THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, October 6, 1996 TAG: 9610020033
SECTION: REAL LIFE PAGE: K2 EDITION: FINAL
COLUMN: REAL MOMENTS
SOURCE: BY MARTY ASIRE
LENGTH: 53 lines
WHY DOESN'T anyone tell you that coming back from vacation is the hardest part of going on one?
Stopping the paper, forwarding the mail, packing clothes for the family, and ingratiating yourself enough to a neighbor so that she'll feed the fish is nothing compared to the shock of coming home and trying to fit back into your old life and your size 6 clothes.
Each year when school gets out, I close up the house, load the kids and half our belongings into a van, and head for our small summer house on a lake in Michigan for two months.
No event is looked forward to as much as our annual trek to Birch Lake. I find that a change in location causes both inward and outward changes in me. Within two days, I no longer look like a sophisticated suburbanite (not that I did anyway). The jewelry and nail polish are gone and my shoes are replaced with 89-cent rubber thongs from the drug store. Within five days, I no longer care that the world outside my door is seeing me without makeup.
The inward changes come more slowly and are more subtle. It takes a while before I notice I've stopped glancing at my now-bare wrist to see what time it is. And that my morning walks around the lake, instead of being brisk and for the sole purpose of exercise, have become slower-paced with stops to admire a lush patch of moss or to talk with a neighbor. But alas, all too soon, the calendar flips to September and it's time to head home. As I approach the city limits, I begin to know the anxiety the original astronauts must have felt when they started their re-entry into Earth's atmosphere. I begin to think of soccer schedules, school work and piano lessons and wonder how I will survive the the coming year. I worry that my friends' lives will no longer have room for me after such a long absence. By the time I see the ``Welcome to Virginia Beach!'' sign, my stomach's in a knot.
As I pull into the driveway, the house looks large (so much to clean) and everyone is grumbling about having to unload the car.
But then it starts - the trickle of neighbors welcoming us back. First Caroline comes down to say, yes, she did go to the soccer signups for me (she has for years.) Then Chris pops over to give us an update on our lone fish's health, and Betty drives by with a friendly beep-beep.
I know that everything will be all right. Just different.
Long talks are now quick waves as we pass on the street. And my walks are brisk again because I have to get home before the bus does. My van is a taxi cab and I'm wearing makeup and shoes.
But I have a small patch of moss and a frog in the back yard to remind me that next summer isn't all that far away. MEMO: Marty Asire has gotten back in the swing of things. She's weeded
the garden, bonded again with Goldie the fish and is driving her kids
from one activity to another. by CNB