. I failed to take into consideration the fact that downtown at 6:00AM on a Saturday morning is populated entirely by crazy people. To wit: A homeless dude who gave me a twenty minute lecture on how to catch a bus, (but impressed me by coming back to tell me how good the breakfast he bought with my money was), the guy with the long hair who screamed all the way down Liberty Ave, the Jehovah's witnesses, and the guy who sat next to me on the 28X, showing me all the things he's found on the street recently, including a pacifier. The bus was late and delayed by a detour so I arrived at the airport only an hour before takeoff. The airport was swamped and there were extremely long lines to do get boarding passes and get through security. I called my parents and panicked. They assured me I'd find a way to Vermont even if I missed my plane. I didn't believe them. Once I got through security I had to run through the airport, which was funny to me. I always laugh at the poor schmucks running to catch their planes. I was one of them. They literally closed the airplane's door behind me. On the plane, the woman sitting next to me asked questions about HP6 that I didn't want to answer. I got an incredible view of Washington, D.C. as we landed, including the Mall and the monuments but most exciting sight to see for me was the Watergate Hotel. I got lost in the Ronald Reagan airport, had to go through security twice, and almost missed my connection.

In Albany, I waited for my sister's delayed flight and for my luggage. The former showed up but the latter didn't. I had never had my luggage lost before. I was very unhappy about it. I talked to the lost luggage guy and he asked for an address where it could be delivered. I didn't know the address and told him I'd come back when my sister's plane got in. I doubted they would deliver all the way to Vermont, but the man assured me, "This is Albany." I stared blankly. He added, "This airport serves most of New England." My sister arrived and I cried on her shoulder about my missing belonging and the missing borrowed suitcase they were in. She took care of everything for me and we picked up our rental car. We stopped for lunch, and before we had even been served our meals she got a call that my luggage had arrived after a brief trip to LaGuardia. I realized that my luggage didn't make the plane I was on because I barely did, and knowing that my misfortunes were linked made me feel better about both. Also, knowing that everything worked out. I was on my way to the Lake and I had my things.

Becky and I got lost at least three times on the way North, and she also got her first ever traffic ticket for blowing a stop sign in Hudson Falls, NY. But we eventually made it to our cottage, an adorable little house called "Wyldwood Lodge" (all the houses on Lake St. Catherine have names, which I find terribly charming). This cottage was originally built in the 1840s, with strange additions tacked on over the years (ever hear of a "sleeping porch?"). It was full of charm, character, and bugs. But really, I loved it.

I took a little dip in the lake with my sibs and dad. My aunt brought up real tire truck innertubes which were invaluable to our swimming fun. I fell in love with swimming and floating around and I would devote as much of my vacation as possible to these activities.

Sunday: Almost all swimming. It was deceptively shady and I got sunburned in weird patterns. My grandmother treated the whole gang to a fancy dinner. We were served amuse bouche, which made me very happy. I decided that I should make it a goal to have at least one meal a year where I am served amuse bouche. It is the mark of truly posh dining, which it turns out I enjoy immensely (seems strange given my enthusiasm for diners and corn dogs). We took my grandmother back to the Bed & Breakfast where she was staying, which was across the street from her childhood home in Granville, NY. One of the owners, who had four Jaguars parked in the driveway (and based on the numbering of his license plates, may have as many as four more stashed elsewhere), gave us a detailed tour of the house, which he had restored to its 1920s condition with the help of my late Great Aunt Rain's impeccable memory. At one point, we ran into other guests, and suddenly my sister and I were part of the tour. "These are Lorraine O'Brien's grand-nieces." "Oh, like the slate family!" said one of the guests.

Monday: The funeral service for my Great Aunt was that morning. I want to say, "It was a lovely service," because that is what you say, but it was really more awkward than lovely. It was a Catholic mass, but no one in my family is a practicing Catholic. We were clueless as to when we should stand and sit, and after the young priest went through all the trouble of preparing the Eucharist, no one could take communion. It was sort of pathetic. The funeral program had an e.e. cummings poem printed on the back, which I found surprisingly liberal for a small town Catholic church. At the burial, my Aunt Diane gave a little speech about how of all the people gathered to remember Lorraine, no one but my grandmother remembers her as a young person. And even my grandmother only remembers her as a teenager. Living to be 99 is wonderful, but also terribly lonely. I was my grandmother's human crutch throughout the service. She had me walk her over to the grave so that she could whisper, "I love you. Goodbye." Which was probably the most emotionally naked I've ever witnessed that mystery of a woman.

