Wednesday, July 29 2009

Back to the Beach

It's a decoy . . . this must be a trap!

Faithful readers may wonder where I've been. The answer is, ON VACATION! Yep, I get to go off-leash a few weeks a year and I chose the last week of July and the first week of August for my time off. Things get very busy for me from about the middle of August, with retailer and distributor conferences and prepping for Limited Edition travel season, so if I don't get my holidays in right around this time I have to wait until January-ish to take any time off.

Which I usually do anyway: January is my favorite time to go lie on a beach somewhere and recover my creative juices from the long touring season. I've gone to Mexico, the Bahamas, Key West, Cuba (sorry Americans, all your cigar are mine!) and the US gulf coast over the years, all great places with many charms. But my lifestyle harbours a terrible secret, that few understand completely.

I live on a beach.

Not just near the beach, by the beach or in a community with a beach. I live on a beach. So where do I go for my summer vacation? Out my front door, down onto the sand and straight into beachy nirvana. The funny thing about this is that I never intended to live here. It was a whim, an indulgence. My beloved wife once told me that it was her childhood dream to spend just one summer living in White Rock, going to the beach every day. I thought that was a great dream, and we should go ahead and do it.

That was nine years ago.

A kilt, a panama and flip-flops. Make up your mind, fashion-boy.

Not to rub it in: even the least likely places I've lived in the past (like downtown Whalley, in the dark heart of Surrey's evil, chewy centre) have been great experiences. And, there's practically nowhere to eat out in this town. There are thirty places that serve fish and chips within two kilometres of my building, but no cuisine worth talking about. And the convenience stores don't even carry ice! But those considerations aside, there's something so freeing and happy about never having to look for parking when you want to go walk on the beach.

That's not to say it's all cakes and ale on holiday: I've got two gardens that are in full swing: we're eating zucchini, chard, raspberries, red and black currants, broccoli and lettuce like crazy, and I've got so much zucchini that the women's shelter we donate to is threatening me if I bring any more over. I've got a hundred house projects to do, I've got manuscripts due to various editors, I've got to do some reno work on my wife's family cabin . . .

Ah, who am I kidding. Working hard because you want to is the best sort of reward there is. This afternoon's agenda includes a brutal Scrabble™ Deathmatch, English Rules Bocci (you have to play with a glass of gin in one hand at all times) and Zucchini surprise (surprise! It's zucchini again!) for dinner. I might get a chance to update my blog again this week (if my wife doesn't catch me . . .) because I've had a couple of very interesting bottles of wine I'd like to share, but if you don't hear from me, don't worry: I haven't disappeared, just dissolved into the sand.

Posted by Tim AT 6:08PM

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