what s/he wrote

tim sanders posted this about four years ago, but i thought of it immediately when i embarked on a rituals of summer-vacation-taking week.

one of the rituals of taking a vacation used to be coming back to an email inbox that you imagined would be chock full and would require several hours to deal with.  now, you don't have to imagine it because you can just-real-quick check your work email from vacation on your fabulous smartphone, and you already know what's awaiting you when you return.  in fact, you've probably half-heartedly dealt with some of it during vacation.  and you've certainly thought about one or two items, whether you've responded to them or not.

i like tim sanders' idea for managers, co-workers, and clients:

when I worked at yahoo, i put my employee’s vacation days into my calendar to remind me to leave them off threads or bcc/ccs. when there was an email that they would eventually need to see or be copied on (when they got back), i would part [sic] it in the draft folder, then send all of them the day they returned.
i'm going to try it.  i'm going to put emails to people who are on vacation in a draft folder and send them when they return.  it sounds to me like a kind ritual to put in place.

the non-negotiable breakfast

part six in a week-long series about the rituals of summer-vacation-taking

when i was growing up, my dad had only one demand when we went on vacation.  that demand was breakfast.  he didn't care much whether we spent all day in the ocean or walked the pier 25 times or sunned ourselves into oblivion around the pool reading magazines with our walkmans turned up.  but breakfast was non-negotiable.  and it was early.

at around 7:30 in the morning, he'd start to get antsy, and no later than 8, we were dragged out of bed, pulling our hair back in sloppy ponytails or grabbing a baseball cap, and sliding on flip-flops or jellies or those adidas slipper-shoes to go to some spot that would serve us bacon and coffee and maybe some biscuits and molasses.  we protested mightily.

but now, so many years later, guess what each of my siblings and i consider to be an inviolable part of going on vacation?  yes, indeed:  breakfast.

i'm curious:  what are your vacation must-dos?

i love

part five in a week-long series about the rituals of summer-vacation-taking

installment ten || kure beach pier

kure beach pier, i love you

because you make me feel like it's the year instagram photos try to replicate, but you do it without a special filter.  i reckon being the oldest fishing pier in the atlantic coast helps with that.

because you have photos of happy, sunburned people with their biggest fish catches hanging on your walls.  real pictures.  developed at a drugstore.

because you sell ice cream.  really, really good ice cream.

because you are open 24 hours, and that is awesome.

because walking on a wooden pier at night and peering into the black of the ocean and hearing the crash of the waves is simultaneously so romantic and sad and present and nostalgic that i have no choice but to let go, relax, let the tension slide away.

because fishing is meditating, and it is amazing to walk down a long promenade and see people of all shapes and sizes meditating together in the same way.

because you used to have the best baseball pinball machine, which my cousins, my siblings, and i played approximately one billion and seven times.  it was yellow, and if you managed to get that silver ball to go up the metal ramp in the middle, you scored a home run.  i know you don't have it anymore.  that's okay.  the ten-year-old in me will always love you for it anyway.

a place called boardwalk

part four in a week-long series about the rituals of summer-vacation-taking

the sun is up but the sunrise pinks are still in the sky
and the sounds of flip-flops and tennis shoes slapping against the wood haven't yet begun.
a fat seagull is perched on dumbo's nose
on the flying dumbo ride
right where the shiny gray paint is peeling off.
the garage doors are pulled down and chained on the arcade,
the shop where you can buy jewelry made of fake shells produced in taiwan,
the shop where you can buy airbrushed t-shirts circa 1984,
and the tattoo parlor.
the garage door is up on the doughnut shop
because it's hot in there already
and because the sweet sticky smell is too much
and because there is one more teenager who has yet to arrive for work.
a lost phone chirps a low-battery warning where it was dropped last night in the sand near the trash barrel.
the pavement is heating up down here
as the locals have their coffee in their kitchens
and the tourists sleep off their beers in their hotel rooms and rental cottages.

smartphone vs. vacation

part three in a week-long series about the rituals of summer-vacation-taking

smartphone, you are the enemy of the true vacation.

yes, it seems like no big deal when we're shooting a quick email here, and sharing our awesome vacation photo on instagram there, and picking up a short call, checking our office voicemail, and responding to just this one hilarious tweet from our friend from college.

but...
um...
let's compare:


vacation before you could work, plan, and socialize internationally from almost anywhere on the planet:

