Vay-cay-shun

I can't seem to make myself take one of these. I don't know why. It seems reasonably easy for the other members of the office to sign up for a day or two or five off. But I just don't take them. Then, in March of next year, I'll be scrambling to use up 2 weeks of accumulated days off. I get 3 weeks now. I've been at this job for 12 years, so the weeks are there. I don't take them. I lost 3 days carried over from last year because we were too busy to allow me to take those. I've taken one day so far.

Vacations, time off, is a right we have worked hard to achieve. This exchange from the 1951 movie A Christmas Carol sums up the Victorian view of work.

Ebenezer: You'll want the whole day off tomorrow, I suppose.
Bob Cratchit: If quite convenient, sir.
Ebenezer: It's not convenient. And it's not fair! If I stopped you half a crown for it, you'd think yourself ill used, wouldn't you? But you don't think me ill used if I pay a day's wages for no work, hmm?
Bob Cratchit: 'Tis only once a year, sir.
Ebenezer: That's a poor excuse for picking a man's pocket every 25th of December.
Bob Cratchit: Yes, sir. I'm sure I'm very sorry, sir, to cause you such an inconvenience. It's the family more than me, sir. They put their hearts into Christmas as it were, sir.
Ebenezer: Yes, and put their hands into my pockets as it were, sir. 

No work. No pay. We've come a long way from that mind-set, at least most of us have. I remember when my dad decided that vacations were something we should experience. When you work a farm, there is always, always, something that needs to be done, every day. You get a few scattered hours during the course of a day to just sit. When it rained, dad could be found sitting in the shed just watching it rain. Winter was a down time. There were animals to care for but, once they were done, the rest of the day was at leisure. A summer vacation was a luxury few farmers could afford. If we went anywhere, it was for 4 days to Cedar Rapids where my mother's family was or to Des Moines where dad's sister lived. Beyond that, going anywhere outside of that sphere wasn't in the cards. Someone had to watch the animals and the farm while you were gone.

I don't remember when dad decided we deserved time away from the farm as much as anyone else did. He liked to camp and bought a tent.

We went all over the Midwest with that tent and we did a two week swing through the south, a big circle from Iowa to Louisville to Memphis to Pigeon Forge, Tennessee and the Smoky Mountains to Huntsville, Alabama to Mobile to driving over Lake Pontchartrain north of New Orleans to St. Louis to Muscatine, Iowa where dad's brother lived to home. We made some wrong turns but we saw a huge swath of the country, camping all the way. Dad's brother, LeRoy, and a few cousins, took turns looking in on the farm, mowing the lawn, feeding the animals, weeding the garden. It was an amazing adventure.

I've been a few places requiring vacation time. Last year was the wedding. I've been to Seattle when Carole lived there. When she was younger, we drove to Charlotte, North Carolina. We went to San Antonio, Texas on the train. We've been to Disney World and the Atlantic Ocean.

I live in an area where there is no lack of things to do. I've chosen to stay here precisely for that reason, not that I take advantage of those things. It's nice to know they are there if I choose to. Yet, why don't I? Some of it is the lack of finances. Doing things costs money, from admission fees, to gas, to parking, to food, to souvenirs. Now, there are ways to mitigate those costs but there are costs to vacations. And I just don't have funds to sink into a vacation or a lot of admission fees or parking costs. I also come from a work ethic that taps into the above Scrooge mentality. No work. No pay. It's so very hard to leave that behind. I wonder why.

So, as the summer ticks through with it's long days and the opportunity to be out and about, I sit at my desk and look at the vacation request form. I could take time off here or there. We're not that busy that my being gone would be a huge inconvenience. I want to save a few days for a visit east in October but that will still mean I have weeks of vacation left to use up before I lose it. Why can't I take it? Why can't I fill out the line requesting days off? Have I bought so totally into the idea that unless I "go" somewhere, I'm not really vacationing? Sleeping late for a whole week or staying up late for a whole week would be good for the soul. Why can't I?

For the record, I still have that tee shirt and those shorts. They have worn like cast iron and are still every bit as bright and loud as they are in that photo.

