Preparing to leave home for a month has me in a tizzy. What if my husband and I die driving to British Columbia? What if we wash overboard as we cruise north on the Inside Passage? What if… The possibilities are endless. All you have to do is buy trip insurance and possible disasters (each with a price tag) suggest themselves. Choose your bad news and then pay for it: trip cancellation, delays, hurricanes, civil disorder, and accidental death to name a few.
Once we are on Vancouver Island, we’ll drive to Campbell River and join ten other passengers aboard the Aurora. We know that we’ll be heading north, but our stops will depend on the ship’s deliveries along the way. It’s a mystery. What fun!
I can’t imagine civil disorder on Vancouver Island, so we skipped on paying for that option. But the insurance folks are missing out. They could really rake in the money if they would add travel insurance options to include the stress of planning the trip and packing for every eventuality. Mornings on the barge and later on the ocean’s edge in Tofino will be cold. I should take long underwear. One more thing to squeeze in my pack. I am frazzled. No doubt about it.
Looking at my to-do list, my blood thickens and slows to a crawl. My heartbeat picks up the pace, but my blood is so thick! It is like pushing a wheelbarrow loaded with cement. What if my heart stops completely? if my heart stops before I leave home, my travel insurance will not pay.
Meanwhile, there is the house. If we should die, I don’t want the neighbors coming in tut-tutting over my inattention to domestic duties. I need to clean out the refrigerator, and I should dust the piano: dust really shows up on a glossy surface at eye level. And vacuum. And wash the floors. I’ll never get to the baseboards.
If you think I’m obsessive, you don’t know my history. Years ago, my mother-in-law remarked, “Thank God, you’re a good cook; you’re not much of a housekeeper.” I was pleased that she recognized my strength. As for my weakness, obsessive housekeeping is for women who have no other interests in life. I have many interests. Her remark did not offend me; I found it humorous. That said… if Wanda is looking down from the Great Beyond, I would like to think that she thinks none the worse of me.
Leaving the garden for a month is distressing. Today I emptied the hummingbird feeders and put them away until our return. Taking lunch on the patio, we watched the hummingbirds perch on the shepherds’ crooks that formerly held the feeders. The birds frowned. They were not amused. I felt as though I had slapped them up the side of the head. Poor things! They will have to depend on Nature’s bounty. I’m out of the pictutre.
My garden is a problem. Design-wise, I’ve gone for what I’m calling “The Cottage Look.” Growing up in Horseheads New York, just south of the Finger Lakes, I am well acquainted with cottages. Many people have them. Maybe they spend a week or two at the cottage, but for the most part, the cottage is occupied infrequently – a weekend here and there. As for the grass and garden, benign neglect rules. After all, what’s the point of having a cottage if you spend your cottage-time mowing the grass and clipping the hedges?
A stroll in my garden is a walk on the wild side. Which is intentional and fine by us, but what about community standards? We do, after all, live just two blocks from Main Street. What will the neighbors say? Will our house depress our neighbors’ property values?
I should write to the travel insurance people. To their list of options, they should add ‘lawsuits resulting from dereliction of gardening duty.”
Using a red pencil, I cross off the tasks accomplished. It’s slow going. And I’m tired. I distract myself by writing a blog.