Yet, here I sit tonight, with dinner being prepared, and the laundry churning, and remnants of vacation, of Woodland, slowly being put away. The marshmallows from the smores are sitting on the table and the decks of cards scattered on the island and piles of sand rest by the front door. Waiting to be swept up. So that "real" life can resume.
Vacations make me think about life. I begin to ponder how I spend my time -- how I tend to live in that frenzied sort of existence -- and then how just as quickly I can live in a small one bedroom cabin, with dirt roads, and heavy screen windows, and a lake 30 feet away, and a fraction of my earthly possessions and I can feel more content than I do with all my stuff.
Peaceful.
All the stuff that I think I need to do and have and go and be doesn't really bring happiness. The stuff? It becomes more that I need to manage, put-away, take care of, sort, sell, donate, clean, launder, read, and deal with. And that takes away time from my family.
And that brings me to chairs. Those brightly colored chairs from the 50's were the chairs where my family gathered and sat less than 24hours ago. All of us -- even though there was packing to do -- we took our last moments up at the lake to sit together, around a fire, and live. It's a celebration of family. And of the real important.
I want to live knowing that I've spent time sitting in those chairs -- wherever they may be -- with my family.
It's a slowing down.
I don't want to lose the lesson of Woodland.
I just want to sit for a moment longer.
