Our family vacation ended yesterday.
As we've done for many years, we sailed on an antique windjammer up in Maine for four days. Three of the four, we were completely shrouded in fog. On the last morning, the fog finally broke ... and it rained.
Not our best trip, weatherwise.
But, we saw four bald eagles, three harbor seals, and a pod of porpoises. We ate way too much (definitely held our own at the "all-you-can-eat" lobster bake). We met such nice and interesting people. We played with the captain's adorable four-year-old son. I got through ten back issues of The New Yorker. And, my daughter made a dent (a small dent, but a dent nonetheless) in her summer homework.
Last night, we came home to a happy, if slightly chubby, puppy. (He seems to have finagled his way into some extra treats from our housesitter while we were sailing.)
I also came home to 187 work emails.
Not spam emails. Not notes from friends emails. Not opt-in subscription newsletter or retail coupon or airline update emails.
Work emails. 187 work emails. Each more urgent than the last.
"Ah ha," you may be thinking, "She forgot to tell her clients and colleagues that she was on vacation." No, they knew. In fact, most of the emails began with "I hope you're enjoying your time off."
(Um ... I might enjoy it more if you weren't sending me emails.)
It's frustrating. You look forward to a family vacation (well deserved and not nearly as long as it should be). You work twice as hard as usual so you can actually go. Then you come home to twice as much work as usual waiting. So basically, in addition to unpacking and laundry and grocery shopping, you spend your last day of freedom trying to catch up so your head doesn't explode on your first day back.
Of course, this dismal situation isn't unique to me. My husband is catching up on his emails even as I type. And, my daughter still has two and a half chapters of bio, six more chapters of civics, three papers and Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness. (In her defense, she tried reading that last one on the boat. She made it through page eight before she — literally — fell asleep.)
Back to my emails, though. I'm sorting through estimates from printers, feedback from clients, requests for proposals, background information to write copy, artwork to approve, minutes from board meetings, and an invitation to speak at a conference in October.
And I thought my head was in a fog on the boat!
Some of the emails are important. Some, not so much. Many could just as easily have waited until I got back officially. And, then there are the exponential emails on a single topic because everyone hits "Reply all." Too often, emails are sent after hours, even though nothing can really be done about them until the next business day. It feels like people are playing a game of electronic "hot potato." You see, once it's all in an email in my in-box, it's off their plate. Or their desk. Or maybe just their mind.
I'm glad someone can relax.
So, should we just forgo the family getaways? Give up on the mini breaks?
Is all the work and worry before, after and — in our almost always wired world — during a vacation really worth it?
You better believe it!
If you enjoyed this post, I invite you to order a copy of my book Lovin' the Alien at www.lovinthealien.com.
It's Thursday, and with any luck I'm cruising through Penobscott Bay even as you're reading. This year may mark the last with our beloved Captain (she is hoping to pass her magnificent windjammer on to a new owner in the coming year), so I'm filled with nostalgia.
Come Sail Away
When
it comes to family vacations, I have a bit of a problem. I love to try
new things. But, I also love to return to my favorite places. There's
nothing wrong with either of these predilections ... or at least there
wouldn't be anything wrong if I had (a) unlimited vacation time and (b)
unlimited funds with which to plan said unlimited time.
Alas, I have neither.
Still,
every year finds us spending New Year's in New York, skiing January
weekends up at Sugarbush, and enjoying a summer swan song, sailing off
the coast of Maine on the Isaac H. Evans.
This
particular family tradition predates our actually being a family. My
then-boyfriend, now-husband, first suggested a Maine windjammer cruise
back in 1990. He had read in Yankee magazine about a fleet of
antique schooners that took passengers for two-, three- and four-day
excursions through Penboscot Bay.
Despite
my being an urban-dwelling, matinee-going, indoor kind of gal (who,
btw, had a long and colorful history of motion sickness), I said ...
"Yes."
Let
the record state that we were still in that early infatuation stage
when his interests are yours and vice versa. (Believe you me, it works
both ways. He once told me he "loved going dancing" — go figure.)
