As with any trip of mine, planned largely at the last minute and great expense (or at least a higher expense), things didn't always go as planned. I have some regrets; there are some things I wanted to do that I didn't.
Top of the list is my aborted visit to Laos. Based on things said to me by fellow travelers last year and strong suggestions from a Beijing friend, coupled with the rumors of the best silk in SE Asia, and I was in. Or so I thought. TC3 and I were splitting up after about two weeks so she could go meet with her family, and we hadn't worked out all the details in advance. So by the time I had dates set, there were no more flights to Laos at an appropriate time.
Then there all the little things. If we had taken a bus instead of the train to Da Nang. Maybe I shouldn't have had those dresses made on such short notice. Maybe I should have had the work dress made instead. Did I really need that necklace? I didn't play tourist enough. What the hell did I eat to make myself sick, again? I should have gone out more in Thailand. I should have been more careful on the trail. I wish I'd gone climbing. I should have done more work. I wasted too much time doing nothing.
It's enough that a girl could almost get lost in the self-pity.
But then I consider the things that I did do over my holiday.
I did a lot of nothing. For three and a half (ish) glorious weeks, I didn't have to do anything. It was very relaxing. But the nothing included some rather wonderful things.
I bought many meters of fabric. Most of you know about my fabric fetish by now. While driving across central Vietnam, the rice paddies inspired a quilt design in me, and I bought some silk to make it happen. I had purchased some fun Thai cotton prints last year, and when I went to use them over the summer, I realized I was missing a critical contrasting fabric. So this year, I took a day trip back to the same city to fill in the missing piece. There was an unmistakeable grin and feeling of joy as I walked into the shop. Here was a definite accomplishment of a goal. And a delightful goal that promised hours more of pleasure (and some consternation, sure) with a rotary cutter and a sewing machine.
I read a lot. It's not that I don't read during the school year, because I do. But I seldom get to read with such focused attention. I rarely spend so much time planning where my next book will come from. I don't always have the opportunity to really savor a book and consider it's implications for me as a human or as a writer. (What? You don't think this blog is all about keeping you informed, do you? I consider myself a writer, whatever my students think.)
I started writing my blog again. Maybe you noticed, but my posts were few and far between from November on (maybe even during the whole year). It's not that I didn't have things to write about, I just didn't have the patience, time, or energy to put my thoughts into words. (Note, I'm typing this on the iPad, so typos are common and I just wrote "swords" instead of "words". Telling, no?) But I suddenly found myself with the time and inclination to let you back in on my thoughts.
Back when I was living in North Carolina, I took a trip south. I spent a couple of nights in Savannah, and to save money, I stayed at the hostel. I remember talking with the other travelers there, and there were rumors flying about regarding one woman. She kept to herself and she spent a lot of time on her computer. "She's a writer for Lonely Planet" one German girl said, "She doesn't really talk to anyone else." There was such an aura of mystique around here. The rest of us couldn't help but be a bit in awe of her. I admit that I tried to cultivate the same aura of self-imposed, studious aloofness, albeit without the cool rumors of my job.
One evening, while sitting on my bungalow's balcony with a pint and a Stephen King book, something clicked in my head. I'm not even sure exactly what combination of elements (the lowering of my affective filter, the various short stories I'd been reading, the author's note at the end of the book, time) combined in my head, but I suddenly solved the problem of my own short story. I've been working on this things for a good ten years, if not more. The problem has always been two-fold: how to begin and and how to frame it. The opening, of course, leads into the framing. You can't have one without the other.
That right there was worth the price of admission.
And, of course, I got a tan, which is no small feat in itself. I'm not a natural tanner; I'm a burner. So to spend that much time (including six days in the ultra-strong Thai sunshine) on beaches and escape with only minor, patchy burns and a good even tan on my face and shoulders is nothing short of miraculous. That, or a testament to my slavish devotion to coating every square inch of my body with 50 SPF sunblock. It took me a good half an hour every morning to fully coat myself. And the 50 has so much zinc in it, that it doesn't easily soak into skin: it sits on the surface with a brilliant white residue... Which I'm always afraid will them sweat off or wash off into the pool. But, it must have worked at least a little bit.
I'm back at work now. And I can no longer laze away my mornings, afternoons, and evenings. I'll have to get back in the habit of actually accomplishing daily tasks. At least now I'm rested and ready for the challenge.
Or so I'm telling myself.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Location:Beijing, China
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