Playing Hooky

Today it is a balmy, gorgeous, 85 degrees at the beach.  The sky is the bright Cerulean blue we often see down here in the Fall, and there's not a cloud in the sky.  The day couldn't be more perfect to lie on a bright yellow and white stripped Cabo beach towel with a good read and a tall glass of iced tea, alternately watching the tide come in.  I can smell the salt air beckoning through my windows and the open top, of my Dutch Door.  I can hear the waves lapping gently on the cliffs below.  I think they're calling my name.

I think I'm feeling a wee bit dizzy.  I suddenly feel a terrible pounding in my head.  And what are those groans coming from my tummy?  My bones are creaking and there's a twitch in my right eye.  But no, I have no time to be sick.  I have so much to do.

I guess you could say, even though I live here every day, every day is not a day at the beach.  I have a feeling the only thing I'm going to see today is the inside of my washing machine.  There's so much to do around here I can't even find my own dog!

"Bailey, Bailey, where art thou?"

Yep, I think I'm sick.  Sick of laundry and house work and yard work and wedding planning and long to-do lists.  I think I need a mini-vacation.  What do you think my lovies? What would you do if you were me?  Should I stay on task and catch up with my chores?  Might it be better to ignore the sea and the shore and get my laundry sorted?  Or dare I play hooky and take a mini vacation in my own front yard?

 I have been really good lately.

 Life is short and you only live once, right?

  And I think I should take care of my health and breathe some salt air, and that reminds me, anybody else ever read this poem by Shel Silverstein?  It was a favorite of mine to read to my kids when they were small.

Sick

by Shel Silverstein


"I cannot go to school today,"

Said little Peggy Ann McKay.

"I have the measles and the mumps,

A gash, a rash and purple bumps.

My mouth is wet, my throat is dry,

I'm going blind in my right eye.

My tonsils are as big as rocks,

I've counted sixteen chicken pox

And there's one more--that's seventeen,

And

Don't you think my face looks green?

My leg is cut--my eyes are blue--

It might be instamatic flu.

when I

  

sneeze and gasp and choke,

I'm sure that my left leg is broke--

My hip hurts when I move my chin,

My belly button's caving in,

My back is wrenched, my ankle's sprained,

My 'pendix pains each time it rains.

My nose is cold, my toes are numb.

I have a sliver in my thumb.

My neck is stiff, my voice is weak,

I hardly whisper when I speak.

My tongue is filling up my mouth,

I think my hair is falling out.

My elbow's bent, my spine ain't straight,

My temperature is one-o-eight.

My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,

There is a hole inside my ear.

I have a hangnail, and my heart is--what?

What's that? What's that you say?

You say today is. . .Saturday?

G'bye, I'm going out to play!"

Seeeeeeeeeeee ya later!

Love you more than all the hooky I'm playing today.

Blessings from the beach,

Tia