I was feeling sorry for myself yesterday. You know having a personal pity party. Here it was October and I was already getting depressed because I knew, the next ten weeks would be a blur and before I could say Jiminy Cricket Christmas would be over. And, I would be cleaning up shredded paper, returning sweaters that did not fit, and putting away glass balls for the 31st time. Yes, we have Christmas here. We celebrate the holidays with family and friends, but it is the Christmas season. Not that I am necessarily a religious person, but I am one of tradition, or maybe more one of nostalgia. After all southerners don't take well to change. But, I digress.
It is about time to escape to the islands for some "me" time of doing nothing. But, alas, that has been delayed until May. Bah Humbug. The group of us who go together just could not get a time when everyone could get away until then. Unfortunately, two of "us" have retired and "our" calendars are suddenly filled with horse back riding, cruises, and other things ladies of leisure do. (I wouldn't know - but I hear tell.) That being the case, the rest of us poor working souls are left to grind away pining for some break in the monotony of our days, a retirement date not anywhere on our upcoming calenders.
Then my friends called me from, where else, a bar - in the afternoon. Alas, life of retirement had its stresses also. (I did not feel their pain.) "Let's go Grand Cayman next month?" Oh, what music to my ears. I could hear the calypso band in the warm breeze. "Come on. We can just fly down there for a 4 or 5 day weekend." For a moment I was caught up in their revelry. It was meant to be.
We started discussing the details. Unlike them who were at the bar, I was at my computer, so I quickly checked air fares. End of that fantasy. Air fares started a $600. We were all severely disappointed. The phone call ended with everyone promising to find a way to get there. Sure. With my luck, my next phone call from them would be from Breezes, a watering hole we frequent in Georgetown (in Grand Cayman).
So I was back to reality, October, and the depressing thought I could be going to the Islands if I were wealthy enough to afford the airfare. Of course, if I were wealthy enough to afford such an airfare on a whim, I would not be working would I?
Perhaps a Diet Coke (with lime) would help. On my way to the kitchen, I heard a USAirways' commercial on TV suggesting that it was time to escape to the islands. Oh, a conspiracy was afoot. May seemed light years away.
My Mama used to always sing Doris Day's song, Que Sera Sera to me. I found it patronizing then and I despise it now. Why can I not just accept she was right, "What will be, will be."