Wanderlust Untreated

Spring is in the air and a winter-weary housewife’s thoughts turn to… getting the hell out of town. The past few years have been pretty bleak on the travel front, and I’m dying to get away. What I wouldn’t give to be in Paris with a grand crème and an almond croissant. Or taking a stroll in the Luxembourg Gardens. Keep finding myself reminiscing about my years in NYC when I flew to France 3 or 4 times a year. Things were pretty heady in those days--Euros were cheap and wine was plentiful. I could navigate Charles de Gaulle airport and the French rail system like a pro. I really felt like quite the cosmopolite back then…I was a regular at the Air France waiting area at CDG and used to run into people I knew there all the time. Not that I’d really describe myself as well-traveled. Pretty much all of my international wanderings have involved the same continent, if not the same country. I’ve got a bunch of jetsetting friends who put my paltry collection of passport stamps to shame. Kathy and Neal just got back from another month-long jaunt to Argentina. A college pal and her hubby are living in east Africa and racking up adventures on that continent. And don’t even get me started about my old friend Michi who works for a high-end travel agency and flits across the globe, routinely staying in unbelievable five star joints from Morocco to Bora Bora. Her facebook page is enough to make one absolutely green. Once again, these folks have one thing in common: no kids. But I certainly know lots of people with kids who take great vacations. We haven’t managed to work it out yet, so I’ll have to forget about the Riviera this year. Even the redneck Riviera isn’t in the cards, I’m afraid. We had a nice trip to the gulf coast of Florida with my sister and her crew last spring. Weren’t able to join them this year as the penny pinching is being implemented in full force here at the funny farm. The economy doesn’t seem to be affecting our neighbors, however. Half the people in Hank’s preschool class went to Disneyworld for spring break while we were stuck in drizzly old Lovetown. Not that Disney’s on my list or anything-- I totally fail to understand the mystique. In fact, I’m proud to say that we are pretty much Disney-free around here (although I have promised Henry he can watch Cars one of these days), and I intend to do whatever I can to avoid the Magic Kingdom altogether. Wouldn’t have minded a week at the beach though.

As for summer travel plans, I’d say they’re definitely…indefinite. I have a feeling whatever we do is going to involve a tent. My mother has rented a beach house on Virginia’s eastern shore in August and has invited us to come down. Sounds nice…as long as I can handle a week with my extended family.

Other than that, I suppose I’ll be hanging out at our local public pool…and in the garden. We’re a little more on the ball this year on the food production front: have several types of lettuce in, in addition to spinach, arugula and chard so far. I’m reminded of Voltaire’s Candide, which I read in high school (I think), and its well-known exhortation to cultivate one’s garden. That is, not to worry about the grand scheme of things but focus on the day to day. It’s actually very yogic and reminds me of some wisdom I encountered some time ago on a bag of herbal tea: approach whatever you’re doing as if it were the most important thing. Words to live by, no doubt. But I can’t help pining for Paris.