Escape or Escapade
If you have never wanted to escape to a warm beach, feel the sand between your toes, drink some fruity drink with an umbrella in it while listening and watching wave after wave rolling in causing that line of foam and deposits of seashells and pieces of seaweed and other ocean goodies, or some other scenario of peacefulness and tranquility, well I say hurray for you. You are one of the VERY few people absolutely content. Content every second of every minute, hour, day, week—well you get the idea. I know of no one who is that content. So we dream of escape, if just for a moment in time.
I know of a fitting story here. Trying to escape what he sees as his hum drum world and get himself into a world of no worries a man asks God how much a million dollars is to Him. He says it is no more than a penny in the man’s world. Then the man asks Him, how long is eternity? God replies, “It is but just a moment in man’s time.” The man, being man, thinking he can put one over on the big guy, then says to God, “May I have penny?” God, as only God’s humor can, looks at the human and says, “Just a moment.”
This man has just had his escape turn into an escapade. Like many of us do as we try our very best to have the perfect vacation/escape. Perfect of course is in the eye of the beholder. My perfect vacation has not been envisioned as of yet. I have too many variables that cannot become one vacation. I like the beach, but not the bugs. I like the mountains, but not the bugs. I like the city, but not the bugs. I like little country towns and antique stores, but not the bugs. See a theme here? One gal I know likes all those things but doesn’t like to interact with people. People, bugs, semantics.
Like I see a bugless beach, and who doesn’t start there? White, warm sand, blue water just barely lapping at the shells and sea glass glittering in a curvy line. I see me, reclining in a white wicker lounger covered with one of those Egyptian thousand thread count fluffy towels that I will not have to wash the sand out of when I am done with it. Then I look up to see what I think is a waiter carrying a tray of tall cold fruity somethings, ice clinking frosty glass as he seems to glide across the sand in his beach attire and flip flops. I reach for the bright yellow one, my hand nearly shaking with anticipation of the coolness of the drink hitting the back of my throat. Then my realistic self reaches over and slaps my fantasy self up alongside the head and I start to think of how much all that would cost and my escape has again turned into and escapade. Boy, one of these days I will get to touch that drink and take big ole a slurp. I have such class!
This doesn’t just apply to vacations. No this could be just an ordinary day. No cold fruity ones gliding your way, just a straight forward day. You get all ready to mow the lawn escaping into that back and forth calmness of mowing and the mower doesn’t start, or it is out of gas, needs the blades sharpened or a herd of mice have decided to lay claim to the inside of the grass catcher bag and you find this out just as you lift the bag off the nail it is hanging on in the garage and all the little inhabitants scurry out and use you as an escape ladder. Escapade. Or you’re ready to do laundry escaping into that swish-garble swish-garble of the machine that doesn’t ask you, “What’s for lunch?” and find you’re out of bleach, or the dryer doesn’t dry, or the cat has jumped up onto what he thought was the top of the washer to find the lid open and he falls into a half full tub of water and claws his way out and over the top of you to get away. Escapade. Kind of makes you wonder why we even try to escape. Seems the best thing to do might just get up in the morning, put on your armor and meet your escapade with a cold fruity something in your hand. Classic Trina.
Trina lives in Eureka. Her book ITY BITS can be found on Kindle. Share your thoughts and opinions with her at firstname.lastname@example.org.