All over the world, people take time off. Thousands of people right this minute are either upside down on mats on yoga retreats or upside down under tables in Napa Valley. I have a tendency to spot where pleasure can go, but not make room for it, to say “I love going to hear live jazz” and yet not be able to think of the last time I actually went. I want to take flamenco, mostly but not exclusively, for the skirt. I see an afternoon where I could downward dog myself, but manage to heed the call of a child asking for attention, or bump it to next week since I had 100 work phone calls today.
So when my husband suggested two weeks ago that we go on a vacation in June, right before the kids finished school and before the tennis tour swept him into the ESPN booth at Wimbledon, I thought, Okay…maybe…yes.
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