At
any rate, I agreed and off we went. As my husband loves to retell it,
not only did I immediately fall in love with the experience, but I
became the driving force behind a plan to make it an annual excursion.
And for the past twenty-three years, we have missed very few
opportunities to sail. I skipped the summer of '97 because I was great
with child, but my husband took a buddy along instead. And, we missed
one year when a hurricane forced the captain to cancel.
While
my daughter was a baby, a toddler and a very little girl, we enlisted
doting relatives to stay with her while we escaped to the open seas.
(One year, our trip coincided with her birthday. I decided to timeshift
and celebrate when we returned without clueing her in to the fact
that there was a delay. Since she was just turning four, I figured that
what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her. Her loving grandmother, and
temporary caregiver, tsk-tsked but went along with the plan.)
As soon as my daughter was old enough, she insisted on coming too. Now it's very definitely a family affair.
Here's what we love about it:
•
No email, no voicemail, no texts. Pull away from Rockland Harbor and we
are out of reach. Sorry. Nobody's home. Leave a message at the beep,
baby.
"Heaven!"
•
The scenery is breathtaking. Rocky beaches, towering trees,
lighthouses, sprawling "summer cottages" along remote shores. And at
night? Constellations, shooting stars, the Milky Way.
I repeat, "Heaven!"
•
The best combination of wild creatures and creature comforts. What
could be better than watching a family of adorable harbor seals
cavorting? Watching them cavort, seated in a comfortable rocking chair
with a glass of pinot grigio in your hand.
Have I used the word "Heaven" yet?
Most
of all, I think I appreciate the time. Back home, between work and
driving and the gym and high school and riding lessons and maintaining
our antique house, we are always starving for time. On the schooner,
time stands still. Breakfast is over (it was delicious, btw, homestyle,
all-you-can-eat) and you have hours ahead of you to sail and talk and
read and R-E-L-A-X. My "To Do" list typically includes watching for
dolphins and catching up on back issues of The New Yorker.
"Sorry to interrupt, but the lobster bake is starting."
Our
annual schooner trips are stress relief beyond compare, and always have
been. At least for the grownups. For younger passengers, they're a
chance to hoist sails, steer a boat, hang from a hammock over the stern,
avoid a shower for multiple days in a row, and talk like a pirate. Add
to this the fact that our captain
is a wonderful example of a strong and independent woman (she was the
first female captain in the fleet) and it's pretty much all you could
ask for as a feminist mother looking to throw role models in your
teenager's path.
This
year, I was just a bit concerned though. As she's moved from her tweens
to her teens, my daughter's reliance on electronica has grown
exponentially. She's a little too old to climb the mast like a monkey.
But was she old enough to see the value in unplugging? Could she live
without Twitter and Tumblr, Facebook and Vine?
Turns
out, she could! She worked on her summer reading, she slept in, she
swam in the icy waters, she hiked on a deserted island. We talked and
talked. And,
something wonderful happened. She was willing to snuggle and hug. There
was a sweet physicality to our mother-daughter relationship that has
been sadly missing lately.
At times I thought, "Who are you? And what have you done with my daughter?" But, most of the time, I thought, "Thank you."
In
one of Natalie Merchant's deep cuts "Verdi Cries," she sings, "Holidays
must end as you know" and too soon (despite the luxurious stretch of
time aboard the schooner), we were back in port, loading up and heading
back to civilization, clients and looming sophomore year.
We'll sail again, I know. Until then, I'll hold onto these memories and this feeling. What a gift.
In case you were wondering, my daughter was on her iPhone the entire ride home.
When it comes to family vacations, I have a bit of a problem. I love to try new things. But, I also love to return to my favorite places. There's nothing wrong with either of these predilections ... or at least there wouldn't be anything wrong if I had (a) unlimited vacation time and (b) unlimited funds with which to plan said unlimited time.
Alas, I have neither.
Still, every year finds us spending New Year's in New York, skiing January weekends up at Sugarbush, and enjoying a summer swan song, sailing off the coast of Maine on the Isaac H. Evans.
