A couple of months ago the assignment for Judithheartsong's Artsy Essay contest was to write about about your favorite place to be. I'll get the exact assignment after I do this entry.
I thought about my favorite
places like the Bozeman Valley in Montana, The Jackson Hole area in
Wyoming, The Hawaiian Islands, Northern and Southern California, the
whole state of Oregon, the view from an airplane of the huge mountains
in the northwest, or cities like London and Paris, or places like
camping in the Canadian woods, sitting on a hill looking at mountains,
riding horseback in the wilderness, having dinner on a cruise on Lake
Michigan with the sun going down behind the skyline of my favorite
city, Chicago, blah blah blah. The usual postcard stuff.
And then I got real. Not that
I don't love all those spots. But my absolute favorite places in the
whole world are so much closer to home. One of the best places is lying
in my hammock at night looking up at the stars with a log on the
outdoor fireplace to help keep the bugs away. And a long stick to roast
marshmallows from a reclining position.
My other favorite place is
spending Sunday mornings at home lazing around in my bed, watching the
TV show Sunday Morning on CBS and talking to my daughters on the phone.
Or writing in my journal.
The last thing I felt like doing for that month's contest was taking the time and effort to write it up, say like this:
There is a special place
where my heart and soul can rest and rehabilitate. Where my
spirit enjoys a respite from the long days of work and the obligations
of this life.
Where I can be who I want to be without interruption. And yet stay connectedto the world.
But I would have written it
to try to win the contest. And I wouldn't have won. Because writing the
description narrative isn't my strong suite. Writing the cynical
narrative is. More like this:
You can have your Callard and
Bowser candies on your pillow in a charming bed and breakfast in Bath,
England. You can have the smell of the salt air and worry about
the swans pooping next to the swank table where you are sitting in the
dining room of the Hyatt Resort on Maui. You can have watching
the moon at midnight from the back of the Staten Island Ferry as it
leaves the tip of Manhattan and all those strange. homeless people in
Because you can't top the
feeling of pure joy and thankfulness of waking up at home on your own
Stearns and Foster pillow top mattress, after a week of staying in
Holiday Inns and watching focus groups from behind a two way mirror, in
rooms so dark you need a catle prod to keep from dozing off.
Yep. Lying in my own bed with
all the pillows and blankets to myself. With nothing I have to do and
no place I have to be all day. That is truly my all time favorite place.