That's what I told myself the other day.  I was pretty grumpy though and not for any one particular reason, but rather a series of reasons that by themselves would probably not have been all that impressive but together combined with the vomit I mentioned they had combined forces and made for a sour mood.  

We had remarked to each other for weeks that we must firm up Memorial Day weekend plans.  Come Thursday however those plans still had amoebic form.  (and speaking of amoeba, the puking mentioned yesterday coincidentally began.)  It wasn't like we didn't have a thousand and one things we could spend the long weekend catching up on, but right then I wasn't embracing the down time.  

See, one downside to living in an awesome place, and knowing that you aren't going to live there forever, is this internal pressure to cram every spare moment SEEing something new. (even though you still need to do all those things at home that everyone needs to do) By all accounts we have made very good progress these past years. But when there are days off strung together like that it can feel like wasting opportunities.

It probably didn't help that by that time I was deeply entrenched in Farenheit 451. One son wrote a few weeks ago and said,  "Mom, it's happening. I mean really just spend an hour on Facebook…"  And before I was halfway through the book I came to the absolute, no-doubt-about-it, certainty that we.are.doomed.  We as a species that is. For real.

That brings us to the weekend. 

The thing about Mom being in a sour mood is that it spreads like wildfire.  It seeped into the rest of them as invisibly and as infectiously as that stomach virus had done.  So by mid-day, when everyone looked reasonably well, I started packing sandwiches and gathering water bottles.  The enthusiasm was forced, but I was banking on the real thing kicking in once we hit the park.  

That investment paid off.  As did more long walks each day.  It helped to finish the book too since it ends with some big thoughts on hope and humility and moving forward. My camera card is now full of silliness in the forest and my quote book is full of Bradbury's words (which I admit, I have been sorely tempted to make into placards and broadcast with evangelical zeal from street corners. But I won't. Probably. ; ))  

This morning I woke up feeling sorted out. 

"He stood breathing, and the more he breathed the land in, the more he was filled up with all the details of the land. He was not empty. There was more than enough here to fill him. There would always be more than enough."  Farenheit 451