Spring time escape?
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Spring Time Escape By Martha Levison, March 2003 Hail from last night's spring storm has ripped the bright orange blooms off my emerging tulips. The school progress reports of my 15-year-old, Sam, and 17-year- old, Drew, show strong indications of a third-quarter slump. And the impending loss of an hour's sleep because of daylight-saving time buzzes behind my eyeballs like a big, black, spring horsefly banging between the screen and window. I pull on my thermals, ski sweater and fleece then head out into the 30- degree morning to walk the dog. I could sure use a break. A break from sky high heating bills, from sitting through high school lacrosse games huddled in a blanket and ski jacket, a break from shivering my way around the block with our dog. Looking up at the powdered sugar peak of Mount Diablo I see myself lying next to a sun-warmed, turquoise pool, sipping a Cosmopolitan and paging through a Danielle Steele paperback. "Hon, let's go someplace hot for spring break. Just the four of us," I say to George when I get home. Then my friend Karen calls. "You're driving to Palm Springs? Sounds perfect! Jim and I and the kids will follow you down!" And my mom calls: "Your Dad and I are spending Easter with your sister in Dallas. Then we'll catch a flight and meet you!" And my sister Liz calls from Dallas: "We're coming with Mom and Dad!" I hang up the phone and see my dream drenched by a tidal wave of water my kids, nieces and Karen's kids cannonball up from the sun-warmed pool. My Cosmopolitan tips over, the lime tumbles into the woodchips at the base of the palm tree, my paperback drips black ink onto my beach towel. George rubs my shoulders and says: "Don't worry, hon. We'll give you some quiet time by the pool. I called the hotel and made reservations for the kids to ride dirt bikes. And the concierge told me about a great llama farm!" Once again I see the deep blue cloudless sky behind palm fronds. I smell the rich coconut of sunscreen. I taste the icy cranberry of my Cosmopolitan. "We'll all have a great time," George says and smiles. "As long as I don't have to shop, play golf or sit through any stage shows." Then Liz calls: "We'll shop till we drop!" And Karen calls: "Jim reserved tee times for all four days!" And my mom calls: "I got tickets to the 'Follies'! Retired actors and actresses from L.A.! They dance and juggle!" "But I'm scheduled to ride the llamas!" shouts George. "And I want to go dirt biking!" shouts Drew. And Sam cries, "I don't want to see retired actors jiggle!" "That's juggle!" George and I shout. Now I yank up the collar of my windbreaker, stuff my mittened fingers in the pocket of my jacket and drag the dog out into the wall of Northern California March going out like a lion blast of a morning. I wonder if Boise has any sun-warmed turquoise pools. About the Author: Martha Levison is a mother of two teenage boys, writer, wife, and Welsh Corgi owner who lives in Danville, California. She enjoys running, frequent trips into San Francisco, and boating with her family on the California Delta. Her work has appeared in the LA Times, San Francisco Chronicle and KQED Radio. She also sings with the Rolling Stones in her spare time. © siliconmom
