Last summer I stopped at the local packie (package store, liquor store if you aren’t from here) to get a bottle of Whiskey. If you are curious it was either Powers Irish Whiskey or a decent bottle of bourbon. I am old enough now that I can afford good bourbon.
When not at work I tend to dress like an off duty lumberjack, jeans and a flannel or in summer like a middle aged beach bum, cargo shorts and a t-shirt. But after work I am usually in a suit, Navy blue or a shade of charcoal gray that is more coal than gray. Light blue or dark blue shirt depending. Brown or black shoes/belt as appropriate and tie to match. I tend to look like a cop or a surly undertaker.
I have been going to the same packie for almost twenty years. My Long Suffering Wife and I moved to our part of Rhode Island because we didn’t want to live in the city where I was also a cop. We ended up in a community that is friendly, with great schools and low crime rates.
On this particular day I stepped up to the cash register and said in my best Bufford T. Justice imitation; “Hello, nice lady.” Stac/y/ey/ie who has been working there longer than I have been going there said; “Hello, nice man.” This is our customary greeting after which we exchange polite inquiries about life and family.
Except not this day. This day Stac/y/ey/ie threw me a curve ball when she asked, “Don’t you ever take any time off?” I hemmed and hawed. Mentioning book conferences or a day or two here or there or my annual week off when we go to Block Island.
“Conferences don’t count. You should take more time off.” She said.
She’s right and I am still figuring out how to do that.
I have been going full tilt since February. The goods of publishing production smote me with a particularly tight deadline to write a novel. Then there was a round of unanticipated edits and then a round of anticipated edits. All while working a day job. And being a dad. And everything else that life throws at you. Drinks with friends, catching up old friends, family events all got back burnered, and hard.
Last week we went on our family vacation to Block Island. I had to take some editing with me but that was a few hours out of the vacation. There were a couple of attempts from work to call me but nothing so major that I had to call anyone. My face is a bit more sun weathered and I had a good time. I think I returned relaxed, so mission success.
I made Pommes Pave for everyone. My sister in law who like my Long Suffering Wife has celiac disease lamented that she couldn’t have lobster rolls anymore so I decided to make her one and one for everyone else who wanted one too. Fearless Leader’s wife, whom I think of as my sister, said, “These are good but that is a lot of work. I don’t see myself spending that much time and effort on a dish. Especially on vacation.” I see her point.
She’s right. The Pommes Pave is a two day process. The lobster rolls took hours to make. It was a lot of work. For me it is worth it. The look on Fearless Leaders face when he took that first crunchy bite of Pommes Pave or seeing my sister in law smile as she had her first lobster roll in years. That makes it all worth it. All the time and hard work boils down to those moments.
Over the years many people have said to me that they could never write a book. It’s the same drive. That look on a person’s face when they want to talk to me about one of my books or that first bite of an exquisite food item that I’ve made. They’re the same.
That’s why I do it. If it is worth doing it is worth overdoing. It’s worth sacrificing a little bit of vacation time to do it. Because, some day I won’t be able to anymore and when it is time to tally accounts, I don’t want to be confronted by “could haves” and “should haves”.
Well done, you! Although I don't understand why you couldn't have worked in a shrimp souffle while you were at it.
"I tend to look like a cop or a surly undertaker." Brilliant line!