You want to hear God laugh? Tell him your plans.
We had a great plan for our vacation, Roger and I did. It was beautiful, it was elegant, it was streamlined, it was relaxing. It incorporated business with pleasure (and thus was somewhat deductible.) It gave me the ability to help out the opera company by being at a very important conference up in Seattle for one day. It gave us the chance to do something romantic, and fun, and relaxing, and cool. It was a great plan.
Here's how this great plan went:
For Labor Day weekend, we would drive up to our friends' farm in Paradise and spend the weekend with them, laughing, and eating fresh vegetables, and playing music. We do this periodically and it's a shot in the arm for the soul, just so fun and relaxing and connected.
Monday, we would drive down to Sacramento. We would meet with friends for dinner and then, at midnight, we would get on the Amtrak Coast Starlight, be greeted by a gracious porter, led to our turned-down roomette, and sleep on the train until waking up in Oregon in the morning. Fully rested, we would go to the observation car (for first class passengers only, which of course we were), eat a delicious hot breakfast (for free because we were first class passengers, or did I mention that already?), and then watch the beauty of the world go by. The day would go by and we would explore the train, eat the (free) meals, feel the rhythmic clickety-clack of the train on the rails, and generally indulge in the romance and ease of train travel. Maybe Roger would play poker and drink bourbon with some Cary Grant types. Maybe we would sit with some sophisticated couple at dinner and engage in a deep and fascinating conversation about exotic wonders of the world. With "The City of New Orleans" as the soundtrack, we would see glimpses of the front of the train as it curved sinuously along the rails, bracketed by the forest, maybe a snow covered peak in the background.
Totally refreshed, we would arrive Tuesday evening in Seattle, to stay at our wonderful hotel (paid for by the opera company.) Wednesday, I would maybe do a little bit to help with the show, but mainly we would wake up early, eat a wonderful breakfast, and spend the day exploring Seattle. In this wonderful plan, of course, I feel terrific throughout, there are bountiful amounts of energy and good humor all around, and the day (while we're at it) is long enough to allow for a clam chowder at Pike's Place market, a trip on a ferry boat to some quaint and inviting little hamlet, and a delicious dinner at somewhere with lots of deeply aesthetically pleasing decor. With all this rest and relaxation, our libidos would of course be raring to go and we would spend the rest of the time exploring the wonders of nature in that way as well.
Are you getting how good this plan was? Seriously. After our day off, because of how relaxed and revitalized I would be (because of how smart we were to think up this plan in the first place), I would spend a day in the booth, effortlessly persuading dozens of presenters of large and well-funded theatres that the ever enduring delights of Gilbert and Sullivan would be just what they need in the upcoming season. Thus ensuring the future well-being of the company, I would then reconnect with Roger and we would hop on the train (relaxed and revitalized) on Friday morning and do the whole thing backwards. The gracious waitstaff, the gourmet food, the Eva Marie Saint moment in the roomette, the abundant good humor, the sinuous rails snaking off into the distance... all while a sad lonesome harmonica sang the blues.
We would arrive precisely at 6:15 am in Sacramento (because that's when the timetable said we would) and drive down to LA, arriving (relaxed and revitalized) at home with plenty of time (and good humor) to unpack, relax, and then go attend my friend Cindy's art opening in the evening.
Best. Plan. Ever.
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