Had a lovely, relaxing weekend up at my friend’s cabin. There are four of us who go up, all in our mid-to-late 30s. We all met through work, though we don’t all work at the same place anymore. What’s interesting about the trip is that these aren’t women I see on a daily basis or anything. We all socialize, but we see each other in person maybe once a month, if that. Nonetheless, for the past three years, we’ve made time in our busy schedules for the 4 1/2 hour trek up to the northern part of the state, to spend a long weekend at the cabin. We go sans husbands or partners (but sometimes with dogs), and when our sig-O’s ask us what we do all weekend, it’s sort of hard to explain! We eat, we talk, we knit, we play card games and board games … we stay up late and sleep in, we dance to our favorite tunes on the CD player, we go for walks and sit in front of the fire – really, we just sort of hang out. There aren’t a lot of people you can do that with. And it’s not like we all have similar personalities or anything! In fact, widely divergent: two squabs, a squin and a squo. But for some reason we all mesh perfectly for a weekend of vegetation. I hope it’s a tradition we can continue for years to come.
It was especially nice to have the relaxing weekend because this week is shaping up to be anything but. We’ve been planning for months now to go down south and stay with my grandma and aunt over Thanksgiving. My sister is coming, too, and we’d planned an extra long break: leaving tomorrow and not getting back until the 29th. We figured, it’s our last real vacation until the baby comes, which means our last real vacation for the next 18 years, so let’s do it right! Mr. Squab hasn’t ever visited my birth state, so we planned to show him around the area and take an overnight trip to Savannah just to see the sights. BUT. This morning, Mr. Squab got a tearful phone call from his mother to say that his beloved great-aunt passed away this weekend. She’s been in bad health for a few years now, and in rapid decline for the past few months, so her death wasn’t too much of a surprise and in many ways is a blessing. But in her prime, she was a sharp old lady with a wry sense of humor and a lot of love for Mr. Squab and his family, to whom she was basically a second mom/grandma. She’ll be missed.
As her funeral will be on Saturday, Mr. Squab and I had to rearrange our flights so we can get back from my grandma’s house on Friday night, meaning we’ll miss out on the Savannah trip and have far less time to spend with my rellies. Selfishly, I’m really disappointed that we have to cut back on our last real vacation. But of course we can’t miss the funeral (nor would I want to even if we could), and maybe this will mean I can take more time off over Christmas. But can someone explain to me why close relatives always have to die so near the holidays?