Week before last, my friend Trish called me. I hadn't spoken to her in ages.
"Hey," she said. "Doing a lot of traveling, I see."
"Yes," I sighed. "It's fun, but I'm ready for some down time. Also, Alex is on spring break next week. As soon as I get back from Georgia, I'm going to have to take a couple of days to spend time with her."
"Yeah, my kids are off next week, too. In fact, I'm taking some days off, and we're going to go to Galveston and stay at a friend's beach house for the latter half of the week."
I didn't even hesitate. "Ooooh," I said, "can we come and spend the last night with you there?"
Seriously, how bold is that? I mean, it's true I've known Trish for almost half my life, and at this point, we're not so much friends, as family. Still, I caught myself: "Damn. That was incredibly rude. I'm sorry."
"No, that's why I was calling!" she immediately responded. "I knew you were traveling, so I wasn't sure you'd be able to make it. But yes! Come!"
So last Friday, we packed up our car with some wine, stuff to throw on a grill and a change of clothes, and headed south to Galveston.
The house wasn't actually on the Atlantic beach, but instead near an inlet bay, so while there was no sand, there were views -- and happily, it was far away from all of the spring breakers. If you've been reading this site for any length of time, you know I'm not generally a huge fan of Galveston's beach; however, I'm of the firm conviction that the salty air of the seaside, no matter where you are, is the ultimate cure-all. (I'm not kidding. I think it's as magical as love and dark chocolate.) And the twenty-four hours we spent breathing it in, in the company of our dear friends, was profoundly restorative.
Which is good, because Monday is the day I've set aside to do my taxes.
Have a great week, friends.
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Reminder: registration for the Spring session of the Path Finder ends this week, March 21, 2012. You can read all about it here. I really hope you'll join me!
Song: 78 stone wobble by Gomez
