Maybe Next Year

I was supposed to go to Las Vegas to visit with friends in a few weeks.  I was really excited about it as I only get to see this particular friend once or twice a year, as she lives in Pennsylvania, and I’m now in Arizona.  But then… one of our cats got sick, and after a really expensive trip to the emergency vet’s office, I realized I had to make some hard choices.

I also had planned to go to Alaska this year.  My husband and I have been talking about that trip for a few years, and we never seem to get around to planning it.  “Maybe next year” is the refrain.

For some reason, last weekend, I had a bit of a breakdown, and I realized that I couldn’t tolerate the thought of going someplace urban.  I work in Phoenix, and I’m tired of buildings and blacktop.  I want to see open stretches of natural stuff, be it trees or icebergs.

That’s when I realized that I couldn’t give up going to Alaska this year.  I couldn’t spend one more year putting this off.  I live in a suburban, quasi-rural area, and I have a backyard that’s an oasis.  But I need to get away and go somewhere with fewer people.  I need to recharge, and I just can’t do that at home.

The last time we’d been on a vacation was… November 2005.  We went to the Bahamas, and I lost my voice the day I got there, had to cancel snorkeling and swimming with the dolphins because I had such bad bronchitis (and no medication) that I couldn’t breathe.  We’ve been away on mini-trips for a few days, but this will be the first week that we’ve gone away together in a long time.  I couldn’t cancel it.

So in two weeks, when we were supposed to be in Vegas, we’ll be home, doing projects here, going to see the B-52s in concert, and probably ordering in.

And in a few months, we’ll be going to Alaska.

I’m tired of “maybe next year.”