Return to Neverland

The sun sets slowly, like a strutting peacock painting colors in the clouds as it passes by. Sailboats participating in the Chicago-Mackinac sailing race dot the horizon, like tiny toys carefully lined up on the side of the bathtub. The only sound is of waves crashing against the shore below and conversation emanating from the open windows, begging for the breezes provided by the vast lake. No jacket is needed, as the generous weather never turns cold, only to a cooler form of warm. I want to close my eyes, heigtening my auditory and olfactory senses to further absorb the rushing of the waves and the wafting scent of lillies, yet am unwilling to forego the artistry of the sky. I am enamored by the sky. When it chooses to be crystalline blue, or canvas to the rapidly changing sunset, I sit in awe, temporarily silenced.

This was several days ago, but is an everyday occurence in Michigan, especially over Lake Michigan. I have traveled the world, but have yet to discover a place where the sunsets can compare to what is offered here. The daytime clouds, which jestingly veil the noon sun, disrobe from their whites to show an array of reds, scarlets, violets, and mauves, edges gilded. I am no nationalist and would never claim that the beauty of Michigan is superior to any other cut of creation. But we have cornered the market on sunsets. We really have.

I needed this vacation; it has been abundantly more than the therapy I hoped for it to be. Have I only been home a week? A few days more. But I can scarcely believe all that I've done.

I started my time at my dad's house in Indiana. That feels like such a long time ago now. But it was three days of good conversation, playing with Lindsey, wine tutorials, and pure comedy. I realized my first day back how I had certainly made the right choice in coming. As I did a morning run in the remnants of the early morning's thunderstorm, then reduced to a mere sprinkling, I breathed deeply and realized that the air was clean, unpolluted with the absence of a myriad of cars. It was noiseless, the sound of water softly falling. And in the 40 minutes I was out, only four cars passed me. I liked being home.

After my dad's house, I spent time at my mom's, a cottage home along the lakeshore. This is where I drank the sunsets. I got to spend time talking with my mom. If you thought I can't stop talking around you, then you should see me with her... We got to walk the beach and swim in the water. When finished and told I would shower outside, I was skeptical, picturing a hose with icy water. "No, it's wonderful," was the promise. They recently had a shower head installed outside, then put a partial wall up. So you shower while watching the lake. It was superb.

I have spent this week at my Grandma's cottage, set on a smaller inland lake, Big Whitefish. This is the time of my childhood, with days spent tubing, kneeboarding, kayaking, swimming, Seadooing, celebrating summer birthdays, biking, and eating icecream (arguably the highlight). No, the true highlight is doing all this with my family around me. My Grandma, aunts, unlces, and cousins. I realized while racing across the lake yesterday, desperately clinging to my cousin's lifejacket as the wind stung our faces, that few could understand this Neverland, this life of eternal childhood. Who could appreciate and love this but my family? And with who else would I desire to participate in this? No one can replace family.

That is what this vacation is about. Returning to the Neverland of my childhood to see my dad, my mom, my family, but then dutifully going back to the world of adults. The child within me will never be pacified by such brief trips into the past, but is subdued by realizing that I may still return. Nonetheless, I was noting with Sara yesterday, as we limped off the tubes that had just skimmed across the water at unclockable speeds, that as we have grown older, these childhood activities have lost a measure of their appeal. No longer can we infinitely be bounced off the water. No longer can we be towed by the boat without soreness in our arms. And with all we do, we actually want to go to bed at night. We are no longer children. But, I pray, we will never lose the unadulterated excitement of our childhood.

Well, I promise to tell more later, but I've got to go to sleep now. It's way past my bed time.

Love Aub

P.S. Far too lazy to add pictures now. But here's a promise to try later. Check again to see if I'm a liar.