My dad drove my grandmother back to Delaware that afternoon. The rest of us drove to Dorset, VT, which was insanely far to go for lunch. We ate at Zoey's Double Hex Diner, and I had a great ham/apple/cheese sandwich. Then we hit a puzzle and game store, and I purchased a puzzle that featured the statue of liberty as formed by the colored words of the United States Constitution. It amused me for the rest of the week. While I enjoyed my meal and my puzzle find, I was bitter throughout this entire trip that I wasn't swimming. So that was the first thing I did when I got home.

Tuesday: Intervals of swimming and reading HP6. That evening my sister and I finished the book. We were pretty much in sync for the last 300 pages, constantly asking each other, "What page are you on?" She read the climax before me, but I finished before her. We discussed the book for the rest of the night.

Wednesday: Swimming in the morning, and kayaking in the afternoon. My siblings were kayak weaklings! At first I felt like I should do my best to make them have a good time, but after a while I gave up on their happiness. I put my newfound upper-body strength to good use and left them in my wake. I waited for them by my favorite cottage on the entire lake, I waited for them by my favorite cottage on the entire lake, studying its new ugly garage and boring stair railings (the outdoor staircases connecting the upper and lower decks used to have no railings, which I found really interesting).

My family had dinner at a restaurant very literally called "The Barn," where we all talked about beer which was silly because none of us are currently beer drinkers. Also, I was reminded of the wonders of a good onion ring. After dinner my siblings and I worked on the puzzle, and I was exhausted. By 11:00PM, I fell apart and became hoodie Robin. I went to bed before midnight, which was pretty usual for the whole vacation.

Thursday: I woke up before 9:00AM and had a blueberry muffin and a cup of Lady Grey. I had never had this tea before and I loved it. It is even better than Constant Comment. I lazed on the hammock, listening to Sufjan's Steven's "Illinois," and I felt remarkably peaceful. My sister rented a sailboat and while she sailed around I floated on the lake for two hours by myself. Again, peaceful.

That afternoon, I joined my sister as she tried to sail the boat back to the rental shop, which was upwind and behind a peninsula. She struggled. I cowered in terror. Sailing is scary! There is a giant metal pole always trying to hit you in the face and whenever you actually move you feel like you are going to fall off the boat. Becky became very discouraged about her sailing ability. I tried to play Mr. Miyagi but didn't do a very good job. She decided to take a break and let us drift. I didn't want to wait, so I grabbed a rope, pulled, and miraculously got us into a "reach." For those of you not WASPy enough to be up on sailing jargon, that is when you go perpendicular to the wind. It is a good way out of the bad situation of being "too close to the wind" (doesn't make sense to me, either). It was thrilling. I screamed "I'm a sailor!!!!!" at the top of my lungs over and over again. We tacked up to the peninsula, and my sister let me hold the ropes while we sailed downwind past Cones' Point to the rental shop.

We had dinner at a car hop, which was awesome. I had a foot long hot dog and one of the 24 flavors of soft-serve (coffee). Delish! I puzzled for the remainder of the evening.

Friday: Was burdened with "last day" concerns. We rummaged through my Great Aunt's house before giving the antiques collectors a go at it. I got three books related to famous Americans: Presidential Profiles: Religion in the lives of American Presidents, and two small volumes publishes in 1910: The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin and Selected Writings of Abraham Lincoln. I also picked up a small globe that is a music box that plays "Around the World in 80 Days." Dated maps are the best! Finally, my aunt found me three little books that are pretty much the coolest thing I've ever seen. I'm giving one of them away soon, so I'm not going to say any more.

We went swimming, then went to Cones' Point Mini Golf, where I tied my sister and was two strokes above my Dad. It was one of my best mini golf games ever. I made a lot of long puts. Fast greens help me.

We capped the vacation with another fancy dinner, this one even more delicious than the last. The menu had enough adjectives to describe an army. I had phyllo-wrapped leak asparagus strudel for starters and citrus encrusted salmon for my entree. For dessert I had a key lime "tartlet" with raspberry coulis. All were incredible. After dinner, Becky and I finished the Constitution puzzle and stayed up "late" talking about television.

Saturday: Woke up early, packed up, cleaned up, and said goodbye. Becky and I made it to Albany without trouble. I convinced her to buy The Patriot's Handbook in the airport bookstore, and now I really want it. I called Regina and Lexi and Chris and felt excited about getting back to Pittsburgh. I boarded the first plane around 3:00. It was the smallest plane I've ever been on, with just 51 seats. We had to board it from outside, which felt very strange. There was some mechanical trouble and we had to "deplane," and we were delayed just long enough that I didn't have to wait for my connection in D.C. My bags took an hour to show up in PGH, but at least they weren't lost. When I got home, I figuratively felt like I hadn't been there in years. I was exhausted but so happy to be back in my house with my friends.

And that's the story of the most restorative vacation I've ever taken. I will feel very lucky if I ever experience something so perfectly prescribed to my state of mind again.