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| Nothing like a road trip to get away from the madness… |
*[NOTE: Masala Mama just couldn’t help herself! She had to give you a quick glimpse into her world away from the real world! But she promises that even though she posted this on FB and Twitter, she did NOT check her FB or Tweet. She is simply checking in. Then Checking out! :)… ]
Writing to the rhythmic sounds of toilet flushing is both helpful and disturbing. Useful for moments when your sleep-deprived lids start to fall unbeknownst to your tapping fingers. Mentally jarring because you begin to dream that you’re trapped between a campground lavatory and three hunter green port-a-potties that are all ventilating in your direction like heat-seeking missiles. Ahhh. The joys and pains of finding the one free outlet in the middle of nature, and watching your electronics recharge next to the low hum of the Pepsi vending machine. If I describe one more outdoorsy detail, you might begin to think I found the Shangri-La where Gary Paulsen penned his first lines of The Hatchet. Not so my friends. I’m in New Hampshire’a Gunstock Mountain Resort. Paulsen’s story took place in Canada. But I did run into two Canucks the other day. Nicest people ever. Canadians that is. Just sayin…Anyway, when the sounds of man clash with the sounds of creation, what do you get? Utopia. IMHO! We found it! Hubby and I soak in music radiating from the Main Stage at Soulfest as we near the finish of a four hour hike up and down Gunstock Mountain and all I can think is: marriage. This is where our two favorite worlds unite and there’s nothing more miraculous than a perfect match. Nature and music. Music and nature. They come together here during four days of concerts amidst the trees, and I am in a sweet, sweet place.
Let me back up a minute.
I didn’t grow up a girl scout, I don’t have a hundred and one cool knots in my back pocket, and I use up two boxes of matches just to start a fire. I’m scared of the dark. And I hate bugs. So what’s a girl like me doing at a place like this? The answer is simple.
I came to work on my weakness. Listening.
To my kids.
To my hubs.
And to my God.
You might think I’m a bit extreme to take a vacation just to practice the art of listening. I call it therapy. For the heart and soul.
I left my access to the cyber world behind, and rarely touch my laptop apart from the start and finish of the day when my peeps are still snoozing. [Why would you use a port-a-potty when there’s a perfectly good toilet right next to you is beyond me? Sorry. I digress…]
So as I was saying, I came to listen.
To my kids as I walk with them through forests, bike with them and chilax with my princesses around the campground. To my hubby as we stroll under the stars at night, cook together, and stay up late talking through the days’ head butting moments. Yes. We have them here. Even in the midst of chirping birds and singing cicadas. In fact, camping teaches you a lot about your propensity or aversion to teamwork. If you’re cooperating skills are a little rusty, everyone suffers. Sharing is good. Especially sharing control. I learn and relearn this lesson. Daily. Often many times a day.
And gentleness. Underrated and high in demand. Gentle voices. Gently spirits. Gentle reminders. Gentleness is something we’re all working on giving more generously. And that doesn’t come naturally for a loud-mouth like myself. But when you’re removed from the daily madness of life [two moth wings just landed next to me. I look up to see if a killer bird is shelling her breakfast above me. Nothing but wispy clouds and peaks of green, and a little chipmunk that just scurried off to the left of me.]
So I bring up the importance of stepping away from the routines of everyday life, because the truth is, when you’re married and everyone’s working and the kids are in school, time is limited. And quality time can’t happen if you don’t have some quantity time. Because it takes a lot of minutes before you unravel from the layers of the daily grind. Maybe it’s cuz we live in New York. But I find that when I leave the world of traffic and high rises, my heart beats just a tad slower, and it takes me a day or so just to catch up with how tired I feel. But this is all a good thing. The process. Of finding rest. And then—resting. If you never rest, you’ll never realize you needed to rest. Well, you might. But then you might be, umm, how shall I put it? Dead? Yeah. Don’t wait that long.
So the most important person I leave my little world in Locust Valley to listen on this vacation is God. And for me, I treasure hearing his voice through soulful lyrics and amazing music. Out here, I’m also surrounded by his fingerprints: the sky-reaching branches of pines, the vast waters of Lake Winnepa-something, and the surrounding picture frame of mountain ranges. [Darn that flush that keeps pulling me out of moment. I’m trying to have a one with nature moment people. Think you could hold it. Actually, I’m at 72% charge. And that will have to do. Cuz I can now smell. Everything. And holding my breath while typing. Not the best idea. So give me a second while I regroup.]
Okay I confess. That last flush was mine. Nothing like the power of suggestion. Anyshway…I’m back by the RV, sitting outside and counting the minutes till I can turn on the generator and percolate my senses with some mocha-cocoa java. Hey, if I can’t eat chocolate, I can at least have some cocoa-dusted coffee. Today’s Day 26 (counting up) or Day 86 (I prefer a count-down) of Operation I Can Do This. And for the most part, I can honestly say, I AM doing this! I’ve been eating clean (besides the one chocolate-covered strawberry I popped at a wedding. I had a moment of weakness. There was an entire dessert bar. I caved after perusing all the choices. I nearly knocked a platter to the ground in an attempt to pry off a piece of cantaloupe. The strawberry, well, it just kind of showed up between my teeth. And, well, I…yeah. It was good.
Where was I? On the exercise front, I’ve been jogging, hiking, and biking. A lot. And two days ago, I did 75 squats next to the picnic table and pumped out my push-ups. And we’ve been biking back and forth to the concerts, a work-out on the way there, but a mostly sailing down-hill return back to our site at night. That first night we returned, I felt like we were the Lost Boys with our train of bikes and headlamps zipping by camp traffic. Except since I have four princesses, we were the Lost Girls. Except that Princess number four was asleep in her Daddy’s arms as he walked his bike back. And except that we weren’t Lost. But the Found Girls sounds cheesy. Maybe the Pedal Princesses. I’ll run it by them when they wake up.
Speaking of… I see little fingers pushing up the shutter above my head. Somebody’s awake. And I’m guessing it’s the first princess who fell asleep. Yup. Here come’s Sarah. Time to put my mommy hat back on. Going for “mother of the year” and don’t want to chance messing it up by having a laptop in the place where morning snuggles happen. More vacation updates soon. Just wanted to check in. Before I check out again. Coffee and kisses. Here I come! 🙂
**Can’t wait to share my journalistic pursuits. So far this week, I’ve interviewed the lead singer of Plumb, started a dance party at the summit to Peter Furler’s voice and had an up close and personal with Brad Dring of Rapture Ruckus. And two nights in a row, I’ve been transported. To that sweet place I like to call Heaven’s Doorstep. Both Jeremy Camp and Switchfoot brought me there. Nothing like that sweet. Sweet place!
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Lake Winnipesaukee. 🙂