This particular family tradition predates our actually being a family. My then-boyfriend, now-husband, first suggested a Maine windjammer cruise back in 1990. He had read in Yankee magazine about a fleet of antique schooners that took passengers for two-, three- and four-day excursions through Penboscot Bay.
Despite my being an urban-dwelling, matinee-going, indoor kind of gal (who, btw, had a long and colorful history of motion sickness), I said ... "Yes."
Let the record state that we were still in that early infatuation stage when his interests are yours and vice versa. (Believe you me, it works both ways. He once told me he "loved going dancing" — go figure.)
At any rate, I agreed and off we went. As my husband loves to retell it, not only did I immediately fall in love with the experience, but I became the driving force behind a plan to make it an annual excursion. And for the past twenty-three years, we have missed very few opportunities to sail. I skipped the summer of '97 because I was great with child, but my husband took a buddy along instead. And, we missed one year when a hurricane forced the captain to cancel.
While my daughter was a baby, a toddler and a very little girl, we enlisted doting relatives to stay with her while we escaped to the open seas. (One year, our trip coincided with her birthday. I decided to timeshift and celebrate when we returned without clueing her in to the fact that there was a delay. Since she was just turning four, I figured that what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her. Her loving grandmother, and temporary caregiver, tsk-tsked but went along with the plan.)
As soon as my daughter was old enough, she insisted on coming too. Now it's very definitely a family affair.
Here's what we love about it:
• No email, no voicemail, no texts. Pull away from Rockland Harbor and we are out of reach. Sorry. Nobody's home. Leave a message at the beep, baby.
"Heaven!"
• The scenery is breathtaking. Rocky beaches, towering trees, lighthouses, sprawling "summer cottages" along remote shores. And at night? Constellations, shooting stars, the Milky Way.
I repeat, "Heaven!"
• The best combination of wild creatures and creature comforts. What could be better than watching a family of adorable harbor seals cavorting? Watching them cavort, seated in a comfortable rocking chair with a glass of pinot grigio in your hand.
Have I used the word "Heaven" yet?
Most of all, I think I appreciate the time. Back home, between work and driving and the gym and high school and riding lessons and maintaining our antique house, we are always starving for time. On the schooner, time stands still. Breakfast is over (it was delicious, btw, homestyle, all-you-can-eat) and you have hours ahead of you to sail and talk and read and R-E-L-A-X. My "To Do" list typically includes watching for dolphins and catching up on back issues of The New Yorker.
"Sorry to interrupt, but the lobster bake is starting."
Our annual schooner trips are stress relief beyond compare, and always have been. At least for the grownups. For younger passengers, they're a chance to hoist sails, steer a boat, hang from a hammock over the stern, avoid a shower for multiple days in a row, and talk like a pirate. Add to this the fact that our captain is a wonderful example of a strong and independent woman (she was the first female captain in the fleet) and it's pretty much all you could ask for as a feminist mother looking to throw role models in your teenager's path.
This year, I was just a bit concerned though. As she's moved from her tweens to her teens, my daughter's reliance on electronica has grown exponentially. She's a little too old to climb the mast like a monkey. But was she old enough to see the value in unplugging? Could she live without Twitter and Tumblr, Facebook and Vine?
Turns out, she could! She worked on her summer reading, she slept in, she swam in the icy waters, she hiked on a deserted island. We talked and talked. And, something wonderful happened. She was willing to snuggle and hug. There was a sweet physicality to our mother-daughter relationship that has been sadly missing lately.
At times I thought, "Who are you? And what have you done with my daughter?" But, most of the time, I thought, "Thank you."
In one of Natalie Merchant's deep cuts "Verdi Cries," she sings, "Holidays must end as you know" and too soon (despite the luxurious stretch of time aboard the schooner), we were back in port, loading up and heading back to civilization, clients and looming sophomore year.
We'll sail again, I know. Until then, I'll hold onto these memories and this feeling. What a gift.
In case you were wondering, my daughter was on her iPhone the entire ride home.