Beverage: V8

Deb

Iowa 20 Wisconsin 10

This time, I got a stable Internet radio feed up to 5 minutes left in the game. At that point, the feed died. WHO radio, arguably Iowa's flagship radio station from Des Moines, took a few minutes to switch over to the ESPN TV feed. Then, we 1 minute 30 seconds left in the game, cut that out and came back with their regular feed for the end of the game.

It will be a happy dance on Monday. 7-0. I think you have to go back to 1985 and the year of the #1 team in the nation, to find a better start.

Maybe I'll have BOTH kinds of shakes.

Beverage: China Black tea

Deb

Not on a bet.

I would imagine you have all heard the news. It's plastered all over my Yahoo news feed today.

Sears Tower unveils 103rd floor glass balconies

The full article is here.

I just want it made perfectly clear; nope, no way, nada, nix.

But why, you ask?

Simple, says I. I'm afraid of heights.

I've always been that way.

The first time I became aware of it, my family and I went to visit my cousins who lived in Des Moines, Iowa. I don't remember what year it was but part of the visit included a trip to tour the state capital building. I remember running into the building and seeing, on the first floor, a large circle in the floor which looked down into some room with chairs and desks. There was a vague feeling of uneasiness but I passed it off as excitement.

Looking up, there was another hole in the second floor and you could look straight up to the dome. It was, if memory serves me correctly, a beautifully decorated interior with lots of marble and statues and frescos on the walls. We looked about the first floor, what was open to the public, turned and hastened up to the second floor. I remember standing on the landing between the first and second floors, looking up at what my memory thinks were WPA paintings and being totally unable to go any farther. I can remember the fear, the paralyzing fear, that gripped me. I was scared to have to look down through that hole in the floor and just the thought was enough to prevent my legs from moving.

I've always been interested in art so I pretended to be studying the walls. My mother ordered me to come up the stairs. My dad made fun of me, once he realized I was scared to move. My cousins and siblings thought me weird. I felt humiliated and totally confused about this. I'd jumped from the hay mow to the basement of the barn through the hay chute. I'd jumped from the top of the hay stacks to the floor. I'd jumped out of trees. I'd sat on the sill of my second floor bedroom window with my feet dangling on the side of the house. Why was I so scared?

My uncle Moe came back down the stairs and put a big arm around me. In a jovial tone of voice designed to help and make me feel not so awkward, he told me this was a normal feeling. "You're scared of heights. It happens. The trick is to not let it paralyze you." He told me to keep my head straight and don't look below my nose. "So, you'll have to figure out where you can stand that lets you look at that hole in the second floor but not in a way to tilt your head down." I could look up but I couldn't look down.

I still can't.

Carole and I went to Gettysburg for her graduation from high school trip. There is a metal tower some 65' in the air at the border between the battlefield and General Eisenhower's farm. The winding staircase is wide enough for four people to walk abreast. I had to walk up two or three twists and stop. Carole said I didn't have to go to the top, but I knew I had to. I had to walk in the middle of the staircase and look only at the next set of stairs. But, I did it. I climbed to the top of the tower. Coming down wasn't hard.

In the former Marshall Field's flagship store on State Street in Chicago, the east side of the store has an open atrium. You take escalators anchored at each end but open to the atrium between the levels. I hate it. As long as I can stand in the center of the escalator, I can do it. The north side of the store has open holes in the floor where you can look from floor 7 to the main floor. I'm told it's an interesting view. I've never seen it.

And I'm told the view from the top of the John Hancock Center is gorgeous, particularly at night. I'm told it's the best view of Chicago, topping the view from the Sears Tower. I've never been up there. Carole and I spent one drizzly day in March of 2001 wandering around the area near the Hancock building. I had coupons for money off the trip to the 95th floor. But every time we got into the building, I could not, could not get into the elevator to go to the floor where you purchased your tickets for the observation deck.

But I love to fly and I always get a window seat.

So, when you come to Chicago, I'll be happy to take you around, but if you want to go to the Sears observation deck, you're on your own.

Beverage: English Teatime

Deb