So, one more vacation’s come and gone. It’s hard to believe. I waited so anxiously to get back to Maine. After skipping last summer, the only year of my life that I haven’t been to Maine, I was dying to get up there. And once we were there, everything was just more — the colors were more vibrant, the smells more potent, the seafood more tasty. I spent the first week like a kid on Christmas morning, giddy with excitement, taking it all in.
The second week I regretfully counted down the days till we had to leave, trying to fit in everything that I wanted to do and see and experience and eat before I left for another year.
But by Friday, I was ready. I was tired of the humidity and the cramped living quarters and living out of a suitcase.
Friday night we gorged on homemade blueberry pie and then built a fire out by the lake and sat in lawn chairs, sipping mugs of steaming decaf, gearing up for our ride home the next day.
It was plate-lickin’ good.
The drive home was grueling but relatively uneventful, which is always a good thing. Even with a road closure, we were able to get off the highway and find our way home via a series of backroads through the countryside, which was far more interesting than the monotonous highway and didn’t cost us too much time in the end.
We arrived home in time to join our neighbors for dinner and drinks while the kids got reacquainted and ran willy nilly around the hood as they love to do. It was the perfect way to end our lovely vacation.
Of course, re-entry is always a rude awakening. We spent much of yesterday getting the house back into some semblance of order, and this morning I went for an invigorating 3-mile run. Today’s tasks involve getting back into our routine. This morning I’ve been working on a menu plan and a grocery list and a to-do list that’s as long as the road to Maine. I’m ready to get back to my low-carb, real-food diet after two weeks of rich chowders and decadent desserts. I’m feeling the effects of my digression and I’m anxious to get back on the wagon.