Summer Dreams

                A quarter century ago, (I’m feeling rather old this weekend after viewing our new family pictures for the church directory—where did the time go?) late January and early February were devoted to previewing seed catalogs and gardening books.  It was a deeply satisfying way to con myself into thinking spring was just around the corner.  Since then, the trees have grown twenty feet, making my backyard too shady for a big garden.  Then there are the cats--they sabotage every attempt I make to start cuttings and seedlings in the house, viewing them as their own personal kitty salads and sandboxes.   Nowadays, my gardening is confined to containers filled with nursery plants and the existing beds of perennials.

                 

             Instead of gardening, my winter focus has shifted to travel plans.  Thanks to the internet, ordering travel brochures is just a click away.  My mailbox is filled with glossy pages of exotic destinations (maybe exotic isn’t the right word since I’m considering visiting Mississippi River towns in the heat of summer).  Picking attractions, reading on-line reviews, plotting out routes—every day spent planning is another day of joyful expectation.  It’s a lot like waiting for Christmas—the anticipation is as good or better than the day itself.

               If I took a quiz rating my favorite activities, travel would rank right at the top.  In fact, rather than splurge on new clothes or things for the house, the bulk of my savings goes toward the next big trip.  Travel provides two things I can not get at home:  escape (mostly from the weight of housework, meal planning, cat care, and answering the telephone) and invisibility (if no one knows me, there’s no point being a perfectly behaved grown-up 24 hours a day).  When I travel I feel free to splash in fountains, load up on fudge from candy shops, and ask stupid tourist questions.  I love every bit of the adventure, from riding big city buses to eating new kinds of food and connecting with people that I’ll never meet again.

                So instead of planning my garden this winter, I’m dreaming of landscapes in far off places with green grass and warm gentle breezes (and no cats).