High Hopes, Crape Myrtles

Having some re-entry issues after a nice little vacation on Virginia’s Eastern Shore. Reality’s hitting me hard this time…

My mother had rented a house in the charming town of Cape Charles from someone she knows in NoVA and invited us down. Christian decided not to join us because of a work-related commitment. A bit weird vacationing without him, and we all missed him, certainly. But, I must say, it was nice to take a break from the cashflow-related bickering that seems to characterize our relationship lately.

The kids had a blast: we were right there on the Chesapeake Bay, and the water was warm, calm and shallow. There was a bike just Hank’s size at the rental house. I had the perfect trashy novel (Twilight—courtesy of cousin Amy who always comes up with just the thing). There was bad wine with dinner every night and ice cream for dessert. I will say I’m not wild about sharing a kitchen with my stepfather, who’s impossibly messy, a stove hog and does not share my concerns about food safety.

But overall, the whole thing was relaxing and low key. I didn’t come away with that feeling of needing a vacation from my vacation. Plus I was totally digging the crape myrtles (I’m missing them already) and the retro ambiance in Cape Charles. There was something about the place that reminded me of a mini-New Orleans, without the decadence I mean--just the sweet side. I think I even caught a whiff of some sweet olive, which has long had my vote for best shrub ever.

Anyway, I’m not sure what Christian did all week, but it was rough to come home to a dirty house and unmown lawn. Not sure what I was expecting--I think I had imagined some heavy duty home improvement/yard work transpiring during my absence or something. This, as usual, proved to be a recipe for disappointment. This week: chamomile tea and lower expectations.