Not National Lampoon’s Vacation

I am happy to report that today is the momentous occasion called “vacation”. It’s not a big vacation, but it is getting out of the area and being someplace restful.
Now, the last time I tried one of these I ended up in a “resort” RV park,  in something described as a “garden home” with a patio and view, all located in the lovely Santa Ynez valley east of Santa Barbara.
Only the location was accurate. It turned into a hellish week of 100 plus temperatures in a tin box without adequate air conditioning. My visions of resting and doing some artwork and reading vanished as the temperatures rose inside of that RV version of pergatory.
My only consolation was the relatively short drive into Santa Barbara, the heavenly antithesis to my accomodations in the valley.
I think I now understand the story of Lazarus and the rich man…one in paradise, the latter in hell. It’s a sure bet that the poor guy had to stay in a trailer in the heat without any hope of cool air reaching him from the phoney AC unit in the roof.
My worst day was the morning I broke down and cried about the whole thing. There I was in this torture chamber, spending an entire week  and still having to come back home to the routine from which I had hoped to escape for a little while. The friend with whom I was sharing this hot box experience wisely drove us to the lovely Gainey winery, thus lessening  my torment with a generous tasting session and no food. I got happy.
So, today, as I head off into a new and (hopefully) better week of R&R, that other will be a dim memory, not to be repeated. There will still be hopes of art and literature (well, maybe not “literature”), and certainly some wine will be included, although not as a remedy this time.
I will have good things to talk about when I return, and memories that are not singed by the heat of dispair over bad events, and literal heat.
I am ready. I am packed. Here I go.

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