I went for a bike ride yesterday that made me feel great. Must have been about 20 miles, since I followed some route that claimed as much. There are bike routes posted all over up here, planned by Backroads Bikeways. Hilly but not too hilly, roads were good not great. And there was one part where the road disappeared altogether. Granted, it said "road closed" (to thru traffic) and I went ahead anyway.
And tonight I used the grill for the second time, the first being last week with Laura. I made the same thing: a boneless ribeye, marinated in salt and balsamic. Good stuff. And, just like last week, I forgot about the sweet potatoes until just now. Sounds like dessert.
All the things that make the house a good vacation house are really only available in the nice weather: bike rides, grilling, outdoor fires, the beach, sunsets. I haven't seen any sunsets since I've been up here. It's a strange concept, being able to have a sunset just about any night; in my mind they are sacred, associated with vacations with family or friends; seems strange to witness alone. And it seems strange that it seems strange to a guy who voluntarily made his primary habitation a lonesome cottage in the woods.
But my vacation was different this time around than other vacations. It seemed more like work, but the work was largely unpaid and mostly involved synthesizing various former and future selves into one. I think it's easy to put self-work on hold when we get busy with more lucrative activities. Maybe it's just because I'm a procrastinator, but I had issues from years ago that came up--both expected and unexpected. Maybe this is what therapy is like, except more regular and less intense--surely more sustainable.
And so to celebrate my last night, I started with steak and am finishing with Absinthe. I've got a few shots left in the bottle, and I can't imagine doing this with anyone else.
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