Vacate And Shun

 A number of people have asked me if I had any plans for my summer vacation. The traditional response to this query is "vacate and shun." This allows me to reset and find my emotional center. Not be at school. Avoid commitments that might feel like school. 

Of course this is, according to my wife, a non-answer. She is correct. in her assessment. It cuts a wide swath through the list of potential fun traditionally enjoyed over the course of your standard summer. I won't be joining any clubs or organizations that require my presence. I shy away from things that require reservations. Plane flights, concert tickets, scheduling a special dinner. That doesn't mean that I won't be available for any of those activities, it just means that I flinch in anticipation of commitment. 

The model for this behavior can be traced back to my youth. In those bygone days of yore my mother would have us help load up the back end of the station wagon to drive a week's worth of supplies into the hills where we would set up camp in our mountain cabin. There we would stay with the exception of a weekly trip down to civilization for another round of groceries and a few loads of laundry. None of us boys were affiliated with a Little League team or day camp. Our days were filled with comic books and wandering in the woods. The chores we were asked to perform outstripped any of those we held during our city lives. Hauling water and chopping wood was a necessity. There was some mild rejoicing in the fact that cleaning up after our dog was not a concern for our frontier family, since he was happy to do his business al fresco across the meadows and forest that surrounded us.

Every so often, we might tag along with our dad who was the only member of the family to maintain an existence "downtown." This came in the form of our music lessons, usually held on Saturday mornings. The goal was to get up at dawn, stop in for half an hour each for us to learn just a little more about playing the tuba in my case or the clarinet for my younger brother. Then there would be some brief transactions with the expectation of landing back in the mountains before noon. On special occasions this might involve snaring one of our city friends to come along for a day or two in our frontier oasis. These visits would consist of a few hours of settling in our town mice to the ways of us country mice. The bathroom is out back. The playground is everywhere. The comic books are upstairs. Most of our guests didn't last very long. They were initially excited by the prospect of living without running water, electricity or telephone, but when the reality of No TV set in, they were happy to return to their lives in the real world. 

That was for three months every summer for a decade or more. My memories are filled with those empty days that somehow got filled with the business of being young. Climbing mountains, swinging from trees, and reading comic books. 

Those were, in fact, the days my friends.