MY FAVORITE PLACE

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.

What B.S.

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 its wake.  

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.