I woke up this morning and reached for a jacket on my way out the door. I left my iced coffee in favor of hot. How can Mother Nature be so in sync with Labor Day? It’s as if she just flips a switch and suddenly it’s fall. But I’d like to take one last loving look at summer despite my yoga teacher’s instructions to live in the present. I just can’t help it.
Everyone has a favorite summer spot that brings “that look” to their eyes when they start talking about it. A friend went to Tuscany one year and it has remained the bell weather by which she measures everything. For me, it is Vermont. I am not a snow person, so Vermont has little attraction for me in the winter, but it speaks to my heart in every other season – and especially summer when the little town where my family has a house hosts concerts on the green for crowds of 25 and holds the statewide Zucchini Festival where adults measure the length and girth of a zucchini with the same intensity that some of us track the Dow Jones.
Vermont is a place I associate with my dad (who, you may know, is no longer alive). So every trip starts with picking one thing of his to take with me. IF my dad ever again makes his presence known to me, I am sure Vermont is one of the places where it might happen. So I hope and bring along a talisman. These days it’s a pair of cool leather rimmed Ran-Bay Aviators he owned. I carefully pick my car music and we hit the road. And then it happens, without fail, somewhere in Massachusetts I start to think more and more about my dad, and I start to cry. I usually cry until we hit the Vermont border. The scenery becomes too beautiful to be doing anything other than focusing on where I’m going, as opposed to where I’ve been. I instantly perk up.
Days in Vermont are filled with nothing: Breakfast at Crow’s Corner where current day free spirits (not crows) make fresh bread and granola. Then reading, farmer’s markets, walks down to the neighboring farm and, if I’m lucky, yoga in a glass house with nothing but blue skies overhead and green fields all around. Days filled with nothing, yet everything that’s truly important.
But the most special time is at night when you sit on the porch and every star shines with its own special intensity. It’s a night sky we don’t see here. Maybe you’ve had a glass or two of scotch (because it’s chilly) and maybe you are listening to Simon and Garfunkel, remembering when life was scary and wonderful (in a completely different way from today). Back then, it wasn’t about a shrinking 401k. It was about the war. Kids killed by the National Guard, others gassed in the streets of DC. I remember the gas exploding....running through the streets. And finding a phone (yes, a pay phone) to call my parents (collect) to say I was OK -- but really just to hear their voices, assuring me I really was OK. A time when we were united enough to come together and end a war.
Back in Vermont, a light rain might start falling and the mountains fade from view as a dense fog creeps up the valley. Tomorrow I’ll stand on the porch looking at the mountains and fields around me…trying to burn the image into my mind for safe harbor until our next visit.
Enjoy the simplicity.
Kind (self) regards,
Vicki
Vicki Wray lives in North Stamford, and until recently spent most of her waking hours in New York City as a corporate communications executive. Working for companies like Pfizer, Revlon and AOL Time Warner has allowed her to meet wonderful colleagues and a slew of interesting personalities including the president of the United States, supermodels and star athletes, famous artists and a Justice of the Supreme Court. She is a natural observer, type A personality, and a life-long "spa junkie". Vicki firmly believes in the health benefits of being kind to oneself; taking a moment to breath, relax and finding simple joy in our every day existence.
Her column, Kind (self) Regards, will be a regular feature of the Aetheria Spa blog. If you enjoy her point of view, or would like to share your ideas, please contact her at vicki@aetheriaspa.com.
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