• 9:00am:  coffee and breakfast
• 10:30am:  horse around in the ocean with your kid, your best friend, and your best friend's kid
• 12:00pm:  read a magazine lying on your beach chair while periodically poking your leg with your finger to see if you're burning
• 12:30pm:  lunch
• 2:00pm:  nap
• 3:00pm:  play bocce on the sand and lose to your dad...again
• 5:00pm:  shower
• 6:30pm:  go out to dinner and watch the server's eyes get round when your whole crew walks in
• 9:00pm:  drink wine and eat snack food you would never have at home

vacation now:

• 9:00am:  check facebook, twitter, gmail, and work email.  make a mental note to respond to 3 work emails after you make coffee.
• 9:15am:  coffee and breakfast
• 10:30am:  send 3 aforementioned work emails while your kid, your cousin, and your cousin's kid start playing in the ocean.  scroll through facebook for just a quick second, and get surprised when your kid comes back out of the water.  say you were just getting ready to go out to join them.  dang.
• 12:00pm:  read your magazine instead of the work stuff you brought along and feel guilty and stressed about it.
• 12:30pm:  lunch
• 12:45pm:  pick up call from this guy you know who is helping you plan a charity event for next week because you've been playing phone tag with forever.  feel the urgency of what he needs from you, so agree to post something to facebook, your neighborhood listserv, and your parents' group listserv by tonight.
• 1:15pm:  nap
• 3:00pm:  try to post about charity event, and discover that your facebook app is telling you it lost its connection over and over again.
• 3:12pm:  give up and go find your dad playing bocce with the kids on the beach.  take an awesome picture that totally captures the moment and realize that it's so perfect you have to post it on instagram immediately.  try out six different filters, narrow it down to three, decide one is too grainy, and finally choose the one that makes it look like csi miami.
• 3:22pm:  play bocce while periodically looking to see how many likes your photo has gotten.
• 5:00pm:  look up best place for reservations on phone.  read reviews of seven seafood joints within a one-mile radius, and choose pirate's cove.  try to make a reservation using opentable, discover pirate's cove isn't on opentable, and call the restaurant instead.
• 5:23pm:  shower
• 6:30pm:  during dinner at pirate's cove, look up blackbeard on smartphone to prove to your sister that blackbeard was shot and beheaded, since she insists he had to walk the plank.
• 9:00pm:  drink wine
• 10:16pm:  tell your spouse to go ahead to bed without you because you still have to post about the charity event.  after you post, check your work email one last time.
• 11:12pm:  lie in bed thinking about the best way to handle the latest wrinkle in your biggest work project until you fall asleep.

hmph.  i've done some varying versions of the second schedule, but that first one up there seems a whole lot more like a vacation to me.

i'm curious: has your smartphone changed your rituals on vacation?  for the better?  or not?

much

part two in a week-long series about the rituals of summer-vacation-taking

she doesn't care for the beach much
but
this is where they have wanted to come
every year
since the oldest one could say the word ocean
so
she packed the sunscreen the bathingsuits the raggedy towels
and proceeded to have fun
their way.
she got tangles out of hair
she held hands jumping over waves
she made rules about how late they could walk on the pier without a grownup.
today
she sits on the porch of the rental, half-reading her book as they and their spouses unload the cars
bringing in water wings and sand pails and sunshades.
she watches them swarm into the kitchen where she earlier unloaded the only kind of macaroni the toddler will eat, the favorite potato chips for the son-in-law, the special milk for the one with allergies
all things she knew to bring without them even asking.
she feels the place fill up with her favorite kind of noise, the unconscious noise of family, and keeps it to herself that
she doesn't care for the beach much.

how to leave for a vacation

part one in a week-long series about the rituals of summer-vacation-taking

how to leave for a vacation

1. plan to leave by a certain hour.  save up 413 small tasks that you must accomplish before you leave.  begin those tasks 90 minutes before your planned departure time.
2. pack way too much.  remove three items from your suitcase.  feel proud.  put one of the three items back in your suitcase. 
3. water the plants.  think about how you should go on vacation more often so that the plants get watered more frequently.
4. unplug everything in sight:  the coffeemaker, the rickety old lamp in the hallway, the microwave oven.
5. spill something on the floor.  preferably something that makes a big sticky mess or will dye the floor a nice shade of purple if it isn't tended to immediately.
6. decide to set the timers for the lights.  spend 25 minutes looking for the timers for the lights.  get in a fight with your partner/child/dog about where the timers for the lights could be.
7. leave 104 minutes after your planned departure time and feel pretty psyched that you stayed on schedule.  or close enough.  or close enough-ish.
8. feel relieved that you're finally on the way, and then throw a big rock at that feeling by stopping for gas, lunch, and cash before you even leave town.
9. get fifteen minutes down the road and make a joke.  smile for the first time in several hours.  remember that you actually like the person/people in the car with you.
10. relax.